Saturday, June 07, 2008

I beg your pardon; is this your vermin?

A couple of days ago The Yummy Biker called me out on to the front porch. He was pointing at the weeping alder. "I swear, I just saw something weird hop on its hind legs underneath that tree! Like a kangaroo! It was black and white and it had a long tail. You stay here and watch the tree and I'll go try and see if I can flush it out." He crept out into the driveway and made a few fooing gestures at the alder. Tiptoed around to another spot and tried again.

Nothing ran out. We looked at each other.

The two old ladies walking past with their tiny dog in a coat looked at us too.
"Hi!" I waved.

We looked for tracks and trails in the wet grass and rustled around in the plantings nearby.
Meanwhile, I was pleased that for once I was not the one who'd seen Bigfoot flying the UFO.

Sometime later the Yummy Biker called me into the back yard. "It's a rat," he announced. "It's a black and white rat. It just ran under the deck."
"Oh my God you have to be kidding," I said.

Nope. Hearing our voices, the worlds cleanest, fattest rat waddled out from under the deck and sat in the grass, calmly washing its little ratty face with its little ratty paws, looking from the Biker to me. Meanwhile our Girldog ambled around the yard sniffing bumblebees.

"There it is," I said. The Biker looked. The girldog tried to eat a bee.

We watched it for awhile. It waddled around, sat in the sun, kicked its head like a dog.
Our dog squatted and took a whiz three feet away from the thing.
So much for those terrier instincts.

The biker raised the lid of the barbecue and turned the steaks.

The rat waddled up onto the deck and stood next to the barbecue.
Then it sat up on its hind legs.
And begged.

"That's it", I said.

I walked next door to the freaky people's house and knocked on their door.

No answer. Cars in the driveway, television on.

Knocked again.

No answer.

Probably huddled in a corner saying their rosary until the Evil One passed them by.

So I did.

I went to the next door down, the apartments.

A woman was standing out on her porch having a cigarette.
"Hi, did you happen to lose a pet rat?" I asked. "I live the next house over here, and we have someones pet rat over in our yard. Really tame."

"A rat?" she said.

"Yeah, a rat. A black and white rat. Comes right up to you, not afraid a bit."

"A rat?" she said.

I heard a mans voice come from inside the house. "A rat?"
He came out onto the porch. "Hey, you're that lady that mows the lawn," he said.


"Yeah. Did you lose a pet rat? I guess no, huh?"

He looked down at me. "A rat?"'

Another person, a slab faced woman smoking a Lucky, squeezed out onto the porch and looked down at me. "Hi," I said.

"Djoo lose a rat?" she said.

" No, I found a rat, I explained.

"A rat?" she said.

Engaging as this was, I sensed I had hit a dead end in my ratquest. Suddenly smoker #1 bellowed across the parking lot to a large man out on his balcony putting a diaper into a garbage can. "Hey, 'Tonio! You lose a pet rat?"

Tonio looked over and squinted. "A rat?"

"Well, thanks, " I said. I walked away. Behind me the conversation continued.

"Someone lost a rat?"

" She lost a rat."

"No, she found a rat."

"A rat?"

Have some more meth, folks. Seriously.


I came back in and shut the door. "Please tell me you didn't feed it," I said to the Yummy Biker. He snorted. "Jett's trying to eat it right now," he replied.

I looked out the kitchen window.

Sure enough, our girldog was out in the back yard, sloooooooowly lifting one paw and setting it down, then the other, advancing with her head down and her gaze fixed, jungle senses focused on the obese, hygiene obsessed rat busy washing it's butt in my yard.

It looked up, noticed her and waddled back underneath my deck.

Jett came prancing in through the dog door smiling a big doggy smile, wagging her tail. 'You can calm down now, guys! I took care of it!"

I would like to move now.

Friday, June 06, 2008

Green: You get what you pay for....

...when you pay other people to be responsible for your choices.

Remember back when it was so easy to be green? Fill your own containers at the Co-Op, compost the yard waste, separate the beer bottles by color...yeah.

You know why that was? Because back then we all lived a little closer, metaphorically speaking, to the point of origin, and everyday life was not as technologically supersaturated as it is now.

This isn't the 60's anymore. Not even the 70's. The ramifications of those early green choices are completely different now, in many cases. 'Green' means 'dollars' now, not just 'save the earth'.

Here's an example of what I mean:

I used to work in the cleanup and removal business. I've seen the end result of a lot of recycling operations. Once the valuable constituent- the chip or rare metal scrap or compressor tank or what have you has been harvested, the hulk-usually 80% of the mass- goes straight to the dump. Steel, aluminum and all. Plastics too. I was the one who took it there.

Yes, this is perfectly legal.

Ok, now let's say you decide to bust that appliance down yourself. A newer washing machine, say. With a chip. First of all, read up on those EPA regulations. And your covenant. And your zoning regulations. Now, separate and store:

  • Scrap steel, stripped of coatings and fasteners, if those differ in makeup
  • plastic, sorted by type (can you tell the difference?)
  • cadmium coated parts removed and stored for later pickup +transport cost
  • hazardous wastes removed and stored for later pickup+transport cost
  • rare metals set aside by type (less than 1% of the total mass)
  • glass, if any, sorted by type and color (pyrex and other safety glasses are not recyclable)
  • unrecyclable synthetics set aside for later safe disposal (more of these than you'd think)
  • copper, stripped of coating and fasteners etc.
  • aluminum, stripped of coatings and fasteners etc.
and so on, and so on....

Assuming you don't live in an industrial district, your local rare and non-ferrous metals reclamation point will be some miles away. With the cost of gas at 4.00 per gallon, is it worth your while to bring in .0o8 grams of platinum (or gold, or silver, or irridium or...)? Probably not. Store it up until you get enough to make it worth your while?
Over the course of your lifetime you will NOT consume enough to make it worth even a tank of gas.

There's a lot of steel (see fig. A) in a major appliance. The price of scrap steel is a variable...generally fairly low. Where do you store all that metal until you have enough to make a trip pay for itself? And by 'pay for itself', I mean, break even on the expense of operating the transport vehicle. You don't get paid for your time.

Do you have a truck? Because you'll need one. (Unless you hired me.) And a materials storage permit (and all the buildings and other infrastructure in place to comply with that permit) and a hazardous materials handling and storage permit, and a non-restrictive covenant, and a largish piece of property...

You live in an apartment?
Ooooooh, bummer.

Until I worked in the business, I had no clue either. I thought someone took that stuff and it ALL got broken down and went back into the raw materials stream.


This is they way you have to think now, from the smallest nicad battery to your family automobile. Simply choosing to recycle has a whole new host of attendant considerations than when it just meant 'separate your paper'. And recycling is only one small part of the 'green' equation!

The biggest mistake I see people making is assuming that anything described as 'Green' is automatically the sounder ecological choice. It simply isn't. These days, 'Green', as used by corporate America, has as much legal and semantic meaning as the term 'Guaranteed' does.

America and the market are very different places now. Minimizing your impact on the environment is no longer simply a matter of riding public transit or composting your yard waste. There are a million more technological layers between the market and raw materials now.

The very first thing you should do is go out there and learn what 'green' really means these days.
What the consequences of your choices will be.
Prepare to be appalled.

This post by Inner Voices would be an excellent place to start.


Well fucking done, Voices!!

Folks, THIS is why we blog.


Thursday, June 05, 2008

nsfw: Bad Fiction Alert

...and SSA? You'd be better off not reading this. 'K?

Yes, in the finest tradition of bad biker magazine fiction, I bring you this modest offering...a tale of motorcycles and revenge, of leather and the men who wear it, of drugs, produce, and albacore tuna.

These characters are from an ongoing series I've been doing over at UJ. For those of you who've been reticent about taking a squint, take this as a reassurance of sorts. This is every bit as bad as what's over there, minus the sex.

Not the swearing, though.

Because, come on. This is 'Paul'.


I was going to make someone a great little wife someday.
This was the thought that occurred to me when I pulled my cash out of my front pocket. It was rubber banded to my grocery list, and there were coupons paper clipped to that.

Meanwhile Susan chose me a nice fat baggie from the pile atop the suitcase she was using as a worktable. I pinched out a nice bud and loaded up her bong.

The flame illuminated her face as she fired up. She looked like a friendly witch for a second, uplit features surrounded by rag curls and smoke. Of course this friendly witch had a Colt Navy issue hidden someplace under all those yards of batik, and all her Munchkins rode Harley Davidsons.

At the moment we were largely Munchkin-free. One lay snoring on his side atop the pool table with his ankle chained to a cinderblock. Otherwise, Susan and I were alone in the house as far as I knew.

"Roth ain't here," she said out of the blue.

"Fuck you." I grinned.

"Ranger Rod is," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Anywhere two or more pussy are gathered, he is with you."

"Huh. Fucker still owes me a lump of hash," I replied. "I might go looking for him."

She rolled her eyes again. "Don't expect to collect on that shit and get away. He's a cunthound, that boy. All them mountain lions and wolves and shit up in the woods, man they avoid his horny ass. You lucky motherfuckin' Roth come up when he did. That's worth it. Ranger Rod justa throwed you over the top rail and hogfucked you."

She pushed her hair back over one ear and set the bong aside, drug the triple beam out into its place and reached into a grocery bag at her side. "So what that Roth about?"

I loaded another hit. "Fineass. Put together like a goddamn building."

She put a handful of dope up on the platen and nudged one of the weights with her finger. "Yeah, I heard about you and buildings, man, like that garage building. Couple of animals."

We reached across the suitcase - slap and snap! - and then cracked up at our dorkiness.

"Business doing pleasure with you" she said. I got up, picked up my Slurpee cup and took a drink. "Mind telling me something?" I looked down at her and shook my head. "Why you got all blue teeth?"

I took the lid off my Slurpee and showed her the contents. "Fuck that nasty," she said. "You some kind of circus freak? Carnies drink that shit. Raspberry and schoolboy? You sick."

Well, I couldn't exactly disagree with that, so I just shrugged.


Generally I wouldn't have walked to the store, but I found myself dawdling along down the block, looking at the neighbors houses, looking at the cars going by, humming a little tune.

Yeah, shit, hoping that Roth would ride past.

I got to the grocery store finally and pulled out the list. I hit the aisles systematically, put all the coupons atop each item they discounted, arranged all that in one neat corner of the basket, and marvelled at my own dorkiness once again. I was good at this shit. Of course, I had to be... I had an allowance to work with, and once the check was cut nothing else was disbursed until the next month. The 'sink or swim' school of household budgeting.

I probably enjoyed it more than I should have, though. I probably took my produce a little too seriously too. I went back to the swinging doors at the rear of the store to see if maybe they had some fresh basil they hadn't put out yet. My inner dork was exulting by this point. Probably hoping I'd pick up a copy of PC World on the way out.

I followed the sound of running water to where a man in a green apron was uncrating lettuce over a set of steel sinks. As I got closer I began to reconsider the benefits of a vegetarian diet; the guy in front of me was enormous. Then I saw the ponytail curled up beneath the hairnet.
'Fuckin' Roth, man!" I said.

Apparently my inner dork was from Oregon.

He turned around with a lettuce in one hand and a Dexter knife in the other. "Well hey. What are you doing here?"

Just...'Oh hey, it's that chick I f(edited for the sake of my children) pile of shop rags like a rabid (here too) ravening and slavering, possessed by a thousand priapic (see, you're sorry you didn't listen to me now aren't you). Huh. Yawn. Whatever.'

Simply awesome.

"I'm, um, looking for basil", I said, sounding both sad and lame. "Do you have any in?"

He wiped his hands on his apron and looked off in the distance. "We don't get it in for another three days."

I shuffled. "Oh. I thought maybe you had some back here stashed waiting to go out, maybe, or something. I thought that."
The inner dork was now squeezing out of my pores and engulfing my head.

Lord Jesus. I thought that, did I? Wow. Leave. Leave while you still can. The darkness is descending. Run.

He looked at me for a second. "We don't stash basil," he said finally. "That's...not something we do." He stood looking down at me, one eyebrow raised slightly.

"...OK then," I said. "I'll go hit the rest of the store. So. See ya."

I was completely engulfed in dork. It was controlling my movements like a horrible brain sucking alien. I strolled on out casually, so very obvious; obvious as hell, obvious with the intensity of a raging Norse war-god, while dork-nano generated black, horn-rimmed glasses that sent biomechanical tentacles burrowing into into my face.

Mustering my last shreds of self respect, I resolutely bypassed the magazine rack and rented a copy of Videodrome on the way out.


I heard a motorcycle come up behind me while I was waiting for the bus at the corner, and I grinned like a pirate. "You son of a bitch", I thought. ' You totally messed with my head.' I shifted the bags. "Yeah, you'll be stashing some basil when I get done with your ass."

Of course I didn't turn around when I heard the engine switch off.

"Hey," said a voice.

There sat Ranger Rod.

I looked at him over the top of my sunglasses. He looked at me over the top of his and smiled.

"You got my hash?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Not on me."

"Then fuck off," I said, and turned away.

I heard the engine start, and the gravel crunching beneath his tires as he started down the street.

I should not have thrown a can of tomato paste at him.

Luckily the bus arrived right then. He followed it for quite awhile before he finally turned off.


So I was a can of tomato paste down, but I'd made a new friend. I reflected on my good fortune as I made my dinner. I was so rat fucked I couldn't believe it. I always did this. I always did this. Why did I always did this? Why?
Think. Then act. Think FIRST.
I always messed that part up.

I picked up the skillet and grabbed a fork, then I went outside and sat down by the creek to eat. Leaves fell into my food and I picked them out. I threw an occasional noodle into the shallow water by my feet and watched the minnows school around it, picking and darting.

I heard something come through the brush at a run.

I stood up swinging the skillet and nailed Ranger Rod right in the side of the head. Noodles flew everywhere. The pan landed a county away.

I backed up fast, my hand over my mouth, tripping and panicking and losing my shit, Oh Jesus Christ Oh God Oh shit, and turned and ran.

OK now, I thought, sitting on the curb. OK. Now I know what the smart thing to do here is. The smart thing to do would be to call the police. Be totally up front. This was clear trespass. I was...

No wait. My dad would come home, there'd be a record, all kinds of shit would come down,

No wait. I knew what the right thing was to do. I knew it. Maybe it would be OK. Maybe it would.

Or maybe it wouldn't either. I nailed the guy with a cast iron skillet for the love of shit; his ass was deceased.

I should go check.

-Like fuck I was going to go check. That would look great forensically, wouldn't it? Like I went back and gloated.

A beat to shit Toyota came to an idle in front of me. Roth rolled down the window and looked down at me for a moment. " I just got off work and I thought I'd stop by and say hi."

"Hi," I replied. "I just killed Ranger Rod. He's back down by the creek."

He rolled his window back up.

A few moments later he pulled into the driveway and parked his car. He got out. Still dressed for work, minus the green apron. "This way?" he gestured toward the line of maple trees in the back yard. I nodded.


"Well, here's what we have to do, " he said quietly. He was standing next to me where I still sat on the curb, a fair sized mountain of cigarette butts on the pavement in front of me. "Once it gets dark I'll come back with a truck and pick up his bike. It's got to be parked someplace close. Then once I get the bike taken care of me and a couple of the guys will come back and take care of the rest. "

I didn't say anything; I just shook. This was so fucked up. This was so wrong. Oh my fucking fuck this was messed up beyond all belief. I couldn't even think about it either; every time my thoughts approached the point of 'skillet' they went veering off wildly like scared animals and I had to light another cigarette while my vision faded to a tiny point of static.

"We need to call the police," I said. mostly to my shoes. "Don't get, I mean, it's not, just, call the...oh shit." I put my shaking hands over my face.

A pair of arms closed around me hard from the rear, pinning my arms to my sides. Before I had a chance to kick or scream another pair clamped around my legs, and I was being carried.

I was shifted, none too gently. My face was pressed hard against someones side. Someone running fast.

I heard breathing and jingling, feet pounding over turf, over pavement, over turf again and then we began going downhill.

I was leaving my body. I was falling upward fast, hands tingling, the cold rising. I could feel dirt falling on my face from someplace high, high above, falling like leaves.

That was when I hit the water.


I stood and dripped on the back patio. I was thinking hard.
I had both pieces of Ranger Rod's helmet sitting on the cement in front of me.

All things considered, Rod and I were even. I still wanted to staple a weasel to his ass, but only for the sake of general principle. Ranger Rod was background noise at this point.

Roth, on the other hand, was going to take some consideration. And I was going to do this by the numbers, dammit. Learn from the lessons of history. Listen to the voice of the past.
These things, as Margaret Hamilton once said, must be done carefully.

My World History teacher had a poster series of famous men and their notable quotes on the wall in the front of his class, and as something to do one day I'd copied some of them down in the back of my folder. Three of them stood out as being immediately relevant to my situation:

1. If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.

2. No enterprise is more likely to succeed than one concealed...until it is ripe for execution.

3. It is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.

Now the question was, 'What Would Machivelli Do?'

Suddenly a solution sprang into my mind.

Machiavelli would stock up on Starkist.

I received an actual standing ovation when I went back a week later to buy some more herb .
Every degenerate in the place took his thumb out of his ass and gave me a warm, warm welcome. Oh, how we laughed. Aw hell yeah, what a fuckin' excellent joke! Oh, I just bet the look on my face was priceless! Wow, ol' Ranger Rod about puked from laughing so hard, huh? You say Roth almost drove off the road he was laughing so hard? Wow! I'm laughing hard too! Yes, I'm just laughing this aaaaaaaaaaall off! Yessiree!

But...could you speak up a little bit, please?

The Ranger himself came over and did the ol' buddy hug around the shoulder routine. Oh heavens no, you skulking degenerate, no hard feelings WHATSOEVER. I'm exactly the kind of person who takes this kind of thing lightheartedly! I bet you were just out in my woods looking for wildflowers to press in your bible, huh! Sure! We're buddies! And you know what, buddy? I'm gonna catch you sleeping someday and superglue your dick to your stomach! Yeah I am!

I had to ask him to speak up a few times. Complete sentences went by without my replying; I just stood there and looked at him expectantly.

Roth came up to speak to me on the front porch as I was leaving.


"....Calm down," he repeated. I was shaking, tears running down my face. He held my arms down at my side and looked down at me. "You have to calm down and speak because I can't understand a word you're saying. Now just tell me. Come on."

I took a ragged breath. "Whu whut?"

"Calm down," he repeated.

I took a ragged breath. "I've been l looking for it all wuh week...My dad is going to ki hi hill me. He's going to fucking kill me. He'll ha have to come home and and he's right in the middle of shit because thuh thuh thuh they can't cut ano nuh nother check out of the account without a thumbprint signa na na ture fuh from him....." I lost it some more. " I loo luh luh looked everywhere! It's not there! I looked! Buh by the d driveway and all in the guh grass..."

"Now what do you mean? What got lost here?" He asked.

I looked up at him with pure hate, tears streaming down my face. "My CIC."

He looked puzzled.

I snuffled and blew my nose on the handkerchief he offered me. "My hearing aid."


He pulled into my driveway several hours later. I was sitting out on the porch with the watering can, having a cigarette.
I moved the watering can down onto the grass and came halfway across the lawn with my hands on my hips.

He got out of the car , and kept getting out of the car, and standing up, until he was looking down at me. "Have you checked down by the creek yet?" he said.

It was a beautiful afternoon to be out wading around in the water. I wished I didn't have to take it so seriously; the sun dappled down through the leaves, the little fishes darting from rock to rock. We started upstream on opposite banks, bent low over the surface, turning rocks and feeling around slowly. "It's going to look like one of those foam spinners, you know? So if you think it's a fishing lure, pick it up anyway and check. It has a kind of short little aerial thing that pokes out of one end.'

"An aerial?" he said.

"Huh?" I replied.

We let the silt wash downstream. Then we moved down a couple of feet and crossed back again. Dragonflies flittered and skated low over the water, leaving trails of circles that spread and were lost. My feet were getting pruney.

After nearly an hour I splashed on past him back toward the house. "I gotta take a piss."

"No problem," he said.

"Huh?" I replied.


Once the door shut behind me I took off like a scalded cat up the stairs, through the house and out the front door. I only stopped to pick up the watering can on the way.

Windows of the car rolled down? Excellent!

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a crumpled gas station towel. Just in case.

Then I stuck the long spout of the watering can down the passenger-side vent.

And filled it with tunafish oil.

"You know, I can pay for it," Roth repeated. We were walking back through the yard, up around the side of the house.

"Hey, that's excellent. How much does a produce boy make?" I replied.

"It could still be in the grass around here. It could still turn up. Maybe I can come back and"

I went into the house and slammed the door on him.

He got in his car and left.

Halfway down the block he stopped and opened the door. A cat jumped out.

Come the first frosty morning a couple of months from now, he was going to turn on his heater and old Charley Tuna was going to jump out. And kiss him right on the lips.
old Charley Tuna.
Night of the Living Dead Charley Tuna.

He'd be riding his motorcycle everywhere for quite awhile.

I hoped it was a long, cold winter.

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Jewelled Green Snake Washes Several Laundry!

Hey, kids! Ever wondered what it would be like to take a big ol' swig of gasoline and chase it with a match?
Do you have questions about God, the Afterlife and Eternity?
Do timor mortis really conturbat you, bucko? Or is it all just a big pointless exercise?
Test those fears and face your demons! It's easy!
It's the latest craze that's sweeping the globe! Kids of all ages love playing 'poke the crazy person with a stick' with FirstNations! It's fun! It's exciting! It's substantial proof that you sustained a traumatic brain injury at birth!

So what are we waiting for? Let's get started, OK? Here's how....

1. Be a thief. No, go ahead. Being untrustworthy is awesome. Yes, you're really sticking it to the universe, no doubt about that. Number one on my hit list! With a bullet, if you're a trespasser!
1.a Be a thief, and brag about it. Because not only does that brand you an untrustworthy MORON, it tells me that you think I'm the type of person who'd be impressed by the fact that you steal. Thanks for the compliment!

2. Pull something, do 'X' right in my face, right out in the open, and then DENY IT CATEGORICALLY when I call you on it. Are you 4? Do I have a lobotomy scar? No. Never do this. There is not the slightest fucking chance in hell that I'm going to buy your denial. I SAW YOU DO IT! DUH!
If you think that a policy of 'deny everything' is going to spare you a scene, GUESS THE FUCK AGAIN BUCKWHEAT. You just bought a WAY BIGGER ONE.
Two for the price of one!

3. Argue with your significant other in front of me. Bye now.
3.a Attempt to enlist me as an ally when you 'jokingly' ridicule same. Oh FUCK that action. Gosh that makes me feel so welcome. And comfortable too! I'm so glad I came! We'll have to do this again REAL SOON!!
3.b Come into my home and compare some aspect of my housekeeping unfavorably to that of your significant other as a way to 'discipline' them. Make sure you have a biiiiiiiig audience, too. Oh, I'll certainly be inviting your ass back.

4. Make vague, misleading excuses for any decision you've made. That way nobody can disagree with you!! Yes, give me lots and lots of wrong information to work off of. That sure lets you off the hook, right? Nobody can pin you down to a stand, can they? Except you've put all this garbage information out there, see, and now anyone attempting to use that information as an indication of your tastes or preferences is going to fail miserably! Rock the fuck on! I love being made an idiot of!

5. I also love it when you deny ever having made any vague, misleading excuses. That just makes me want to jump right up and kiss you. With a big rock.

6. If we aren't related, don't treat me like a parent. Sure, invite all your other friends out partying and tell me about it! Don't forget to add '...and I knew you wouldn't be into it; I mean, you're like my mom or something."
I will not make decisions for you. I will not listen to you whine. I will cut you off, though.

7. I'm a married woman. Don't hit on me.

8. He's a married man. Step way the fuck off, bitch. Don't even LOOK at him. I WILL orphan your children.
8.a Waitresses; this is particularly aimed at your whore asses. Do not come all up on MY HUSBAND with them titties laying on his shoulder and call him honey. Forget about a tip. It won't happen. I won't say a word to my husband. I will go back to the table and pick that money up, though, right in your face, you cracker sow. I've done it before.
Think I won't complain to the manager? Oh, guess again.

9. Never come to me about my people. Any of them. Including friends. I don't care if you have a valid reason. We're all mean and most of us are violent too. Here, let me demonstrate.

10. The sky is blue, the grass is green, the nice birdies are singing, tra la la...oh look! There's a pretty flower! Isn't the flower pretty? It looks like a daisyNOGODDAMMITTHATSNOTADAISYOUIGNORANTPIECEOFSHITTHATS APONTIACDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEIHATEYOUWHYAREYOUSOHOMOPHOBIC?!

....well all right then.

11. Come to my home bed shitting drunk and make a scene! Alcoholics are our favorite thing in the whole wide world. I appreciate you bringing your substance abuse problem into my home. I love it when you expect me to accept it as a valid excuse for any stupid shit you happen to do while under the influence. No really, I buy that. Totally. I do.

12. Please confuse 'biker' with 'Nazi sympathizer'. Please do that. Please come here with swastikas and Aryan Brotherhood shit all hanging off you. I respect that as a perfectly reasonable, well-thought-out position in a nation of immigrants. Tell me about how the mud races are oppressing the white man. I'm listening.


DISCLAIMER: This is aimed at the ENTIRE UNIVERSE. Did you think you recognized yourself here? That, my friend, would simply be a case of guilt displacement on your part.

Which by the way is something else that pisses me right the fuck off.

FOOTNOTE: in case you didn't receive all thirty of the email notifications I've sent out recently, there is YET ANOTHER POST up at UJ (which is MEMBERS ONLY and also PORN.) For fucksakes people, comment. Does it reek? Is it great? Do you have any requests? And most importantly, will you light a candle and pray for the state of my mental health after this last one?