I have a love hate relationship with Halloween. I love costumes, and I love dressing up. My costumes for the most part are usually rather lame, generally involving short shorts and some form of eye makeup. I like short shorts. So what.
I appreciate clever costumes. What I don't appreciate however, is all of the sluttyness that goes on. It isn't even so much the annoying "Mormon girl's excuse to be slutty once a year" that really bothers me. First, it is the utter lack of creativity. I mean, how hard did you have to think to wear your underwear with some blood on your face? And I guess I feel like any girl who needs to have her tits exposed and hanging all over the place, wearing nothing more than a panty bottom is seeking some pretty pitiful validation.
I hate even more the sweet bro's who pretty much just wear their underwear, or who find a really un-clever way to expose their rippling abs. Tonight I went to a "Dead Man's Party," which was pretty much exactly what it sounded like--a party where everyone dresses dead. Doi. Which virtually 98% of the people did. Except of course, for the bro in the underwear with the faux hawk and the chiseled abs. Some how, this moron didn't feel like an idiot wearing virtually the only non-dead costume, if little boy's panties and a pacifier can be referred to as such. Nor did he mind grinding his rather pitiful display of genitalia all over the few rather whorish females in attendance.
Enough of that. Is it weird that I find fake-dead girls generally more attractive than plain live ones? There have been so many instances where I have met a girl who was dressed as some form of a dead human being, and thought she was really super attractive. And upon meeting her in normal life, was sorely disappointed. Just once I'd like to meet an ugly dead girl, and then be pleasantly surprised later on.
I hate Halloween makeup. Oh, how I love using it. But it totally ravages my face. I have come to accept the fact that I shall battle with acne my whole life. I get it. I have long since given up on ever having nice, clear skin. I mean, I thought that when I hit oh, I don't know, mid twenties I'd have long since left behind the teenage bane. Not so. Halloween makeup merely exacerbates the problem. And like...really really badly. As in, I had some cheap Smith's pirate makeup on my face for like 3 hours, and upon washing it off I found all manner of new acne erupting forth upon my face. Ugh. Damn you pore clogging face paint. All progress I have made over the last 3 years shall be ruined in a mere 2 night period.
31.10.08
27.10.08
Attempted murder
I was talking to a friend tonight, and somehow or another she mentioned the fact that when she was 5, some douche toddler stole her big wheel. In retribution, she plucked a board from off of a gate that had a nail in it and whacked the kid on the head, thus sending him to the hospital bleeding, and consequentially incurring the wrath of her mother, who took away her rat for 3 weeks. Despite that, and having been tied to a chair by her oldest brother who was baby sitting her, so that she couldn't go and dig out her other brother who had been buried up to his neck in the sandbox by the aforementioned eldest a-hole until 3 am, she turned out to be a rather sweet girl. Really.
This made me think of the one time in my life that I actually hit somebody in the head with a rock.
I was about 10. Grey and I were looking for some lawns to mow for the summer. Earlier that day, my mother had mentioned to me that my little brother had been attacked on his way home from school by some little no-good neighborhood ruffian. The little rat-bastard had been throwing rocks at my brother.
So as I entered a cul-de-sac on the way to a potential client, I saw the kid. He was about 3 years younger than I was. As I passed him by, I said "Hey. My little brother doesn't like rocks." To which he replied, "Okay." To which I retorted, "Yeah. He really doesn't like rocks." "Okay." I felt as though I had quite sufficiently intimidated him by that little exchange. Really, I think he was probably too stupid to have any clue as to what I was referring.
Upon exiting the house and passing him again, I once more reiterated my brother's disdain for rocks. As I reached the opposite end of the cul-de-sac, I noticed a plethora of small, smooth, decorative stones adorning the corner of a yard. They were about the size of a cue ball. I thought that it would probably be a good idea to lob one of those in his general direction, in order to assure that he really got the message. You know, the one about my brother's hatred of rocks.
So I chose out the smoothest, most roundest stone I could find. I had no fear of actually hitting the poor fool, as I was accounted a rather poor baseball player. I mean, I could scarcely throw a catchable ball to an alert human being with a glove, let alone actually hit someone with a rock from all the way across the cul-de-sac. It would bounce near him, nothing more.
With my considerably pitiful might, I lobbed the stone in a high, arcing toss. As the stone began to descend, I suddenly realized that I had just made a really poor life decision. I watched in horror as the geologic projectile came down directly upon the crown of his head. There was a loud "pop," as sand stone met skull, at which point he immediately crumpled to the ground in a screaming heap.
"Shit," I thought.
I ran over as fast as I could, wondering how soon all of the neighbors would come pouring out of their homes, wondering who had murdered this kid in the head with a rock. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry! Are you okay?" Obviously, he was not okay. He just kept screaming. And every now and then amidst the awful screams he would add a "just leave me alone." I was less concerned with his possibly cracked cranium, than I was with his father finding out. So in a frantic attempt to assuage the situation, I did what any good person would do. I offered him a dollar.
"Hey, I'll give you a dollar if you won't tell your dad." To which he screamed that he didn't want my dollar, and to leave him alone. "Seriously, here, take it, a whole dollar. Just don't tell your dad." To which he yelled that he didn't care, and to leave him alone. At which point I decided it was probably time to run away. I pulled the crumpled dollar out of my neon green shorts, and sort of laid it on his quivering, sobbing carcass.
For whatever reason, the kid never ratted me out. I'd like to think it was because I gave him a dollar. But really, it was probably because he was afraid I would murder him in the head with a rock again. I suppose we both learned a valuable lesson that day. He, not to throw rocks at my brother ever again. And me, hitting a kid in the head with a rock was okay, as long as I had a dollar handy.
This made me think of the one time in my life that I actually hit somebody in the head with a rock.
I was about 10. Grey and I were looking for some lawns to mow for the summer. Earlier that day, my mother had mentioned to me that my little brother had been attacked on his way home from school by some little no-good neighborhood ruffian. The little rat-bastard had been throwing rocks at my brother.
So as I entered a cul-de-sac on the way to a potential client, I saw the kid. He was about 3 years younger than I was. As I passed him by, I said "Hey. My little brother doesn't like rocks." To which he replied, "Okay." To which I retorted, "Yeah. He really doesn't like rocks." "Okay." I felt as though I had quite sufficiently intimidated him by that little exchange. Really, I think he was probably too stupid to have any clue as to what I was referring.
Upon exiting the house and passing him again, I once more reiterated my brother's disdain for rocks. As I reached the opposite end of the cul-de-sac, I noticed a plethora of small, smooth, decorative stones adorning the corner of a yard. They were about the size of a cue ball. I thought that it would probably be a good idea to lob one of those in his general direction, in order to assure that he really got the message. You know, the one about my brother's hatred of rocks.
So I chose out the smoothest, most roundest stone I could find. I had no fear of actually hitting the poor fool, as I was accounted a rather poor baseball player. I mean, I could scarcely throw a catchable ball to an alert human being with a glove, let alone actually hit someone with a rock from all the way across the cul-de-sac. It would bounce near him, nothing more.
With my considerably pitiful might, I lobbed the stone in a high, arcing toss. As the stone began to descend, I suddenly realized that I had just made a really poor life decision. I watched in horror as the geologic projectile came down directly upon the crown of his head. There was a loud "pop," as sand stone met skull, at which point he immediately crumpled to the ground in a screaming heap.
"Shit," I thought.
I ran over as fast as I could, wondering how soon all of the neighbors would come pouring out of their homes, wondering who had murdered this kid in the head with a rock. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry! Are you okay?" Obviously, he was not okay. He just kept screaming. And every now and then amidst the awful screams he would add a "just leave me alone." I was less concerned with his possibly cracked cranium, than I was with his father finding out. So in a frantic attempt to assuage the situation, I did what any good person would do. I offered him a dollar.
"Hey, I'll give you a dollar if you won't tell your dad." To which he screamed that he didn't want my dollar, and to leave him alone. "Seriously, here, take it, a whole dollar. Just don't tell your dad." To which he yelled that he didn't care, and to leave him alone. At which point I decided it was probably time to run away. I pulled the crumpled dollar out of my neon green shorts, and sort of laid it on his quivering, sobbing carcass.
For whatever reason, the kid never ratted me out. I'd like to think it was because I gave him a dollar. But really, it was probably because he was afraid I would murder him in the head with a rock again. I suppose we both learned a valuable lesson that day. He, not to throw rocks at my brother ever again. And me, hitting a kid in the head with a rock was okay, as long as I had a dollar handy.
20.10.08
Heathens be damned, superdell is our man
Good news planet earth. "Super" Dell Schanze is running for governor of Utah! And you know I am legitimately excited about this, because I used an exclamation mark. The first best part, is that when one clicks upon his name on the official Utah Government candidate list, it brings up this. Which, in case you don't click on it, is an adobe copy of the certificate that Mr. Schanze signed, officially declaring his gubernatorial candidacy. And it looks like a 7 year old filled it out.Because he has the heart of a child, pure like the driven snow.
I am so elated about his candidacy. I was really fretting over the choices. I mean, Common. Jon Huntsman Jr. again?? The guy did nothing for 4 years. And Monty "Millionaire" Nafoosi? Wtf? Who ever heard of a millionaire democrat? Democrats are too benevolent to be rich, as they prefer to spread the wealth. Obviously, a shady character. And Charles "Chuck" Smith? First, I believe that most Americans are pretty damn aware that "Chuck" is a derivative of Charles. The quotes probably weren't necessary. And I just don't think I could respect a governor named Chuck. Just can't do it. Common Utah state government. Have a little self respect. Did nick names really need to be included on official candidate descriptions?
So, amongst such a vast sea of obvious fools, praise the heavens that we have one shining beacon of light and truth, a veritable bastion of democracy. I believe that SuperDell is the only truly qualified candidate for the governorship-nay-the presidency. Mr. Schanze is the answer to America's problems, and let me tell you why.
Here is a direct quote from SuperDell's blog, which can be found linked to the page with all the listed candidates. '“As ye keep my commandments ye shall prosper in the land”. God told me personally that if we end abortion we will be able to discover and use the unlimited supply of oil right here in Utah." Let me just say that I want a man in office who is communing directly with God, and finding out where all the secret oil is hidden. So what this is really saying, is that thanks to all of you filthy, vile baby killers out there, we are in financial crisis. All ye lovers and advocates of abortion are the cause of our woes at the pump. Shaaaaame. Boooo. Quit killing babies and we will have enough oil to warm the whole globe.
"Cars will also run on water. This technology has been around but suppressed for over 10 years. Imagine how much gas will cost when cars run on water. First keep the commandments, and then we will indeed prosper in the land. It is both a promise from God and a promise from SUPERDELL. " Now, if you aren't absolutely THRILLED by the water car promise, then you are a crapy American, and I hope that you get smothered under a ton of aborted babies. See how you will like that one, liberal scum! Taste the wrath of God! (Also notice that it is not God, but rather SUPERDELL in all caps there. Don't you forget who the true mediator of that promise shall be.)
So who really is this Superdell? I mean, we all remember him from his zany computer commercials. And who can forget when he pulled a gun on some dude and his kid, after being violently confronted and threatened after blazing through a residential zone, doing 80 in his lambo? That just shows he will really fight for our rights. With a pistol, if necessary. "Who am I? Who exactly is SUPERDELL? I am a child of God and am ordained to be a king and priest unto the most high God dependent on my living worthily in this life and fulfilling the covenants I’ve made with God. I fear only unrighteousness before God as it is the only thing that can harm me. I am filled with energy, love and the spirit of God to such an extent that I would make the very best governor of Utah that any good person could possibly ask for." Doi.
"In order to know me you must first get to know God extremely well. Otherwise I will be very difficult to comprehend." Now, I assume some of you reading this have been thinking, "Golly! This man sounds craaaaazy! I mean caaarrraaaaaazy! Who would vote for such a crrrrrrraaazy person?" Well you, John Q. Filthy Liberal, obviously do not know God. Unfortunately you, Mr. Steven A. Heathen Godless Socialist, cannot comprehend one so obviously filled with the spirit of revelation as one Superdell Schanze. Water cars, remember? Secret oil troves? Helllllo?
"I am so dang Totally Awesome that Satan encourages his angles to fight me every where he can as I am one of his greatest enemies. That is why you see so many horribly false news stories along with negativity, hate and jealousy directed at me. I am the nicest person you could ever meet, super friendly and very open about what I believe." People like you, Ms. Jane Baby Slayer, are the Devil's personal angles, swathed in darkness and trying to tear down SuperDell with your liberal lies and socialist doctrines. You would probably get pist when you aggressively confronted him about his moderate speeding and got the barrel of a gun shoved in your soon-to-be-not-so-pregnant belly. Sorry babe. The Hammer of the Lord (SuperDell,) shant be so easily deflected from the work of righteousness.
"Charity is NOT charity if it is forced. It is called socialism. Charity is of God, socialism is of Huntsman." Obviously, Huntsman is a socialist. Being the only non-socialist on the gubernatorial ticket, Schanze is the only logical choice. Huntsman supports the welfare that promotes promiscuity, and leads to that mother of all abominations--abortion. "Women have the freedom of choice. They can choose NOT to be a slut." Booya.
Still thinking about governor Huntsman? Want to reelect him? " What kind of completely spineless satanist would allow the federal government to tell them child executions are ok and then go along with it??? Jon Huntsman Jr. That’s who." Think again, bitches. "God told me if we end child executions in our state we will get nearly free energy for all. If we don’t we will suffer the wrath of God. Some choice huh!?" Think about it. I mean really, how hard can this choice be? A man so in tune with the spirit that he can provide us with unlimited energy and magic water cars, not to mention the eradication of abortion, homosexuality, God-less schools, and low speed limits?
"If you don’t vote for SUPERDELL you WILL suffer the wrath of GOD and the consequences of your own ignorance and stupidity." Finally, both in caps as equals. In other words, if you don't vote for him, you will probably be casting your next ballot from hell.
The choice is singular people. Think of the future. If we can just get him in the governor's office, the presidency will be a breeze. Because, who in their right mind wouldn't vote for the man who found the infinity oil supply in Utah? You may have the next 4 years liberals, but I'll be damned if SuperDell doesn't surf into office on a landslide in 2012. In fact, We'll all be damned if he doesn't. He said so.
Enjoy his blog here.
List of Utah Candidates here.
Call or text him here 801-631-1731
I am so elated about his candidacy. I was really fretting over the choices. I mean, Common. Jon Huntsman Jr. again?? The guy did nothing for 4 years. And Monty "Millionaire" Nafoosi? Wtf? Who ever heard of a millionaire democrat? Democrats are too benevolent to be rich, as they prefer to spread the wealth. Obviously, a shady character. And Charles "Chuck" Smith? First, I believe that most Americans are pretty damn aware that "Chuck" is a derivative of Charles. The quotes probably weren't necessary. And I just don't think I could respect a governor named Chuck. Just can't do it. Common Utah state government. Have a little self respect. Did nick names really need to be included on official candidate descriptions?
So, amongst such a vast sea of obvious fools, praise the heavens that we have one shining beacon of light and truth, a veritable bastion of democracy. I believe that SuperDell is the only truly qualified candidate for the governorship-nay-the presidency. Mr. Schanze is the answer to America's problems, and let me tell you why.
Here is a direct quote from SuperDell's blog, which can be found linked to the page with all the listed candidates. '“As ye keep my commandments ye shall prosper in the land”. God told me personally that if we end abortion we will be able to discover and use the unlimited supply of oil right here in Utah." Let me just say that I want a man in office who is communing directly with God, and finding out where all the secret oil is hidden. So what this is really saying, is that thanks to all of you filthy, vile baby killers out there, we are in financial crisis. All ye lovers and advocates of abortion are the cause of our woes at the pump. Shaaaaame. Boooo. Quit killing babies and we will have enough oil to warm the whole globe.
"Cars will also run on water. This technology has been around but suppressed for over 10 years. Imagine how much gas will cost when cars run on water. First keep the commandments, and then we will indeed prosper in the land. It is both a promise from God and a promise from SUPERDELL. " Now, if you aren't absolutely THRILLED by the water car promise, then you are a crapy American, and I hope that you get smothered under a ton of aborted babies. See how you will like that one, liberal scum! Taste the wrath of God! (Also notice that it is not God, but rather SUPERDELL in all caps there. Don't you forget who the true mediator of that promise shall be.)
So who really is this Superdell? I mean, we all remember him from his zany computer commercials. And who can forget when he pulled a gun on some dude and his kid, after being violently confronted and threatened after blazing through a residential zone, doing 80 in his lambo? That just shows he will really fight for our rights. With a pistol, if necessary. "Who am I? Who exactly is SUPERDELL? I am a child of God and am ordained to be a king and priest unto the most high God dependent on my living worthily in this life and fulfilling the covenants I’ve made with God. I fear only unrighteousness before God as it is the only thing that can harm me. I am filled with energy, love and the spirit of God to such an extent that I would make the very best governor of Utah that any good person could possibly ask for." Doi.
"In order to know me you must first get to know God extremely well. Otherwise I will be very difficult to comprehend." Now, I assume some of you reading this have been thinking, "Golly! This man sounds craaaaazy! I mean caaarrraaaaaazy! Who would vote for such a crrrrrrraaazy person?" Well you, John Q. Filthy Liberal, obviously do not know God. Unfortunately you, Mr. Steven A. Heathen Godless Socialist, cannot comprehend one so obviously filled with the spirit of revelation as one Superdell Schanze. Water cars, remember? Secret oil troves? Helllllo?
"I am so dang Totally Awesome that Satan encourages his angles to fight me every where he can as I am one of his greatest enemies. That is why you see so many horribly false news stories along with negativity, hate and jealousy directed at me. I am the nicest person you could ever meet, super friendly and very open about what I believe." People like you, Ms. Jane Baby Slayer, are the Devil's personal angles, swathed in darkness and trying to tear down SuperDell with your liberal lies and socialist doctrines. You would probably get pist when you aggressively confronted him about his moderate speeding and got the barrel of a gun shoved in your soon-to-be-not-so-pregnant belly. Sorry babe. The Hammer of the Lord (SuperDell,) shant be so easily deflected from the work of righteousness.
"Charity is NOT charity if it is forced. It is called socialism. Charity is of God, socialism is of Huntsman." Obviously, Huntsman is a socialist. Being the only non-socialist on the gubernatorial ticket, Schanze is the only logical choice. Huntsman supports the welfare that promotes promiscuity, and leads to that mother of all abominations--abortion. "Women have the freedom of choice. They can choose NOT to be a slut." Booya.
Still thinking about governor Huntsman? Want to reelect him? " What kind of completely spineless satanist would allow the federal government to tell them child executions are ok and then go along with it??? Jon Huntsman Jr. That’s who." Think again, bitches. "God told me if we end child executions in our state we will get nearly free energy for all. If we don’t we will suffer the wrath of God. Some choice huh!?" Think about it. I mean really, how hard can this choice be? A man so in tune with the spirit that he can provide us with unlimited energy and magic water cars, not to mention the eradication of abortion, homosexuality, God-less schools, and low speed limits?
"If you don’t vote for SUPERDELL you WILL suffer the wrath of GOD and the consequences of your own ignorance and stupidity." Finally, both in caps as equals. In other words, if you don't vote for him, you will probably be casting your next ballot from hell.
The choice is singular people. Think of the future. If we can just get him in the governor's office, the presidency will be a breeze. Because, who in their right mind wouldn't vote for the man who found the infinity oil supply in Utah? You may have the next 4 years liberals, but I'll be damned if SuperDell doesn't surf into office on a landslide in 2012. In fact, We'll all be damned if he doesn't. He said so.
Enjoy his blog here.List of Utah Candidates here.
Call or text him here 801-631-1731
17.10.08
Well okie dokey then yer darn tootin' ya betcha gosh darnit
I was watching Fargo the other day. That movie made me realize that all people from the Midwest are stupid and ignorant. Something about the accent. And the ignorance.
Okay, not really. I am sure that there are many bright and intelligent people living in the Midwest. Fargo however, portrays them all in a rather moronic light. I found that the film aroused in me conflicting feelings of sympathy and annoyance. On one hand, I couldn't help but feel bad for the obviously uneducated and naive Midwestern folk. And on the other hand, the way their accents made them seem moderately retarded was uber annoying.
So upon watching some clips from the Biden/Palin debate (which I unfortunately missed) I couldn't help but immediately notice that she sort of sounds like a moron. I mean, while watching Fargo I just assumed that the accents were pretty much a joke. I know quite a few people from the Midwest, and none of them talk like that. I figured it was similar to how extremely redneck accents are often joked about. I mean really, there aren't too many people who REALLY talk that way. Granted, I went to school with some who did, but they mostly did it on purpose, because for whatever reason talking like a redneck somehow gained one some form of "tough" status. Or whatever. I hated it then, and I hate it now. My point being, I figured the portrayal in Fargo was simply exaggerated.
Palin sounds just like someone from Fargo. And I found myself getting really annoyed, really quickly. She sounds ignorant. Everyone is sick of listening to Bush, because bless his heart, he does a better job at putting on an extremely ignorant front than probably any political leader in history. I don't know if I can handle her in the spot light for 4 years. And possibly REALLY in the spotlight if McCain keels over. Ohkee dokey then doncha kno.
I suppose the deeply buried, quasi intellectual within me cringes at even the front of feigned hey-I'm-just-a-ignorant-town-folk-just-like-you-ya-betcha. That doesn't win me over. And I think (laying her ultra conservative ideals aside) that sort of thing completely turns off all of the know-it-all I'm-so-much-smarter-than-the-average-earthling liberals out there. And maybe some of us moderate, or conservative, or libertarian, or constitutionalists out there who would like to think we are of at least an average level of intelligence.
It seems like the McCain/Palin ticket is a sinking ship anyway, so she probably won't be in the lime light much longer. I'm just heart broken that there are no good options this election. I'm so incredibly disappointed in the candidates that I could grow a mustache. A mustache of shame.
And I hate watching them debate. I hate the little self assured, "psh, oh geez yeah right, are you hearin' what this guy is sayin'?" looks on their faces as the other is going over policy or voting record, or the other's flaws. Their haughty little smirks. Because every damn thing one of them says, the other refutes it with a completely different story. It's like, they are either both bold faced liars, or insane. Perhaps, God help us, they both just have such a warped sense of reality that they both really think that all of the drivel they are spouting is the absolute truth. Like in this argument. I'm so over it.
I just want to go to sleep, and wake up with the next president so we can just move on.
Not like...literally with the next president. I can't imagine the horror that would clench the chest of one who woke up nestled next to John McCains grizzled old corpse. Or what it would feel like to have my face melted away by Obama's holy messianic elitism upon opening my eyes and finding my head buried protectively in arm pit*.
I leave you with this.
*It's 3 am and I'm a little tired. Thus, a little nuts and possible incoherent.
Okay, not really. I am sure that there are many bright and intelligent people living in the Midwest. Fargo however, portrays them all in a rather moronic light. I found that the film aroused in me conflicting feelings of sympathy and annoyance. On one hand, I couldn't help but feel bad for the obviously uneducated and naive Midwestern folk. And on the other hand, the way their accents made them seem moderately retarded was uber annoying.
So upon watching some clips from the Biden/Palin debate (which I unfortunately missed) I couldn't help but immediately notice that she sort of sounds like a moron. I mean, while watching Fargo I just assumed that the accents were pretty much a joke. I know quite a few people from the Midwest, and none of them talk like that. I figured it was similar to how extremely redneck accents are often joked about. I mean really, there aren't too many people who REALLY talk that way. Granted, I went to school with some who did, but they mostly did it on purpose, because for whatever reason talking like a redneck somehow gained one some form of "tough" status. Or whatever. I hated it then, and I hate it now. My point being, I figured the portrayal in Fargo was simply exaggerated.
Palin sounds just like someone from Fargo. And I found myself getting really annoyed, really quickly. She sounds ignorant. Everyone is sick of listening to Bush, because bless his heart, he does a better job at putting on an extremely ignorant front than probably any political leader in history. I don't know if I can handle her in the spot light for 4 years. And possibly REALLY in the spotlight if McCain keels over. Ohkee dokey then doncha kno.
I suppose the deeply buried, quasi intellectual within me cringes at even the front of feigned hey-I'm-just-a-ignorant-town-folk-just-like-you-ya-betcha. That doesn't win me over. And I think (laying her ultra conservative ideals aside) that sort of thing completely turns off all of the know-it-all I'm-so-much-smarter-than-the-average-earthling liberals out there. And maybe some of us moderate, or conservative, or libertarian, or constitutionalists out there who would like to think we are of at least an average level of intelligence.
It seems like the McCain/Palin ticket is a sinking ship anyway, so she probably won't be in the lime light much longer. I'm just heart broken that there are no good options this election. I'm so incredibly disappointed in the candidates that I could grow a mustache. A mustache of shame.
And I hate watching them debate. I hate the little self assured, "psh, oh geez yeah right, are you hearin' what this guy is sayin'?" looks on their faces as the other is going over policy or voting record, or the other's flaws. Their haughty little smirks. Because every damn thing one of them says, the other refutes it with a completely different story. It's like, they are either both bold faced liars, or insane. Perhaps, God help us, they both just have such a warped sense of reality that they both really think that all of the drivel they are spouting is the absolute truth. Like in this argument. I'm so over it.
I just want to go to sleep, and wake up with the next president so we can just move on.
Not like...literally with the next president. I can't imagine the horror that would clench the chest of one who woke up nestled next to John McCains grizzled old corpse. Or what it would feel like to have my face melted away by Obama's holy messianic elitism upon opening my eyes and finding my head buried protectively in arm pit*.
I leave you with this.
*It's 3 am and I'm a little tired. Thus, a little nuts and possible incoherent.
13.10.08
Please pass the organic pain killers
Moab is great. It really is. Where else can one be surrounded by an entire town full of people absolutely content to live in mobile homes, work at local pubs and bike shops, pay double what the average American pays for bread and milk, and wear nothing but Chacos and cycling jerseys? Not to mention all the dreadlocks sporting, bra-less granola women infesting every corner of that blessed town.
Okay, so maybe there are other towns just like that. However, Moab is absolutely one of the most unique places on earth, as far as scenery goes. Whenever I go, despite the bruises, scrapes, and goose eggs I inherently acquire through mountain biking, I can't help but be tempted to completely abandon my life and take up the hummus munching, trash recycling, work-simply-to-fund-my-adventures, sword. Something about all the sandstone contrasted with the green of the trees that just sucks me in. The red cliffs. The muddled, churning river. The lack of a single house larger than 3,000 square feet. I wonder if Moab would loose its magic if I resided there?
On Thursday, I found myself sitting at a coffee shop, staring at the wind blowing through the trees. I was there due to having been abandoned in my hour of need by a friend. Remember this, and remember this well; Friends don't make friends ride 30 mile loops. Meaning, when your friends ride a rather jarring 15 mile ride, and you previously stated that you would pick them up...well dammit, pick them up. I, being rather fat and out of shape, was absolutely done by the end of the Porcupine rim trail. I mean, this old body can only take so many bone jarring flights over uneven, rocky ground, mixed with ledge dropping, and butterfly inducing obstacles. Having ridden nothing over 6 miles during pretty much the last YEAR, it was a cleansing ride to say the least. By the bottom, my wrists felt like I had slammed them in a door repeatedly, my knees had been reduced to throbbing jelly, and my thighs were burning. Not burning in a, "Oh, this feels like a nice work out" sort of way. More like a "Dear Fish. You are fat and worthless and should never have pushed us so far. We're going to go ahead and shut down now. Enjoy the uncomfortable fire of our indignation. Love, your thighs."
So I'm a little pathetic and out of shape. So what.
Anyway, this particular trail emerges at the bottom of Negro Bill canyon. So PC, I know (one more reason why I love Moab.) One must then ride through the canyon on the road, back through Moab, and then back up to the trail head 15 miles, unless one has found a reliable friend for shuttling. Which we had. Which turned out to be not so reliable.
Luckily, Adam was used to riding 40-50 miles at a time on his road bike, so he volunteered to make the trek. And thus I found myself sitting outside a coffee shop for 2 hours. I had this thought while I was sitting there staring at the trees for like...ever. Have you ever thought about the fact that every time you watch the wind blow through a tree, you are observing an absolutely unique occurrence? The wind will never make those leaves dance in precisely that manner ever again. Similar, yes. But exactly the same? Impossible.
Freaking Moab makes me think like a granola.
Okay, so maybe there are other towns just like that. However, Moab is absolutely one of the most unique places on earth, as far as scenery goes. Whenever I go, despite the bruises, scrapes, and goose eggs I inherently acquire through mountain biking, I can't help but be tempted to completely abandon my life and take up the hummus munching, trash recycling, work-simply-to-fund-my-adventures, sword. Something about all the sandstone contrasted with the green of the trees that just sucks me in. The red cliffs. The muddled, churning river. The lack of a single house larger than 3,000 square feet. I wonder if Moab would loose its magic if I resided there?
On Thursday, I found myself sitting at a coffee shop, staring at the wind blowing through the trees. I was there due to having been abandoned in my hour of need by a friend. Remember this, and remember this well; Friends don't make friends ride 30 mile loops. Meaning, when your friends ride a rather jarring 15 mile ride, and you previously stated that you would pick them up...well dammit, pick them up. I, being rather fat and out of shape, was absolutely done by the end of the Porcupine rim trail. I mean, this old body can only take so many bone jarring flights over uneven, rocky ground, mixed with ledge dropping, and butterfly inducing obstacles. Having ridden nothing over 6 miles during pretty much the last YEAR, it was a cleansing ride to say the least. By the bottom, my wrists felt like I had slammed them in a door repeatedly, my knees had been reduced to throbbing jelly, and my thighs were burning. Not burning in a, "Oh, this feels like a nice work out" sort of way. More like a "Dear Fish. You are fat and worthless and should never have pushed us so far. We're going to go ahead and shut down now. Enjoy the uncomfortable fire of our indignation. Love, your thighs."
So I'm a little pathetic and out of shape. So what.
Anyway, this particular trail emerges at the bottom of Negro Bill canyon. So PC, I know (one more reason why I love Moab.) One must then ride through the canyon on the road, back through Moab, and then back up to the trail head 15 miles, unless one has found a reliable friend for shuttling. Which we had. Which turned out to be not so reliable.
Luckily, Adam was used to riding 40-50 miles at a time on his road bike, so he volunteered to make the trek. And thus I found myself sitting outside a coffee shop for 2 hours. I had this thought while I was sitting there staring at the trees for like...ever. Have you ever thought about the fact that every time you watch the wind blow through a tree, you are observing an absolutely unique occurrence? The wind will never make those leaves dance in precisely that manner ever again. Similar, yes. But exactly the same? Impossible.
Freaking Moab makes me think like a granola.
9.10.08
8.10.08
Ps
In 20 minutes, I shall journey to Moab. If I survive, and suffer not a massive brain contusion, there shall be many such writings Sunday. Please pray for my safety, as I am currently uninsured.
Seriously.
Seriously.
A great way to kill someone(s)
While recently watching Troy on the television, and thoroughly enjoying staring at Brad Pitts beautiful, chiseled features (gentlemen, I don't care how gay you are or aren't, you can't tell me that you don't at least secretly enjoy looking at Brad Pitt) I was also inherently subjected to all manner of obnoxious commercials. Occasionally I love commercials. Such as the Jack Links Sasquatch Mt. Biker add. Totally worth it. Others just piss me off. Such as anything with a jingle parody derived from a horrible song. "Don't drive that car, that achy breaky car..." Blow my brains out please. Others leave me absolutely indifferent.
Some commercials just thoroughly convince me to never ever purchase a product, or to cancel any affiliation with a company. In between Brad Pitt's nephew's throat being hacked open, and the former subsequently burying his sword in Hector's chest, I was subjected to just such a commercial. It was from Geico. Generally, Geico leaves me with a feeling of indifference. I'm not annoyed, yet I don't love the gecko, nor find their adds particularly clever or witty. This particular commercial showed a bunch of elderly women talking to the gecko. The Gecko was trying to convince them to go with Geico insurance, offering them a discount for the elderly.
Immediately I was pist. Why is Geico doing anything to convince elderly people to continue driving? I think that the elderly of our nation (and I'm generally speaking of people in their 80's and 90's) have way too much freedom behind the wheel. Which is essentially robbing the rest of us of our freedom to be safe on the road. Everyone has seen the shriveled old crone creeping down the street, barely able to see over the steering wheel of her Cadillac Deville, Coke bottle glasses burning a hole through the dash with the reflected sun, not to mention scorching out the retinas of any person unfortunate enough to meet that peeping gaze. A freaking fire laser.
How could this person be deemed a safe driver? Think of all the close calls and evasive maneuvers that you have had to make throughout your driving career. Do you really think that this poor old woman, who happens to be knocking on death's door, is really able to mentally and physically make those split second decisions that are so often the difference between a heap of twisted metal and gore, and driving away with your stomach in your throat, shaking your fist at some moron? Absolutely not.
Now, I think that there certainly exist people in their 80's and 90's who still have the reflexes of a liger, and the mind of a puma. But there needs to be some sort of filtering process. I think that once a person hits their 70's, they should have to go through some sort of rigorous driving test each year, to make absolutely sure that they are fit for the road, and not needlessly endangering innocent people, not to mention themselves. I sympathize with them, I really do. It would obviously suck to loose the freedom of driving. But when you get old, that's exactly what happens. You can't always do everything that you once could. It's part of life. And death. We (and by we I mean the government, and the people of planet earth) are foolish to simply assume that because a person has a laminated slip of paper containing their photo, weight, and fake hair color, said person is fit to operate 2000 lbs of careening metal.
Anyway, I decided that my affair with Geico auto insurance was quickly approaching its end, as are a great many of Geico's target clientele.
Some commercials just thoroughly convince me to never ever purchase a product, or to cancel any affiliation with a company. In between Brad Pitt's nephew's throat being hacked open, and the former subsequently burying his sword in Hector's chest, I was subjected to just such a commercial. It was from Geico. Generally, Geico leaves me with a feeling of indifference. I'm not annoyed, yet I don't love the gecko, nor find their adds particularly clever or witty. This particular commercial showed a bunch of elderly women talking to the gecko. The Gecko was trying to convince them to go with Geico insurance, offering them a discount for the elderly.
Immediately I was pist. Why is Geico doing anything to convince elderly people to continue driving? I think that the elderly of our nation (and I'm generally speaking of people in their 80's and 90's) have way too much freedom behind the wheel. Which is essentially robbing the rest of us of our freedom to be safe on the road. Everyone has seen the shriveled old crone creeping down the street, barely able to see over the steering wheel of her Cadillac Deville, Coke bottle glasses burning a hole through the dash with the reflected sun, not to mention scorching out the retinas of any person unfortunate enough to meet that peeping gaze. A freaking fire laser.
How could this person be deemed a safe driver? Think of all the close calls and evasive maneuvers that you have had to make throughout your driving career. Do you really think that this poor old woman, who happens to be knocking on death's door, is really able to mentally and physically make those split second decisions that are so often the difference between a heap of twisted metal and gore, and driving away with your stomach in your throat, shaking your fist at some moron? Absolutely not.
Now, I think that there certainly exist people in their 80's and 90's who still have the reflexes of a liger, and the mind of a puma. But there needs to be some sort of filtering process. I think that once a person hits their 70's, they should have to go through some sort of rigorous driving test each year, to make absolutely sure that they are fit for the road, and not needlessly endangering innocent people, not to mention themselves. I sympathize with them, I really do. It would obviously suck to loose the freedom of driving. But when you get old, that's exactly what happens. You can't always do everything that you once could. It's part of life. And death. We (and by we I mean the government, and the people of planet earth) are foolish to simply assume that because a person has a laminated slip of paper containing their photo, weight, and fake hair color, said person is fit to operate 2000 lbs of careening metal.
Anyway, I decided that my affair with Geico auto insurance was quickly approaching its end, as are a great many of Geico's target clientele.
6.10.08
4.10.08
Through the belly of the beast
I decided that since global warming could only bless us with this wonderful October weather for so long before mother winter drop kicks us in the chest with bitter, freezing weather, I needed to go for one last motorcycle ride. So I went down to Nephi with a friend, and up the canyon we drove.
I decided upon the Nebo loop. About 1/4 of the way up, we passed some cowboys herding cows along the road. Which meant there was all manner of cow feces splattered upon said road. Which meant all manner of evasive maneuvering ensued, as I had a constant mental image of my tires spinning out over a pile of excrement, and consequentially ending up on the ground in a confused, wrecked heap. Possibly at the bottom of a cliff. So I was wary of the poo.
On the return trip back down, as we arrived at the bottom of the canyon where the road is relatively flat and straight, those few cows had multiplied into hundreds. I don't know where they found them all, but pretty much every cow in the county was suddenly congregated in a congested, mooing heap in front of me. Not entirely certain what to do, I slowly approached the mass of trotting hamburger, hoping one of the 4 or 5 cowboys would do something about the situation.
One of them looked at me over his shoulder and waved me to follow him. He then began whipping at the cows, and driving a path through the center of them. I was soon engulfed by a swirling mass of pist off bovine. Sometimes you forget just how huge cows are, until you are surrounded by them on a motorcycle. Which probably isn't a terribly common occurrence. They were all milling about in frantic confusion, with many angry moos and lots of rolling eyes. Not to mention fecal drizzlings. I kept waiting for a addled cow to confusedly lumber into the motorcycle, and thus send us spilling to the earth, wallowing in fear and excrement, awaiting the humiliating death by cow trampling. "So...how did Fish die?" "He got trampled to death...by cows. Seriously. By cows. They just walked on him till he died." Mortifying.
So finally, after several nerve racking moments, we burst forth from the bovine womb, miraculously unscathed. Seriously, it was like 100 yards worth of cow. A great wall of cow. A hamburger fortress. A steak border fence. A barrier of flesh and hooves.
I'll stop now.
I decided upon the Nebo loop. About 1/4 of the way up, we passed some cowboys herding cows along the road. Which meant there was all manner of cow feces splattered upon said road. Which meant all manner of evasive maneuvering ensued, as I had a constant mental image of my tires spinning out over a pile of excrement, and consequentially ending up on the ground in a confused, wrecked heap. Possibly at the bottom of a cliff. So I was wary of the poo.
On the return trip back down, as we arrived at the bottom of the canyon where the road is relatively flat and straight, those few cows had multiplied into hundreds. I don't know where they found them all, but pretty much every cow in the county was suddenly congregated in a congested, mooing heap in front of me. Not entirely certain what to do, I slowly approached the mass of trotting hamburger, hoping one of the 4 or 5 cowboys would do something about the situation.
One of them looked at me over his shoulder and waved me to follow him. He then began whipping at the cows, and driving a path through the center of them. I was soon engulfed by a swirling mass of pist off bovine. Sometimes you forget just how huge cows are, until you are surrounded by them on a motorcycle. Which probably isn't a terribly common occurrence. They were all milling about in frantic confusion, with many angry moos and lots of rolling eyes. Not to mention fecal drizzlings. I kept waiting for a addled cow to confusedly lumber into the motorcycle, and thus send us spilling to the earth, wallowing in fear and excrement, awaiting the humiliating death by cow trampling. "So...how did Fish die?" "He got trampled to death...by cows. Seriously. By cows. They just walked on him till he died." Mortifying.
So finally, after several nerve racking moments, we burst forth from the bovine womb, miraculously unscathed. Seriously, it was like 100 yards worth of cow. A great wall of cow. A hamburger fortress. A steak border fence. A barrier of flesh and hooves.
I'll stop now.
1.10.08
Damn you government and your vile conspiracies
I can't fathom why our government makes it so bloody difficult to vote. First of all, registration is a total pain in the arse. How, when living in the day and age in which we do, is it not possible to register to vote online? Having to print off that thing and actually mail it in is the most asinine thing amongst a governmental avalanche of asininity.
Don't get me wrong; I am very grateful to be living in a country that actually proffers me the opportunity to have some sort of say about whom shall be governing me. However, I feel that in this day and age, with the technology available, there is no reason why one should not be able to register online. Lasers exist people. I mean for goodness sakes, every other thing known to man can be accomplished online, even purchasing groceries. I can understand not being able to vote online; that one is obvious. Fraudulent voting would abound. However, merely registering should be made easier than having to actually print and physically mail something.
I can scarcely recall the last time I actually used the US Postal Service to send anything. I believe it was when I incorrectly mailed T-Mobile my mail in rebate, and failed to send in one of the 36 required bar codes. And previous to that, when I was in love with some dumb girl in Hawaii to whom I mailed all manner of sappy letters. All bills I pay online. I'll tell you what it is; it's a damn conspiracy to give the postal service business. Every 4 years they get a quick boost in revenue that carries them over until the next election.
I think a lot more people would be inclined to vote if the registration process was but a bit easier and more convenient. Any person with a slightly indolent nature will probably find themselves procrastinating their voter registration until it is too late. Then, they shant be privileged to cast their ballot for the man least sucky.
Obama or McCain. What a freakin choice.
Don't get me wrong; I am very grateful to be living in a country that actually proffers me the opportunity to have some sort of say about whom shall be governing me. However, I feel that in this day and age, with the technology available, there is no reason why one should not be able to register online. Lasers exist people. I mean for goodness sakes, every other thing known to man can be accomplished online, even purchasing groceries. I can understand not being able to vote online; that one is obvious. Fraudulent voting would abound. However, merely registering should be made easier than having to actually print and physically mail something.
I can scarcely recall the last time I actually used the US Postal Service to send anything. I believe it was when I incorrectly mailed T-Mobile my mail in rebate, and failed to send in one of the 36 required bar codes. And previous to that, when I was in love with some dumb girl in Hawaii to whom I mailed all manner of sappy letters. All bills I pay online. I'll tell you what it is; it's a damn conspiracy to give the postal service business. Every 4 years they get a quick boost in revenue that carries them over until the next election.
I think a lot more people would be inclined to vote if the registration process was but a bit easier and more convenient. Any person with a slightly indolent nature will probably find themselves procrastinating their voter registration until it is too late. Then, they shant be privileged to cast their ballot for the man least sucky.
Obama or McCain. What a freakin choice.
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