Politics as Usual

Posted by E

Sunday, September 14, 2008


Just a quick one here. I have been watching this year's elections with great interest and speak at length with my friends regarding my thoughts and impressions of the whole shebang. The fact of the matter is, whether you're for McCain or for Obama, the 2008 elections are an absolutely pivotal election.

It saddens me to see how much political discourse in this country has degraded in the last few years. It appears nowadays that the person who is right is generally the one who can yell the loudest and be the most insulting.

I may not agree with everybody's ideas and thoughts, but I've never seen the need to resort to infantile name calling and over the top generalizations to discuss things.

Be that as it may, I have always found a grotesque pleasure in ensconcing myself in the world of both sides. I love listening to a far left liberal rant on about their feelings as much as I enjoy the conservative side.

My true political opinions don't really matter. I'm just another Joe Schmoe. What matters is that all of us take the time to pay attention to what's happening this cycle and do our part to participate.

Whether you're for one side or the other, it's still best to be as knowledgeable and informed on both sides of the issues as possible. It does not serve our country's interests to ignore the process and not take part.

All of this is really just leading up to bit below. I did not write what you see down here. I pulled this from the Sean Hannity forums at http://forums.hannity.com. This was written by a user named "rhet 2".

This is a prime example of the rabidity of over the top rhetoric. I'm not picking on conservative viewpoints or even the original poster. I've seen things equally as over the top from the other side of the argument.

But either way, I find it frightening that in the 21st century we really have to question the patriotic intent of our candidates so much that something as inflammatory as this even need be written.




Which said, I do have very serious doubts about the sanity of some of the Democrat Party leadership.

And very little doubt about the corruption and criminalization of most of the Democrat Party leadership.

And little doubt that Obama is the Republic's worst nightmare, a Communist who will work damned hard to destroy the Constitutional barriers to his own supreme and unhindered power after elected.

He IS a Stalinist, like Chavez -- once elected, he'll make damned sure he's repeatedly elected for life, while his radicalized youth force nationalization of the entire economy -- force with fists and guns and terror tactics -- until our nation is as destroyed as the rest of the Third World.

He wants absolute, unrestricted and unopposed POWER -- and so do the others in the DNC leadership.

NOT SHARED POWER -- absolute power -- power they'll commit every atroncity and crime to acquire.

And it is the Democrat Party since Carter which has eroded the Balance of Power in the Constitution, consistently worked to corrupt the judicial branch to give us IDEOLOGUES ruling not according to law written by ELECTED REPRESENTATIVES but by appointed and UNREPLACEABLE ideologues NEVER HELD ACCOUNTABLE by the People to the People for the laws JUDGES WRITE according to their own moral convictions and desired social policy IN SCORN FOR THE WILL OF THE MAJORITY.

The Democrat Party leadership is out of control and given over to the destruction of the Constitution and of life, liberty, and the right to pursue individually defined happiness however the individual chooses.

The Democrat leadership eeks to destroy the Bill of Rights, the Checks and Balances that block their supremacy, in order to make themselves the Politburo of the Soviet States of America -- where the Party Bosses live large and rich and self-indulgent lives -- and the citizens lose freedom, economic opportunity, hope, and the right to determine for ourselves how to live and how to raise our children by teaching our children to share OUR beliefs and moral convictions instead of their own.

It is the Democrat Party that has appointed corrupt and tyrannical judges -- and Democrat judges who have empowered violent evil men to destroy our physical safety -- and destroyed our schools -- and destroyed the quality of our homes and family life.

It is the Democrat judges who seek to force our children into LIBERAL IDEOLOGICAL RADICALIZATION TRAINING CAMPS called "schools" -- where they turn our children into blank empty-headed radicalized fools given to violence and to crude barbaric self-destructive behaviors instead of dedicated to personal excellence and to RESPECTFUL tolerance of others and loyalty to the nation and to industry, to creativity, to innovation, to daring and strength and SKILL IN LIVING.

And for that corruption of our homes, our schools, our judiciary, and our electoral processes, the Democrat Party leadership WILL PAY with their own loss of stolen luxurious and VERY RICH lives.

Pelosi, Reid, both Clintons, Kennedy, and a dozen others NEED TO STAND TRIAL FOR GRAFT< FOR SELLING THEIR INFLUENCE < FOR PROFITEERING FROM TAX POLICY< FOR THE DEATH AND RAPE AND MURDER OF CHILDREN THEY HAVE ENCOURAGED AND ENABLED< AND FOR SUBVERSION AND DESTRUCTION OF THE CONSTITUTION.

And Barak Obama -- NOT AN AMERICAN AT ALL -- he may have been born to ONE American parent -- but he exhibits NOTHING of an American upbringing, NOTHING of an American mind set -- needs to be stood up and examined to the depth of his bones to find out exactly who is backing that disgusting ANTI-FREEDOM wanna-be COMMUNIST DICTATOR.

The more I dig into that man's policy proposals, the more I look at Joseph Stalin in the making.

And that's NOT biased thinking -- I wish the guy were for real -- HE IS NOT WHAT HE PRETENDS TO BE -- and his proposals are the essence of future hell on earth for my nation. He is violent and destructive and corrupt as hell -- brutal and cruel and totally lacking in HONOR -- greedy for power and NOT RESTRICTED BY ANY PERSONAL HONOR CODE AT ALL -- if x will get him the power he craves, then he will do x and never once regret the nightmare suffering and misery x causes to other human beings.

And that is precisely what the leadership of the DNC has become: so greedy for power at any cost, they just don't give a **** what corrupt, disgusting, dishonorable and plain evil things they have to do to get it.

And the media has become even more corrupt and dishonorable and cruel and dishonest and EVIL as their partners in the DNC leadership.

I wish with all my heart that honest Democrats in Congress and in the general party throughout the nation would stand up and take down the animals who have seized control of a once honorable and decent and worthy group -- but they won't -- because they refuse to believe what is plain as day and obvious as raging fires in CA and hurricanes in the Gulf --

They refuse to follow Lieberman and Miller -- two honest and honorable Democrats who have, indeed, paid the price for defying the corrupt and evil men and women who have destroyed all integrity and trustworthiness in the Democrat Party, turning a strong potentiality into our greatest immediate national threat.

Got Dick? Pimpin ain't dead ya'll mother fuckers just scared.

Posted by Arbitrage

Saturday, September 13, 2008

So it's election time. Now I have to be bombarded with adults in bloomers vigorously shaking their pom poms while they simultaneously sling mounds of mud on each other. We want to call each other racists, Marxists, Muslims, red necks, left vs right, right vs left it is old...

There is one argument in particular that is really bothersome.

The view from the right that the left are socialists and they don't like the Dems hiking up taxes because it's "wealth distribution".

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:

Did you ever notice that 12 inch dick in your ass? Probably not, because it's been there so long you don't feel it any longer. The fed is so far deep in your ass he's hitting your lungs.

We just added 5 trillion to the debt bailing out Fred and Fannie. Taxpayers are on the hook for about 150 million which our kids'-kids'kids will be paying.
What was the outcome of that? China's bonds are secure.

Fed goes and bails out bear sterns. Puts taxpayers on the hook more.
I never got any income from Bear, Freddie, or Fannie, so why is my money helping to bail them out?

Does this seem capitalistic to you?


Talk about raising taxes the decibel level gets so loud it bursts your eardrums. All the "capitalists" come out because they don't want to "support" socialism.
Swindle your ass and put you on the hook for 29 billion to make an unprecedented move to bailout a non deposit bank and I can hear crickets chirping.

So you will pay another 35K a year in taxes(it's your money, you earned it, and I think you should be able to keep it); However it's hard to hear the I don't want to pay anymore taxes line when we just got 3 Card Monted for 5 trillion.


You don't need the left to bring you closer to socialism, you are 90% there but don't realize it.

The fed doesn't care if you are christian, muslim, right, left, they care about money. Theses mother fuckers don't care about YOU, ME, or MOHAMED ATTA for that matter. We all look the same, we are all PAWNS.
You all can fight, argue, bitch and kill each other, it doesn't matter to them.

You want to set up social programs?
Wow you should be commended--now PAY us.

You want to fight terrorism?
Damn you are good citizen we need more people like you--now PAY us.

You don't like the dems because they promote socialism and want to raise taxes?
I hear you and I couldn't agree more--now PAY us.

You don't like the republicans because of their foreign policy?
We were just saying the same thing--now PAY us.


The interest alone on our debt last year was something like 400 billion. Who is going to pay this shit back; but I digress the geniuses have a great plan, they will create more debt to cover the debt we owe.

It's not 1 person, 1 platform, or a "1" anything that you can lay the blame on, it takes a group effort to fuck up like this. So while america is for sale--Americans sit around and blame each other; all the while the fed has us butt naked in the buck position with our ankles behind our heads.

Divide and conquer. It's all mass confusion caused by vast illusion.

So who was it that said pimpin is dead?

Hot porny porn

Posted by Doodface

Friday, September 12, 2008

This post is so NSFW that you should just turn off your monitor now. If you get fired, it's your own fault. Clicking on any of the following links will bring up graphic images of sex, genetalia, and possibly even *gasp* tits!



So... I am a man with functioning testicles and penis. Therefore, I like the porn. BUT I feel like a complete prude when it comes to my particular tastes. Kinda like when you're a big fan of 1 on 1 heterosexual intercourse in a bed, and you hear about 3 girls fucking one dude on top of 747.. Like "what am I missing out on?". I wonder about what other people I know are into, and why they lean towards those preferences.



I like naked women. That about covers my pornographic preferences. And since the definition of pornography is "obscene writings, drawings, photographs, or the like, esp. those having little or no artistic merit", I'm not even sure I like porn. I am spanking it to art! I am fucking classy! So when my wife asks me if I look at porn, I can honestly answer "no!". Well.. except for that hot lesbian stuff.



Hell, my whacking material doesn’t even require nudity. I even get in to the "almost nude" stuff like KariSweets and TiffanyTeen. Basically, really hot girls that may show the hint of the edge of a nipple. If you're REALLY lucky, you might get to see them in a see-thru shirt! I love that shit. And I can't explain why. I know that I could go find all the nipples and asses and vaginas I could ever want withing seconds, but sometimes that's not what I'm after.



If I am feeling especially dirty that day, I will go for the more "hardcore" full nudity stuff, and maybe even some masturbation! I might check out some Kate’s Playground, or Jordan Capri. I know, crazy, right?



Other preferences for my "me time":



- Small Tits.. A's and B's are perfect IMO

- Small Nipples.. I HATE giant saucers

- Eraser Nipples..

- Short Girls.. 5'7 or under please

- Shaved Pussy (waxed, actually)

- Nice Ass (not big)



Wow.. just reading that list, you psychology students should have a field day with those, huh?



Things that I do NOT want to see in my porn:



- Dicks - I never want to see penis, for any reason. I cannot understand a heterosexual guy seeing a dude's Nutsack flopping around, and being able to finish the job. I know it's normal for guys to like the blow job or hand job porn, but I hate the sight of a penis. Guys are douchebags, and in porn, they are ultra-douchebags. Which brings me to the next thing I hate.



- "Porn Talk" - OMG people, STFU! I cannot stand hearing a chick scream out such lovely things as "Fuck my wet cunt!!" or "I love your big cock!!". Ugh. And to hear dudes in porn throw out the "You're a fucking whore" or "Take that big dick", makes my penis invert. It's all about degrading the women, and turning them into whores and slaves. I hate this shit.



- Body Fluids - I dont want to see cum, spit, piss, shit, juice or any other bodily fluid. How do people find this shit sexy? I was watching one the other day that I THOUGHT was of my standard fare (Naked woman). Then this stupid bitch starts just taking handfuls of spit and rubbing herself with it. Fucking yuck.



- Beef Curtains - Not much needs to be said here, but dangling and brown is never a good thing in my world.



- "Ethnic Girls" - I like white girls, that's it. Whiter the better in most cases - I guess my Irish DNA maks me seek out equally as pale mates. I can find other races to be attractive, but I don't want to see them naked. For example, everytime I see Padma Lakshmi on TV, I think she is the hottest thing ever. But I have no desire to see her naked, or use her for spank material. It's not a racist thing, it's just my preference.



- S&M - Pain and sex do not exist in the same world for me. I cannot understand whipping, spanking, ball torture, nipple clamps, etc. to be at ALL sexual.



- Anything mentioned in E's post "Give it up for Ultraporn".



I am not sure why I felt the need to share this, but I think it's a fascination with the difference of preferences. I am sure that you could find out more about a man's past and psychological issues by browsing his porn than spending hours in therapy. I would love to know why some people find golden showers to be hot, or why others grab their tissues for a good session of scat porn. I don't understand it in the slightest, and that is so interesting to me.





Wow.. just reading back through this post, this should be a search engine darling, huh?

It's Not Really Funny, I Know...

Posted by E

Thursday, September 11, 2008

I like these here intarnet thingies. I spend a lot of time on at least two or three different webs during the course of my days. But I'll tell you what, I've noticed a trend sweeping the internet, and as much as I tried to resist being lulled by its temptation over here at Omniphobic, I've finally caved in. I'm just gonna have to admit defeat and roll with the punches.

My current infection of ire on the internet (oooh...aliteration!) is the top ten list.

I. Hate. Top. Ten. Lists.

The reason I hate them is simple. They're gimmicky. They're nothing but a cheap trick intended to generate a few hits. There are far too many sites that rely on the ease of construction of these lists. It really doesn't take a whole lot of effort to generate these kinds of lists. Just come up with a few pictures or points, insert a snarky comment here and there and VOILA! Another billion hits if you manage to make front page at digg.com or reddit.com.

And if you're the kind of site that does nothing but top ten lists, you WILL make the front page. Lists seem to be quite popular.

So, in the interest of appealing to as broad an audience as we can, I've decided to bite the proverbial bullet and unleash the first list of our own. We may do more in the future, who knows.

So for now, I present to you:

The Top Ten Hindu-Arabic Numerical Notations in the Base-10 Numeral System

10: 9

The number nine is the exact number of planets present in our very own solar system until August 24, 2006, when a bunch of ne'er do wells in lab coats decided that we were simply too good for Pluto. Dicks.


9: 8

Ever wondered how many heads you could fit in a single duffel bag? I checked with Joe Pesci. The answer, apparently, is 8.


8: 7

It's been said that six is afraid of seven. Do you know why? Because seven engaged in numerophagic activities with nine, resulting in the complete consumption and ultimate expulsion of said number. (I never got that joke, either.)


7: 6

6...as in NIKKI SIXX!!!! Hellz yeah. When I think of the absolute greatest bassists of the lower third of the chaff that's scraped from the barrel of mediocrity once amazing bands like Danger Danger and Accept have been separated, I think of Nikki Sixx. A man so amazing that even Motley Crue could not contain his awesomeness in the song they wrote about his heroin overdose.

"Skydive naked from an aeroplane
Or a lady with a body from outer space
My heart, my heart
Kickstart my heart"

Truer words were never spoken.


6: 5

Johnny 5. He's alive. That's all that needs to be said.


5: 4

4 is my personal favorite number. To explain why would take far too much time and give you way too much of a window into my obsessive compulsive tendencies. You've seen enough of that one...


4: 3

3 movies in the original Star Wars trilogy, the holiest of all trinities. More perfect than that holy triumverate that people are always going on about in church. Jesus died for your sins, sure, but he wasn't HALF the badass that Darth Vader was.


3: 2

The number of girls required for 1 cup to be any fun at all.


2: 1

1, as referenced by the song, is the loneliest number. How could it not be once the landmine has taken your sight, taken your speech, taken your hearing, taken your arms, taken your legs, taken your soul and left you with life in Hell?


1: 0

The amount of interest I imagine anybody reading this drivel has by this point. I don't blame you.


Yeah, okay, not funny. Well aware. And therein lies the point of all this. Top ten lists kind of blow.

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar

I love cigars. It's a tough hobby to explain, but once you understand it, it's great. It's something that spans incomes and social status. You can be a multi-billionaire smoking aged cuban Montecristos from the 80's, or you can be an iron worker smoking a bundle smoke from Cigars International after work. Either way - you are really going to enjoy that time that you are smoking that cigar.

So why do I like them so much? Well it started for me as just something to try. I had no "need" for them, but I figured I would try them. I think E and Arbitrage talking about them actually convinced me to try them. At first, they all taste like burning leaves. So I started with mild cigars - Ashton Classic, Romeo & Julieta, h upmann. In those first few cigars, it was purely about the experience. I would sit outside in beautiful weather, and just spend an hour smoking, reading, and just relaxing. Then one day, I smoked a Montecristo classic. This is when I "got it". I tasted flavors for the first time - slight hints of teas, florals, woodsy flavors, and even a slight lemon flavor. From this point on, I was hooked. I had to try new cigars, and find new flavors. The first time I smoked a Padron 1926, and tasted black cherry was an awesome experience.

Shortly after, E had a party with some of the finest beers you can buy (Youngs double chocolate stout, Samuel Smiths Oatmeal Stout, Sam Adams Cherry Wheat, Old Peculiar, to name a few), and cigars. E and I ended up sitting on his back porch for hours smoking cigars, drinking beer, and having intellectual conversation. This was another aspect of cigars that I found that I loved. You have a new connection with other cigar smokers. You immediately have something in common, and something to create new conversations.

I am an ex-cigarette smoker. I quit on April 1st, 2007. As anyone who smokes or has quit smoking knows, drinking and smoking go hand in hand. Before finding cigars, that was the greatest point of temptation. I would go to a bar, and as soon as I took my first sip of beer, I craved a cigarette. Now with cigars, I never crave them. Also, there is no physical addiction to cigars when smoked in moderation. I can go for weeks without one, and never have a craving. You DO get some nicotine from cigars, but unless you are smoking multiple cigars a day, your body clears it out quickly enough that you do not become dependant on it.

So then there is the collecting aspect of it. There are thousands of brands, sizes, styles, and tobaccos. Each person develops their own tastes and preferences. Unfortunately, the best ones usually are the most expensive. Someone who is a wine connoisseur can understand this. So to collect them, you need a special place to store them - just like wine. So cigars are stored in humidors that should be kept at a humidity level of 65%-70%, and a temperature of 63-72 degrees. So after you get the humidor, it becomes a challenge to start filling it up. Soon, this turns into a problem of not having enough room for cigars (until you buy a new humidor). Also like fine wines, most cigars get better with age. I am currently aging Opus Xs, Padron Anniversaries, Blackstone pre-embargo cubans, Montecristo Cubans, as well as many "less impressive" sticks.

Luckily, every friend that I have tried to get into cigars has joined me. E hadn't smoked in years, but now regularly lights up. he also says that a cigar during writing helps his creativity and flow of the posts. Arbitrage gave me my first humidor, and also is a regular smoker now. Probably 50% of our conversation is cigar-related. Some of my current favorite moments involve sitting on my friend's front porch, talking, and smoking cigars. A session of "Front porch time" as we call it, on a tuesday night can make the week just so much easier to get through.

The relaxation aspect of cigars is nearly indescribable. It sounds stupid, I know. But it has been compared to meditation in it's effect on people. The selecting, inspecting, cutting, lighting and smoking of a cigar removes everything else from your mind. You are focused on something as trivial as rolled-up tobacco. After a good cigar (Which can take anywhere from an hour to 2 hours to smoke), I feel like my mind is refreshed, and the stress of the day has been wiped away. The feeling to me is somewhat like how you feel after a full body massage.

So of course it's not all good, right?

No, it's still tobacco, so there are risks involved. However, cigars are not meant to be inhaled like cigarettes. You simply draw the smoke in to your mouth, "taste" it, and blow it out. There is a cancer risk, but it is very rare if done correctly. For people that smoke 7 or less cigars per week, and do not inhale, there is almost no increased risk of cancer over non-smokers. The people that end up with cancerous mouth sores are the ones that smoke many per day. Sigmund Freud smoked an average of 20 cigars PER DAY. It finally caught up with him at age 83 - 67 YEARS after he started smoking. I normally average about 3-4 per WEEK.

Cigars create a ton of smoke, and they don't smell great to non-smokers. If you are going to smoke cigars, you have to be courteous about it. If you are in a smoky bar - light up, and enjoy. If you are on a restaurant patio that allows smoking, but people are eating all around you, hold off until people are not eating, and when you DO light up, try to make it so that your smoke isn't blowing right at people. If you think that you might be bugging other people, you probably are - and you probably arent going to enjoy that cigar.

If you are interested in trying cigars, give them a shot.. Start with something mild, and work your way up. It really is a great hobby. It is relaxing as hell, you will meet some great people. Don't be intimidated to walk in to a shop and ask for advice. They will be happy to introduce someone to our beloved hobby.

This Post is Made of Phail

Posted by E

Tuesday, September 9, 2008


Some posts just write themselves.

Take this one, for instance. The image you see above is an actual fax received today at my job. (Click the image for a larger size.) The company's name and information have been changed to protect the guilty but the rest is as real as you can get. All markings in red were appended by the group of miscreants I call friends/coworkers. Mad props to Markoni for creating the final image.

This editing of their fax was originally intended to be sent back to the good people at "Top Roofing", though we were unable to determine a real fax number or e-mail address to which to send our correspondence. This is a shame as we really wanted to assist this company in all future endeavors. We're sticklers for proper punctuation, spelling, and grammar and wanted to ensure that "Top Roofing" excelled at all of the above.

Not that I would want to question the intergrity of certtfed specialists such as "Top Roofing". Indeed, without their applled specilty, I'm not certain whether or not we'd be able to have all of our reaires completely in a timly mannnr. Bare in mined, this is not a condomnation of thier abilties, meerly us pionting out som of the more ovbious and glarng speling erors that we happpened across.

Make of this what you will, but I'd be hard pressed to take any business seriously that managed TWELVE errors in a single page. Who is their proofreader, Helen Keller?

For the time being we'll just have to score them with an F, for EPIC PHAIL.

Another Walk on the Dark Side

Posted by E

Monday, September 8, 2008

He squirms uncomfortably in his chair, tight bonds wrapped around his arms holding him steady in place. His face is apprehensive, yet resigned to the fate that both he and the viewer knows await him. Legs quiver with nervous energy as expectation gives way to bubbling fear, a knowledge of forthcoming horror and pain concluded only by the termination of his own life.

He knows these things are coming and knows full well that these actions are being recorded for the sake of others, whether it be for warning, for propaganda or for ghoulish entertainment, his final moments will be etched into memory and made available for all to dwell in. His death is not a private matter, but an event shared by all who choose to view this film. But do not weep too deeply for his fate, he sealed it on his own by his own hand and actions.

The man laid bare before us ultimately chose his own fate. Through his own decisions he found himself bound to this iron chair. His terminal moments will be spent in quiet reflection of the lives he has chosen to extinguish or complicate.

The video in question was created by Los Negros, a narco-military unit borne as an offshoot of the Sinaloa Cartel. It exists for the purpose of sending warning to a rival group, Los Zetas, for the killing of multiple people in Acapulco in February of 2007, an act considered by the police to be a "settling of scores".

The video begins with a message in Spanish, "Do something for your country, kill a Zeta!". The man is bound in only his underwear, writing covering most of his body, including the name of the leader of the Zetas branded across his leg.

The bloodied and obviously beaten man stammers through a confession, his voice echoing on the cold walls; a hollow reprise to a voice nearly bereft of life. He weakly continues his discussion, stealing occasional glances at the unblinking eye which stares relentlessly and unaffected.

This hollow echo is soon followed by the metallic creak of the chair, as his shaking legs intensify their actions. Soon the room fills with the muffled sound of music in another room, perhaps meant to hide the noises which may soon ensue.

Our victim isn't certain what fate awaits him, only that final judgment lays mere moments from now. The music's beat doubtless matches the accelerating heartbeat of the troubled man, who continues to speak. He knows that each moment spent speaking is another moment spent alive.

The camera cuts and soon we're back. He seems more haggard, worn down, stripped of whatever optimism still resided within him. We are not to know what has transpired since the cut, but it is plain to the viewer that it was unpleasant.

His legs take on a more spasmodic countenance as his inevitable climax doubtless approaches. The camera, cold and fixated upon his face now shows a man beaten in more ways than one. Whereas before he was staring directly into its soulless lid, his head now dangles, staring downward, further indication of his slipping humanity.

Another cut and now his speech begins to take on a more desperate tone. His restraints cause him considerable discomfort, and he begins struggling to maintain his composure, his breathing fast becomes shallow. For the first time we become aware of multiple people in the room with him, unseen but heard, a chorus of mumbled voices spilling forth amongst the cacophonous din of movement.

The camera cuts again and now we can see another person in frame with the victim, though we see only an arm and a single hand, clad in a latex glove. The man with the gloved hand asks our victim a question, and finding himself displeased with the answer punches the restrained man in the jaw. Another question, another strike, continuing on, the music spilling from the other room taking on a more cheerful tone as the mood in the room darkens.

After the third strike, his legs quiver into a frenzied overdrive, nervous apprehension seizing control of the victim's body. The appointed hour draws near and he can sense it with each passing second. Pallor turning ashen, he struggles to let loose what will be his final soliloquy.

Another cut and now we see that execution is imminent. Two men are in the frame now behind the victim, one affixing a leather strap around his neck, the other holding a pair of white pipes, combining them together to fashion a crude garotte.

Once affixed they move to begin the strangulation. In a moment of sheer intestinal fortitude, the victim looks directly to the camera as he feels the garotting begin. He stares down the accusatory eye of malevolence seated across from him, an act of powerful defiance, as if to say "You can take my life, but you cannot take my soul".

Strangulation commences and the viewer is left with one fleeting moment of the victims eyes beginning to bulge from the pressure before the camera cuts away. One final cut occurs and the now headless corpse of the victim is displayed in the chair before a warning is burned across the screen, naming the head of the Zetas as the next intended victim.


For those who have been with us for awhile, you may have noticed that articles like this get written by me from time to time, usually focusing on some particularly nasty little bit of video I've come across on the net. If you find yourself put off by this kind of ghoulish content, I apologize. I do my best not to be exploitative with this pieces. I am merely trying to present them as I see them.

Videos such as this serve as an excellent reminder that no matter how dismal or dreary our everyday lives may seem, our petty concerns pale in comparison to the world unleashed on others. I watch these horrors comforted in no small part by the fact that they are not being perpetrated upon me.

It sounds selfish, and I'm sure that it is, but facts are facts. I trudge through life and whine internally about my own indulgent concerns, as do all of us. But seeing the frailty of life and the fleeting nature of our own mortality helps to center me, to force me to recognize a world far greater than I can imagine, horrific in its brutality and breathtaking in its beauty, all in one moment.

I write these articles usually as a means of dealing with my own pent up hostilities and anxieties. They almost always come after a period of relative inactivity on my part. Whatever minimal concerns occupy my mind begin to constrict the flow of ideas within my mind. The concepts still appear, but the words elude me.

Dark pieces such as this help me to refocus my creative energies, to balance my mind between its light and dark halves. I strive to be entertaining and whimsical, but sometimes the nature of existence slowly begins to decompose that aspect of my personality.

I apologize for this self indulgent postscript. I appreciate any and all who come to share in whatever the hell it is myself and the rest of our team scribble across the multitudinous webs. Knowing that we entertain is quite a reward.

I guess this preceding rant can be summed up in the following:

If you come for the humor, stay for the darkness.
If you come for the darkness, stay for the humor.
Either way, I hope we give you something to enjoy.


Should you wish to view the video, you can do so here.

Wait...Don't Chute!!!

Posted by E

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Doodface's musings on his newfound love of fishing brought to mind a story of my own from back in the day, albeit a rather short story.

I was taught how to fish at a young age, spending hours in our pontoon boat out on the mighty Tennessee River, in hopes of catching my own bass. And while I never became what you would consider an expert fisherman, I did learn a thing or two and caught a few fish in my day. Mind you, we never kept what we caught, we always threw it back. (You couldn't pay me to eat those filthy things.)

By the time I reached adulthood, my opinion on the matter changed significantly. I was still interested in the principle of fishing, but had little to no desire to actually catch one. I had softened with age and had long since decided that I saw no need to puncture a fish's mouth, yank it to where it cannot breathe and ogle at it, only to toss it back into the river, likely to find itself ripped asunder by the other fish, owing largely to the gaping and bloody wound I had left behind in its maw.

So the decision was made, I was going to head down to the local lake and do some fishing, though not in the traditional sense. No, I had no interest in catching any of the slimy bastards, so I simply tied little chunks of uncooked dough to the end of my line, attached a few sinkers so it would drop, and spent my day merrily casting and reeling, occasionally replenishing the dough that would inevitably end up eaten by my fishy friends.

However a license is required for fishing around these parts, and after an hour or so Ranger Smith showed up and demanded that I present mine. This of course put me in a quandary, as I did not have nor did I have any intention of getting a license.

And so I launched into a lengthy diatribe about how I was there merely to feed the fish, my methodology and my complete lack of gear and tackle. The ranger was not well convinced at first, but within short order I had brought him around and I managed to continue my fish feeding expedition without incident.

Like I said, quick and simple, nothing to it. But beyond the fishing tale, further inspiration was struck in me. As you saw above, I am not afraid of a good debate, an argument where I feel passionately about the topic at hand. I have been privy to a great deal of debates in my day, some minor, some major, but none have been as long lasting and endless as the "chute" debate.

The chute debate started innocently enough, just an offhand remark thrown by somebody which quickly degenerated into the decade long argument between Terry and myself that continues to this day.

Within minutes of beginning, the chute argument had expanded to involve a whiteboard. People were grabbed as they arrived at the house and forced to listen to both sides of the argument and then declare allegiance to what they perceived to be true. Lines were drawn in the sand that night and even now, years later, it takes only the mention of the word "chute" to set us off again, vehemently arguing our respective stances.

So what is the chute argument? It's really quite simple:

Given that person A is having deep, pounding anal intercourse with person B, would person A's testicles slap the chute of person B?

That right there is the summation. As simple and clear cut as an argument can get. No frills, no fancy language, just a simple, direct question.

Can the balls slap the chute?

The first argument revolves around angles. Is it possible for chute slapping to occur based on standard positioning? Through diagramming on the whiteboard, setting up artist's manikins and yes, even posing our friends, we were able to come to agreement that it is possible for slapping positioning to be achieved. There still is no agreement on slapping itself, but at least it can be agreed that it is possible for people to be positioned in such a way that slapping could occur.

The second argument has yet to be resolved to anybody's satisfaction. Namely, the definition of the chute.

It can be agreed that the chute is comprised of the internal component that houses the shaft during sexual congress, but what has not been determined is the boundaries of the chute.

One side argues that the chute is self contained, that the chute itself is nothing more than the internal mechanics that allow the passage of materials both into and out of the body. The counter argument is that a chute, while mainly internalized, exists in three dimensions meaning that it must have a beginning and an ending external to itself, therefore the anus could be seen as the chute's end cap, thereby allowing a slapping of the anus to constitute slapping of the chute.

It is precisely this lack of agreement on the physical properties of the chute which have allowed this argument to perpetuate all these years.

Assuming we were ever to find a common ground on the definition of the chute itself, it goes without saying that the next argument would be "what constitutes slapping"?

Though this topic has only been grazed in the past, it was apparent that we would not agree on this matter either. One side sees slapping as any act of touching, thereby allowing a "stamp" of the chute to be considered a full blown slap. The other argues that slapping, by definition, would have to include the sound, and therefore a true chute slap could only be achieved when one could hear auditory proof of its existence.

I guess this begs the counter question: If a chute is slapped in the woods and nobody is there to hear it, was the chute really slapped?

You would probably think from reading what's above that this whole argument is a light hearted affair, with Terry and I both enjoying what is doubtless a whimsical debate whenever possible. You couldn't be further from the truth, though.

Anybody who has borne witness to the argument sparking back up can attest to the fact that we both get angry rather quickly, a by-product of years of pent up hostility and a complete unwillingness to see the other side's argument.

We have seriously dragged well over 50 people into the chute debate over the years. The fun part is that nobody seems to take a middle ground on it. People seem to have very strong opinions on chute slapping, whether they ever realized it before the argument was brought to their attention or not.

To anybody who bothers to make it through this piece, I'd love to know where you fall on the argument.

To slap the chute or not to slap the chute...that is the question.

Too drunk to fish?

Posted by Doodface

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

This year, a friend of mine got me in to fishing. I hate him for that.

He hyped me up by telling me how fun it is, and stories of fish he has caught. It's never been "my thing" but what the hell, I'll give it a shot.

He lives on a little lake, so luckily it doesn't cost us anything or require any driving. We started off in the spring, and went quite a bit - mainly late at night. We would head out on his lake's pier, drink a ton of beer, and smoke a lot of cigars. We caught a bunch of catfish - including a pretty damn big one that he caught. I loved it.

Ok, so now I am "hooked". I go to Bass Pro Shops, get a couple of fishing poles, a little "starter" tackle box, and every kind of pure I can think of. I am gonna catch some fucking fish!!

Nope. No, I'm not.

I decided that I wasn't interested in catfish anymore, as that is just "too easy". I wanted to catch "Real" fish - Bass. Little did I know that these little bastards are the most finicky little shits on the planet - EVERYTHING affects them!! If it's too boo boo sunny, they go to the bottom and hide. If it's too cold they just sleep all the time. If you look at them, they take it personally, and will not touch your lure.

Unless they are on video.. Then these assholes are jumping in to the boat, jumping out of the water, biting at everything in sight! My friend tells me to start watching this show that shows what the fish are doing underwater, and shows these guys catching them. I swear to you they must have caught 30 bass in an hour. I think the sprinkle cocaine on the lake 20 minutes before they go out - because these fish are just retarded and hyper.

So.. Since actually investing money, I have caught maybe 5 fish, and they were all the size of overfed minnows. I have not even seen a bass in real life. I swear that they do not exist. I have tried 4 different lakes, I have tried every time of the day, I have tried every type of lure known to man, and I just can't catch anything! Oh, and I could be fishing with Bill Dance and he wouldn't catch anything either. The fish hate me so much that even my friends are punished.

My typical day at the lake goes something like this; I arrive at the lake with an optimistic attitude. I throw one worm in on a bobber, and use the other pole to throw lures. I throw the lure, and then immediately snag it on something. I have caught trees (dead AND alive ones), turtles, sticks, leaves, rocks, the dock, and myself. After I snag the lure, I try for about 5 minutes to get it loose, before I just snap the line, and put another lure on the line (to lose within the next few minutes). Usually during the time when I am most pissed and frustrated, my bobber starts jumping. I get so excited that I cant figure out which pole to grab, and then when I DO figure it out, I yank so hard that if there WAS a fish on the line, I would have just ripped his face off. I then pull in the empty hook (because they have stolen my worm), and put another worm on it. Rinse and repeat.

It would be a lot more fun for me to just go to the lake, dump my tackle box in to the water, and then sit back and drink beer.

I am not at all an uncoordinated person normally, but I am like a fishing blooper reel, I kid you not. The things I have done while fishing are just amazingly dumb. My friends that have been fishing their whole lives have on multiple occassions just looked at me and said "Wow, I have never seen anyone do that before!". Like for example, a few weeks ago, I went to cast, and the lure caught in the pier. When I went forward, the line snapped. Half of the pole was then cast about 40 yards out in to the middle of the lake. But on the bright side, that was one of the few times I snagged a lure, and was able to get it back. Then one of the neighborhood kids swam in the lake to get the other half of my pole. That was an hour where the focus was just on laughing at myself, and drinking beer - aka the best "fishing experience" for me.

Well now the summer is winding down, and the best fishing times will soon be behind us. I will have to put this conquest on hold until next spring. But I will NOT be beaten by this redneck sport!!!

So now I am thinking about getting in to hunting.. My wife thinks I am turning in to a redneck. Oh well.

Know when to hold'em, know when to fold'em ..know when to call in a favor

Posted by Arbitrage

Friday, August 29, 2008

Back in the day I was the master. A true undefeated champ. Accumulating an approximate record of 1,119 -0. At what you may ask? At hopping the train.

Truth be told it wasn't "hopping" more like "sliding". The turn styles could be pulled back a half of turn which would allow you to slide through without paying. I wasn't just good at it, I perfected it with execution that made marta police pause. I did it for years often times looking directly at the marta police, but not with a flamboyant in your face attitude, more like a calm confidence.
Headphones on, never breaking my linear stride, with a look that goes to you and through you within a mili-second. The bodily conversation between the cop and I usually goes like this "you don't know what the hell I just did, but you know I got you"; and if I did what you think I just did you won't say anything because I was just that cool at doing it. This went on a couple times a day for about 3 years.

In comes the Olympic preparation and with it a changing of the guard. The climate around the train station changed. I saw more police, cameras, people in cuffs etc... all because of the upcoming olympics in a little while. Beefy would be an understatement. Even the personnel had changed, it wasn't the everyday type security I was used to seeing. No biggie, I approximate I got about 2 dimes in free rides over the years so the game is up--I fold, no stress. I made a conscience decision to not hop anymore.

Well one day about a week later I'm getting out of class as I'm done for the day. It's getting late and I'm ready to roll out. I'm walking down the steps to the street, dig in my pocket and realize I have 15 cent to my fucking name....Shit. This is before cell phones , it's a 2 hour walk to Tech where I could hook up with some friends, I could call someone collect....etc... all just an inconvenience..... I can't hop because there is doubt in my mind, so I would surely get caught.

Time to call on an old friend for a favor...my great grandmother. I barely knew her. I remember her being a stern old lady who didn't take any shit as she smoked her Moore cigs, but we have a bond. When I was very young she had a stroke in front of me and my grandmother. Drooling at the mouth, she got up to go to the bathroom, took 2 steps and fell to the ground. Well, my grandmother freaks out asking her "what is wrong?" "Ma, what is wrong?"over and over again. I didn't know what was wrong but I knew shit wasn't right, so I run upstairs and call 911. Told the operator ..yeah I'm young but this shit is real and I need an ambulance.. I give the street, the phone number..etc... told her to hold....I then go to my grandmother and say look I got 911 on the phone talk to them..
Mean while console my great grandmother telling her everything will be all right...
Well she died as result not long after that, but the generational gap had been bridged and then some.

So there I am broke as hell, Mr All time train hopper who can't hop the fucking train when I really need it. As much as I tried to talk myself into it, I knew the execution wouldn't be there because I was thinking to much.

Time to dial my old friend for a favor....... I reach out .. Hey I need you on this one...thinking about hopping but I have bad vibes so I know I'll get caught. She says...just walk to the station like you always do. Ummmm ok, but I have 15 cent I can't even make a call at the station...
She says... just walk to the station, the same path you always take.....
Ummmm ok, but I ain't hoppin....
Just go to the damn station boy...
Umm ok...
I continue to walk and about 6 steps later 2 dollar bills blow right up on my leg.... I pick them up never breaking my linear stride ...


No post is not complete without the real deal.. so here you go .. TPO chart of ES .. notice the big area of equilibrium at the bottom in which I merged the 8/25 and 8/26. The breakout on 8/27 good for 6 points for me.

Inhaling Chemicals is Bad for You

Posted by E

Thursday, August 28, 2008

To those who have read tales of Stumblebum past, the name of Terry should by now be a familiar one. There is no doubt that he was both instigator and sidekick to any number of crazy capers back in the day.

But please, do not think from my stories of him that he was anything less than brilliant. He had quite a mind on him, he just wasn't always mindful (or caring) of the lives of others. Let me present you with a brief example of this. I first moved to Stumblebum in 1987, having traveled across country from a pretty modern and technically oriented town to that delightful villa, which to me ranked no higher than a boil on the ass of a parasite on a flea.

I had lived in Stumblebum for about a week before the school year started, and as luck would have it, the one and only person who shared my bus stop was none other than the one who would provide fodder for so many entertaining stories years down the road. Him and I hit it off immediately and within no time were fast friends. There was a certain morbid outlook that festered in both our brains at the time, an interest borne of being social outcasts at the school and sharing in extracurricular interests. (Namely being horrid little shits.)

Shortly after the schoolyear began, I was invited to Terry's to enjoy a viewing of the Tobe Hooper classic, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Being a fan of violent cinema and feeling the need to try and fit in in such an alien world as Stumblebum, I heartily agreed. It was at this viewing that I was first introduced to Craig and Chad. (I would come to find out later that they had been introduced to the contents of my underwear drawer before I was ever introduced to them.)

I'm sure that my initial introduction to the two of them was anything less than spectacular. By all measures I am socially inept, particularly when faced with strangers. I tend to be the quiet one in the corner, staring wild eyed at passers by, so it goes without saying that I probably passed the afternoon without saying much of anything.

Our viewing was to take place in the furnished basement at Terry's house. This was my first trip over to his homestead, so I wasn't sure what to expect. But the basement was cozy enough, with a strong wooden smell that still serves as a fantastic nostalgia trigger.

The only downpoint to watching movies there was the location of the television. It sat just to the left of the bottom of the stairs, in full view of anybody walking down. You might expect that this positioning resulted in our being busted for any number of pornographic viewings, but you'd be wrong. It's location DID, however, result in many looks of consternation from Terry's father, as he always managed to walk down the stairs during a rape scene.

I kid you not. Silent Night, Deadly Night, down comes Willie right as Santa rips open the woman's blouse, screams "Shut up, bitch!" and goes to town on her. Last House on the Left, you got it...raping. Hell, on one occassion we watched I Spit on Your Grave, an exploitation classic. Willie comes walking downstairs right as the heroine is being raped by a group of four men. He comes back 10 minutes later and the female is bent over a tree stump being raped. On his third trip down the steps, they were urging their retarded friend to have his way with her.

We had to actually defend our actions with that one.

"I swear to god, we didn't know it would have this much rape!!!"

But those would be other times. For now, the only raping we would be seeing was that of chainsaw blade raping Franklin's annoying ass.

The movie passed by without event and soon we found ourselves tooling around Terry's house, looking for something to do.

This was to be my introduction to Terry's other side. I thank Jeebus I wasn't the target.

Truth be told, specifics of the how and why elude me. I suspect I've spent years repressing this memory, although one image remains emblazoned in my mind. (If you happen to know more about this incident, by all means, clue me in.)

For whatever reason Terry decided to exact a terrible punishment on Craig. Why, I do not recall. Whether for amusement, revenge or just to terrify me beyond measure, I cannot say.

There was a treehouse behind Terry's house, a nice affair with a trapdoor in the bottom and windows. Oh yes, the windows. They allowed you to seal the place off. And it was this airtight seal that allowed Terry to mete out the punishment.

He corralled Craig into the treehouse and locked him in, trapped like a rat in a cage. Once his prey was safely contained, he fetched a can of wasp spray, pried one of the windows ever so slightly open and then began emptying the contents into the treehouse.

This was not a large treehouse, mind you. Within seconds of him depressing the nozzle, a misty cloud of noxious vapor began to crawl across the floor, thickening as it made its way towards Craig's lungs. Terry cackled with laughter while the look of hopeless despair filled Craig's eyes.

I'd love to say that this is the point of the story where I knocked the can from Terry's hand and demanded that he cease and desist with these actions, but let's face the facts; I'm a big pussy. I did my best to point out that this really wasn't all that funny and that he could actually do some real harm to poor Craig, but he didn't want to hear any of it.

Craig's desperation only strengthened, and he began trying to beat his way out of the clubhouse. It is an image of Craig's terrified and desperate visage inside that window that haunts me to this day.

And sadly, this is where my memory of it all ends. I'm pretty certain Craig survived the incident, as I saw him a few months back, but I really can't recall how he got out of the treehouse. I mainly recalled making a mental note not to piss Terry off.

NOTE: I know I have used Terry for fodder in my stories on many occassions. In all fairness to Terry, he was not a horrible person (in general), he was not evil to his friends (and truth be told, I was probably just as bad as he was), and over the years has been a fantastic, loyal and trustworthy friend.

Wanna see a banana show?

Posted by Doodface

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

The answer to that question will forever be "NO! Fuck you!" when asked. Not familiar with the Banana show? Allow me to explain.

Years ago, my job sent me and a coworker (who also happened to be my friend since age 13) to Holland for training. I had been to Holland many times, but not with a friend, so this trip was extra cool.

We put in our 8 hour days at the office, during the week, and at night had dinners with our Dutch colleagues. Good times, but overall pretty tame. There was another guy there who was from our UK office that was around our age and was staying in the same hotel as we were. Since the trip was 2 weeks, we had the entire weekend to go to Amsterdam.

Of course we had a lot of fun.. We went window shopping in the Red light district, we partook in some of the local customs (BY THAT I MEAN WE SMOKED POT), and saw all of the sights. The typical Amsterdam experience.

We kept hearing people talk about the live sex shows, and the guy that was with us from the UK said that he had been, and that we had to go see one. He knew of one that was "really good", and said that they did a banana show. Ok, whatever.. It's like a Dutch strip club, right?

Fucking WRONG.

We crowded in to this place with 100 other guys and sat down on the wooden benches. It was the seediest place I had ever seen. I was in the middle of a crowd of just the grossest, molestiest, stinkiest people I had seen. There is a dank musty smell in the air, and everything looks dirty. This aint gonna be fun.

The curtians open, there is a man and a woman there having sex. I have never seen sexual intercourse between a man and woman be less sexual. We might as well have been watching someone repeatedly insert a hot dog in to a doughnut. Looking around, there are these creepy dudes in the audience just fucking loving this. Ugh.

They would close the curtain, and the next act would be there when they re-opened. There were a multitude of objects inserted in to vaginas, and some more piston-pumping robot sex acts. And frankly, it was getting a bit boring.

Then it was time for the big finale - The Banana Show! Woo hoo! This is gonna be good times! Everyone likes bananas, right??

So they have a naked dominatrix come out with 2 people in gorilla costumes. They are jumping around the room, and pulling people on stage. If there is one thing I hate in life, it's being pulled on stage against my will. We were right up front, and I was in the aisle. FUCK. Oh, and the British guy is telling us to get up, and pointing at us!! The whole time assuring us that it's worth it, and totally fun. "They don't do anything fucked up to you" he says.

I can feel the adrenaline pumping as one of the gorillas comes right over to me. The fight or flight is kicking in. I will fight this fucking gorilla before I end up on stage at a live sex show. Luckily the gorilla grabs some drunk guy right next to us.. While it would have made this story better if one of us had gone up there, that gorilla passing me over was the best thing that ever happened to me.

So they put the 3 poor guys up on the stage with the naked dominatrix walking around them, and the gorillas jumping around. The naked woman tells them to open their mouths, and one by one lifts their shirts up and puts them in their mouth. She makes them bite down on their shirts, and instructs them to not let go. She then starts undoing their pants, and takes their down to their ankles. These poor guys are standing in front of 100 other nasty guys laughing at them in their underwear. And one of them has a wet stain.

Me and my buddy simulataneously turn to the British guy and say "Fuck you dude!!", and he is laughing his ass off. So these guys have been humiliated enough, and they are going to let them sit down, right?

Wrong.

The dominatrix, then goes and pulls down their underwear to their ankles!! WHAT THE FUCK!?! What kind of culture pulls people on stage, and forces them to get naked???? I am ready to kill the Brit now, who is rolling with laughter. The monkeys are messing with them, and the dominatrix is making fun of their tiny penises. One of the dudes is sporting a cock ring for some reason. Not sure why I felt the need to mention that.

The dominatrix then lays on the ground, inserts the banana in to her vagina, and instructs one of the dudes to eat the banana. So this guy complies, gets down on all fours, and starts to eat the banana. With his naked ass up in the air.

OK, show's over, right? Nope this is where the giant punchline finally hits! As the guys is on all fours eating the banana, one of the monkeys jumps behind the dude, and FUCKS HIM IN THE ASS WITH A BANANA!! WHAT THE FUCK!?!? What is wrong with these people????

ROFL!!! Unwilling assrape is SO funny!

Forced public nudity, humiliation, and ass-rape by fruit!!! Wakkity Schmakity dooooo..

But then we found out that it was chicks in the Gorilla costume. So it's all good.

Would You Like Some Death With That?

Posted by E

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

And so it was that I found myself at a Gamestop store last weekend, perusing their catalog in hopes of finding a game or two to play. While certainly not my favorite place to shop, they do tend to have a pretty wide selection of titles to choose from. I've always found their staff to be pushy and a tad elitist, but I don't sweat it too much, as I know more about games and gaming than 99% of their employee base.

So I wandered the store for the better part of 45 minutes, going over all of the various systems and games available. This is always a tough choice for me. The average game I purchase will be blown through in almost no time. Therefore I tend to either wait until a certain title is dirt cheap or try to choose things that are designed to eat time. To that end I ultimately decided on two games: Perfect Dark Zero for the Xbox 360 and Final Fantasy I for the PSP.

Perfect Dark was one of those games that I have very little interest in, but seeing as how it had dropped to $8 it was hard to pass up. And true to form, Final Fantasy was bought with the intention of taking a good long time to make my way through, perfect for a handheld system.

These games were not the cream of the crop, but were a perfectly acceptable budgeted purchase. If nothing else, a few hours of mindless entertainment could be drained from them.

I made my way up to the register and handed over the goods. The clerk regarded me with that standard disaffected look of apathy so evident in the world of retail. I don't blame them, it's mind numbing work. He did attempt to engage in light and friendly conversation, however and began the process of pulling the discs from the cabinets while I watched a demo of the new Star Wars game.

Discs in hand, he returned to the counter and began ringing me up proper.

Now understand, I am at this store with a pair of shorts on, so my tattoos depicting Pac-Man and Grundle are in full force and I'm sporting a t-shirt with Pac-Man on it deeming me an "Original Gamester". I think it's fairly obvious to anybody around that I can both honk the honk AND tonk the tonk.

Counter guy rings up Final Fantasy, no biggie. Then he scans Perfect Dark, pauses to flip the game over and then says, "I have to advise you that this game is rated M for Mature and contains blood, violence and language."

I chuckle to myself because A) he has just "advised" me that my game is violent, as if I give a damn and B) that it contains language. Doesn't EVERYTHING contain language? Without language, how would I know the title of the game. Whatever, I let the comment slide by without comment.

"Can I see some ID?"

I've always heard the term "spontaneous laughter", but never put much stock into what it meant. But at that moment I lived it. I exploded a laugh right into that poor guy's face.

"Seriously?" I asked, before chuckling a bit more and handing over my wallet.

I'm not old, far from it. But I certainly could never be confused for a teenager. The gray is starting to set into my beard and temples and the years are slowly beginning to take their toll. I could pass for mid 20's, maybe, but I'm sure as hell NOT a teenager.

What made me most incredulous was the fact that I was buying a video game. This wasn't a deadly weapon. No harm will come from me playing this game. I've been carded for cigarettes and alcohol in the past, but at least with those you can argue that they have deleterious effects on your health and well being. I have no problem with them being restricted.

But games? Really?

I played a little bit of Perfect Dark over the weekend. It is not even on the same level as many R rated movies that I've seen. You can head down to the theater right now and catch The Dark Knight, a movie that is the second highest grossing film in history, and it could easily be argued that it is far darker, disturbing and more violent than anything thus far displayed by this game.

Does anybody really believe that we're "protecting" anything by restricting this kind of stuff? Is it really necessary to ask for identification from people who are obviously of age? What next, will they have to take my name down and put it in a government database as a possible future "person of interest" just because I happened to have purchased a game or two in my day?

The overbearing "concern" of the American populous is beginning to wear thin on me. Must we be so afraid of everything we do that we have to regulate it and hide in terror from it?

As another example, a few months back I had a leak in one of my tires. I took a look at it and realized that it was due to the rather sizable screw that was stuck in it. Being a man who is not afraid of doing things himself, I went to purchase a tire repair kit so that I could make Markoni fix my tire.

I stopped by Wal-Mart and grabbed a tire plug and a small can of rubber cement designed for tires. I went to the self scan lane (as always. The fewer people I have to deal with, the happier I am.) and rang my items up. Almost immediately a little light went off and one of Wal-Mart's finest, highly educated personnel came over to inspect me.

Turns out I could get high off the cement. It contained heptane.

Never mind the fact that I wouldn't be caught dead "huffing" any chemicals. The point is that A) why should I have to be harassed over something so insignificant and B) what business is it of Wal-Mart's if I want to huff that stuff? I fail to see how my decisions on what to do with legally purchased items has any bearing on Wal-Mart's business.

Who cares what I buy? What does it matter what I'll do with it?

Does purchasing rubber cement mean I have a 30% chance of getting high? And if so, SO WHAT?

Does buying a video game mean I have a 30% chance of killing people? Go read statistics. All answers point to no.

Yeah, I know, I got all rambly and discombobulated, and I apologize to anybody attempting to keep up with my constant whinery. I'm just sickened by the nanny state we're becoming.

As a kid I regularly went to see R movies at the theater. My DVD collection contains a large number of extremely violent and exploitative films. I play tons of violent video games.

And you know what? I'm as timid as a church mouse.

Violent media didn't make myself or any of my friends into killers.

The God Conundrum

Posted by Doodface

Monday, August 25, 2008


I was raised in a very Christian home, and went to church my whole life. I never had a reason to believe otherwise - there is a God, he is all powerful, and you DO NOT question it. I can remember a few times kind of wondering "Is this for real?", and then praying for some kind of sign - which of course I never got. After I did not receive confirmation of his existence, I immediately prayed and asked for forgiveness for my lack of faith. Who was I to question God?

Well at the age of 24, I started listening to some very intelligent people. I would debate with them about the existence of God, but the entire time, I would feel like I was losing the debate. I would throw out fake "Facts" to back up the existence of God, and bring up faith.. They would be visibly frustrated by my lack of understanding.

Little did they know, but they were chipping away just a little of my Christian foundation with every debate. They made a lot of sense. I would leave questioning things, and feeling a lot of doubt.

This is when I decided to seek the truth. I decided that I would invest in books on both sides of the argument. I would read a book on evolution, and then read a book by a creationist. I would read a book by Dawkins, and then read a "Scientific proof of God" book. I did this for months.

I quickly started to realize that the atheist books were full of factual scientific data, and the theist books were full of "faith" and "magic". I have a very logic-oriented brain, so faith and magic just don't hold up. The Christian books quickly turned in to comedy. As I was reading, I would have to stop and read aloud the particularly absurd passages to my wife. She would laugh at them as well (even though she was still holding on to her Catholic beliefs at the time). Needless to say, I quickly became an atheist. After hours of discussion on the subject, my wife followed shortly thereafter.

When you start thinking about the whole question in a logical manner, it is very hard to remain faithful. There are simply too many facts against religion.

I can understand where religion came from.. Our ancestors looked around our world in amazement, and could not understand ANYTHING. They had no idea what that huge ball of fire in the sky was, they had no idea what made plants grow, and water falling from the sky was a "miracle". They had to explain it somehow, so our ancestors created gods. Each civilization created their own gods, and thought the other civilizations were crazy heathens. Sound familiar?

Well now that we understand our universe, there is no longer a need for religion. We KNOW what the sun is, we understand the life cycle of plants, we know what causes rain, etc. The things that were previously classified as miracles now have scientific explanations. So why hold on to religion?

If you are a Christian, ask yourself these questions:

- Is the Bible the word of God?
- If it is the word of God, would it not be "perfect"?
- If it is perfect, every part of it should be correct, right?

If you answered yes to all of these questions, read on. If you answered no, then you are already slipping down the slope to atheism, but read on anyways.

So if the bible is infallible, how do you explain the following biblical "mistakes":

- According to the bible, the world was covered by a great flood, which killed all living creatures. Noah took 2 of each animal on to a ship, rode out the storm, and then dropped them of in the middle east.

If this is true, how to you explain life on Australia (since it was never connected to the rest of the land masses)? How did the animals make it from the middle east to Australia? Did they swim across the ocean? How can you explain the unique animals that only exist in Australia (Evolution took different paths on this segregated land mass)? How do you explain the fact that there is not geological proof of such a massive flood (which would be very obvious to archaeologists). And to point out the most ridiculous part of this story - there are millions of species of animals. How did Noah fit all of those on to a single boat, and keep them from killing each other?

- According to the bible, the universe revolves around the earth.

Do you think this is true?

- According to the bible, the earth is only a few thousand years old.

How can you explain the overwhelming evidence of millions of years of existence? How can you explain dinosaurs?

- According to the bible, god created man and woman and all of the animals.

How do you explain finding the bones of our ancestors which show the evolution of humans? If God created man and woman in his image, wouldn't all of our ancestors look exactly like us?? Why are all animals and humans still changing and evolving? How do you explain absolute PROOF of microevolution?

- The bible condones slavery, misogyny, ritualistic sacrifice, and human atrocities.

Was this written by a loving God, or mortal men?

- The bible refers to the earth as flat, and a non-moving entity.

Do YOU think the earth is flat, and that the universe revolves around it?

- The bible describes the hydrologic cycle in terms of magic and fountains from heaven - showing a clear lack of knowledge of where rain, snow and hail originate.

Do you think that rain comes from a fountain from heaven?

- The bible is full of mathematical inaccuracies.

Don't you think God could figure out Pi, handle basic addition, and measure properly?

- The bible makes numerous prophetical statements that never came true.

Again, is this written by an infallible God, or a mortal man?

- EVERY major story in the Christian Bible can be traced back to earlier pagan religions. Stories such as: Born in a manger, virgin birth, born under the north star, visited by kings, brought 3 gifts, water in to wine, fish and bread to feed thousands, crucified on a cross, rose again after 3 days, etc, etc, etc - these can all be linked to religions that existed LONG before Christianity. Just look up Mithras for a quick comparison.


So, if you acknowledge that the above references show biblical inaccuracies, then you are admitting that the bible is not "perfect". Therefore it cannot be the word of God. Since your religion is based SOLELY on the bible, doesn't this make you question your own beliefs?

You have 2 paths that you can take here:

1. Open your mind, and find out for yourself what you REALLY believe (not what you were told to believe).

- OR -

2. Be a good Christian and close your eyes, stick your fingers in your ears, and sing "Jesus loves me" as loud as you can.


If you choose path number 1, congratulations! In your search of truth, please try to disregard magic, faith, mysterious ways, and the like. Use your logical brain! Trust me, it is better on this side. It is like a huge blanket of guilt and dread is lifted off of your shoulders.

If you chose path 2, enjoy your life of ignorant bliss.




Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able?
Then he is not all-powerful.

Is he able to prevent evil, but not willing?
Then he is malicious.

Is he both able and willing?
Then why is there evil?

Is he neither able nor willing?
Then why call him God?

Metalli...WHAT?!?!?!?

Posted by E

Friday, August 22, 2008

Please note that the following story is a tale of fiction, meticulously researched by myself to simulate exactly what would happen in a scenario such as this. I, for one, certainly do not condone the copying of copyrighted material and want no part in any shenanigans that might prevent Lars Ulrich from purchasing a third solid gold rocket car.


Let's be frank here, for a minute. I, like most of those who work with me here at my job, am a child of the 80's. I remember a time when Jams ruled supreme and the bigger the hair, the bigger the man. But for many males who grew up in that particular window, one thing stands above all others: the complete and total metal domination of Metallica.

Granted, Metallica have had their share of tough times over the years. In the space of their 25 year career, they have managed to go from one of the edgiest, most influential hard rock/metal bands to being the laughing stock of the internet, mocked at every conceivable opportunity. (Napster...BAD!!!!)

One can't entirely blame them for their musical output of the last decade. Metallica found the opportunity to swim in pools of cash, having earned that through years of touring and hard work. Good on them, they earned it. The ire they find directed at them of late is due to their actions in the early 2000's with regards to the Napster fiasco. Many longtime fans began to think that Metallica cared more about the money than the music.

They attempted to recapture some of their former glory with 2003's St. Anger, an album that sounded like it was recorded in my mother's basements with a five piece jug band and then mixed on a P-233 laptop with Windows Sound Recorder. Needless to say, they did not manage to convert the fans they had lost, nor did they gather many new ones. To many, the Metallica juggernaut had ground to a halt.

Because of all of this, the fans have had a great deal of trepidation when discussing Metallica's next album, the curiously titled "Death Magnetic", slated for release on September 12, 2008. Expectations are high and anticipation is at a near boiling point to see what Metallica will do next. For many people, it's the final make or break. This is their last chance to win back the fans they have disenfranchised over the years.

And so it was with great excitement that I dove into the mp3's provided to me of Metallica's latest accomplishment. Where they had been downloaded from, I did not know, and at the same time I truly did not care. All that mattered was that new Metallica was sitting there, available for instant listening.

The folder contained a handful of songs and a couple of jpegs. I couldn't help but notice that the jpeg for the cover did not match the cover I had seen so many times online. Whereas the true album has a coffin surrounded by iron filaments arranged as if dispersed by a magnetic field, this cover was a simple black affair with the words "Death Magnetic" surrounded by the all-too familiar Metallica logo of old. Still, I couldn't help but be excited as I played the first song over my computer and heard a true return to form for the band.

Everything felt like old school Metallica. James' voice had re-assumed the higher pitch of the Kill 'Em All and Ride the Lightning eras. The songs had a distinct Master of Puppets flavor, while the time signature changes and progressive beats felt very similar to ...And Justice For All. Robert Trujillo's influence could be strongly felt once the first solo kicked in, sounded very akin to Lights, Camera, Revolution era Suicidal Tendencies.

As you may gather from the previous paragraph, I was impressed and my office mates came by to weigh in with their opinions. We all agreed that Metallica had returned to form. It was evident that Rick Rubin had really helped the band find the right headspace, to center themselves on their youthful energy, bringing forth the raw power of days gone by.

But as good as it was, something still didn't feel quite right. It felt like Metallica, it sounded like Metallica, and it was way better than anything we'd heard from Metallica in years, but there was some unnamable thing that just wasn't settling with me.

The day wore on and before long one people started heading home. As he made his way to the door one of my mates said that he would crank that cd in his car and give it a proper listening. He'd let me know what he thought as it went by. He hadn't been gone 20 minutes before the first message arrived.

"Dude... song six...is that god rock?"

God rock? More like godLY rock, I figured, and continued discussing with great excitement the prospects of my future listening party in the car.

And still, something nagged at the back of my brain, some tiny little voice continually questioning how James could have changed his voice like that or how Trujillo could exert so much influence in such a short amount of time. How could a band so resigned to mediocrity kick this much ass out of the blue?

Shortly thereafter I received an email, asking if I had heard the new Metallica song they were playing on the radio.

"Well, I just happen to have the whole darn thing", I replied smugly. "Which song are they playing?"

And the answer that came back was quizzical.

The Day That Never Comes

Interesting. I'm looking over my songlist and nothing even remotely close to that is listed. How very odd. Maybe these were the original titles, or maybe fake tracks sent to confuse us. And then the second text message arrived.

"Dude...The last song is totally about Jesus. wtf?!?"

Okay, something isn't adding up in a major way now. Terrified that we may gotten our hands on something untoward, I begain scanning the internet, searching for any clue as to the reality of our songs. And the answer was found in a forum.

This was no Metallica album. This was a Christian rock album by a band called Eternal Decision.

I yelled out to everybody, "It's a fake! It's a Christian album!"

Squeals of terror ripped through the office as everybody pushed as far away from their desks as they could. Nobody breathed. Nobody dared touch any of the burned copies. I made off to get some paper towels so that I could pick up any copies that remained and put them in the trash.

Bastards. Complete bastards.

Who would perpetrate such a heinous crime? Who would DARE replace Metallica with a Christian band? I felt dirty inside for even having heard it.

And then I heard Metallica's single on the radio.

It makes me ill to say this, but the Jesus stuff was a little bit better.

They were a little bit more Metallica than Metallica.

Ted, Just Admit It

Posted by E

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

According to popular mythology, the birth of Jeebus brought forth the Magi, the venerable wise men who sought to bring gifts to what they believed would be their new messiah. Gifts intended to help him (gold) or to confuse him (frankincense and myrrh). I'm sure deeper meaning could be found if only I would take the time to research it, but frankly I'm not all that interested.

I would, however, like to mention an interesting parallel in my own life. Please don't take this to mean that I'm claiming to be the next messiah. (Though my father WAS a skilled carpenter.) No, I will make nary a claim to divinity. (Though George Clooney did symbolically eat of my flesh in quiet worship.) No, I am but a man. (Should you wish to donate to your new god, send me a message at fearmaster@omniphobic.com and I'll be happy to provide Paypal instructions.)

Ted Bundy was an American serial killer, rapist, and necrophile active in the 1970's, known for his impressive body count (estimated at around 36) and his ability to blend in with the population. He was noted as attractive but forgettable and was able to exploit this characteristic to full effect.

Intelligent, calculating and deceitful, Bundy managed to single-handedly leave a tumultuous wake of destruction and despair wherever he hunted. And hunt he did for several years across several states, even managing to escape from jail on two separate occasions.

On December 30, 1977, Bundy managed to escape from his cell in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, and board a plane for Chicago, Illinois before authorities even noticed he had gone missing. And it was after this escape that the parallels between Bundy and myself began.

Bundy boarded an Amtrak train in Chicago almost immediately and made his way to Ann Arbor, Michigan. Ann Arbor, a town suspiciously close to a place I've mentioned before. A little town I unaffectionately refer to as Stumblebum.

But Bundy was restless, and within days of arriving in Ann Arbor he stole a car which he drove to Atlanta, Georgia. Atlanta, a town I've mentioned before. It's suspiciously close to the "Sanctuary of Doom" that I call home.

But still, Bundy could not find whatever it was he was seeking, and so almost immediately boarded a bus headed for Tallahassee, Florida. Bundy stayed in Tallahassee just long enough to commit a couple of murders. (Hey, a guy has to engage in his hobbies from time to time, no matter how macabre.) He made his way across the state, stopping in Lake City to abduct and murder a final victim before arriving in Pensacola, Florida.

Pensacola. A town I have not mentioned before, but one of unique importance to me at that time of my life, as it was where baby E laid his sweet, evil head at night, tossing and turning from the endless nightmares and finding himself bereft of sleep. A little infant E whose most malevolent and vile acts to that point had been nothing more than defecating in his diapers and forcing his keepers to clean him.

And so it was in Pensacola, just a mere block or two from the refuge of little old me that Bundy was apprehended for the final time. The last time Bundy breathed free air was within stone's throw of my home. The last time he walked a free man was within walking distance of my front door.

So what does all this mean? Why have I brought up this tale at all?

Isn't it obvious?

Bundy was an ambassador of evil, destined for infamy in the annals of history, but yet he found reason to escape from prison in Colorado and seemed intent on finding something. He traveled to many of the places that E would eventually be, hoping beyond hope to catch sight of me, to see me, perchance to speak to me.

What was his intent? I can come up with two logical answers to that question.

He either:

A) Realized that his time was waning, that his ability to carry on with his heinous acts was drawing to a close and felt a relentless desire to pass along the torch to a new generation. To teach the arts of manipulation and murder to a bright eyed and fresh faced young E, so that he may blaze his own way into history.

B) Came bearing gifts, much like the Magi before him, offering tribute to "E who should not be named", so that he might endear himself to me, finding salvation and eternal life in my "Hingdom of Kevin"®.

Could this really be true? Was Ted Bundy hell bent on meeting yours truly? Was his cross country flight nothing more than a religious pilgrimage to seek out the self proclaimed messiah of darkness?

Let me put it this way: He wasn't the only one to make this pilgrimage. George Clooney himself sought out the unholy one and even partook in a solemn religious ceremony. Don't think for a second that his consumption of my hair was anything less than a "Eat of this hair for it is my flesh" cannibalistic ritual.

And in case you find these religious undertones silly, let me point out that I AM a recognized "man of the fucking cloth". That's right, my official title is Reverend. And I have the paperwork to prove it.

I think what we've all learned here is that if you're the type that likes to hedge your bets (i.e. worship Jesus and Mohammed and Gonesh, etc.), then you'd best start with the worshipping of E, because it's becoming plainly evident that I AM a god.

Or a godless heathen. I forget.