all for one aspirin

I hated being sick. Not because I was achy with a sore throat, I can handle that. I have felt worse pain and survived it. (Does anyone recall when I opened up my wrist on a table saw? That was much worse.) What I didn't like about being sick was the fact that I had to use up my stash of antibiotics. At this point in human history, antibiotics are worth more than gold.

Most of my family works in the medical profession and I have been privy to some behind-the-scenes knowledge about American health care issues over the years. Mostly the banter is about different patients and their ailments, but there were times when the topics covered medical/business/legal aspects of the health care of America and those were enlightening moments for my young mind. If you thought that medical/business/legal conversations were boring, you're right. They are dreadfully dull, unless you can read between the lines and see what all that information adds up to. I was able to see the gathering storm of the HMO, the high price of insurance, you name it. My parents gave me that insight and they gave me something else that lives with me to this day. (Bear with me here...)

In the past, when my country has been at war, the people have been asked to ration goods to aid in the war effort. Commodities such as wool, sugar, honey, cotton, rubber, steel, and thigh highs have all been rationed to help our troops fight Nazis and look saucy doing it. Whatever the cause, the citizens have stepped up and cut back on certain goods - "for the effort". In recent years, our country has learned that you can stock pile certain goods so that in times of war, there doesn't need to be a rationing. It helps that our military uses goods that have a longer shelf life (Cheezits and Capri Sun) so there is no last minute rush to Sam's Club for a stock piling of food, bullets, batteries or body armor.

Sadly, there are a few items that the government can't really stock pile. Most notably: antibiotics (followed closely by willing soldiers).

So one of the "tells" of our government's intentions to go to war is a sudden dip in the supply and availability of antibiotics to the general public. My mother being a pharmacist, I always have a good month's notice when things are about to get hairy. If you need some stats on this statement check with your local pharmacist RIGHT NOW. See what he/she says about their ability to get penicillin or other much needed drugs.

So, I got sick and I had some antibiotics at my disposal and I had to use them. The whole supply.

Now flash forward to Bush on PBS.

Bush just gave some speech about the state of the union. Here are some highlights...

He mentioned that he wanted to go to war with Iran( he did it in much the same way that cowardly rednecks say, "Hey! That nigger just whistled at that white woman... Git er done!).
He wants to give more money to research and development companies and give them a tax break. (the largest portion of the government grants for research and development go to defense contractors for weapons and "other" advances).
He wants to cut more government programs that are not producing (these are the same programs that used to work, butt he cut the spending to them in his first term. Programs such as education, alternative fuel research, and anti-terrorism programs).
He wants to create 70,000 new teaching positions for those teachers who would teach our children math and science (would this be the science with evolution or creative design??) so that America can be more competitive with other countries that are smarter than us (almost every other country in the world is smarter than us except Finland... They're fucking stupid).
He wants to limit lawsuits against doctors so that we can have more practicing doctors for our sick(doctors in HMO's which are run by corporations and therefore will protect the corporation from being sued).
He wants to overhaul Social Security (to cover up his spending of the social security budget on the war effort).

I listened as long as I could, but like most adults, I can only listen to other people's children squawk for so long before I have to leave the room. All of this bullshit and I have a terrible headache. I don't think I will be able to find anything to take for it - Because Bush needs it for the war effort in Iran.

I'm sure that most of you are just as unhappy and upset as I am. I am sure that you are wondering why nothing is being done to stop these people. It seems like they are just running amok without any concern for humanity at all. Are you wondering just how bad things are going to get before we see "hope" again? I think there is a new issue that all of us need to think about, "Are we really this stupid?"

No. We're cowards and we're lazy. Perhaps if we stopped taking all the anti-depressants we could get our minds back in the game and take back our antibiotics, sugar and thigh high nylons from the war mongers... I'm guessing that the thigh highs aren't leaving the pentagon.

post two for today

just a quick link for you all to think about..

http://counterpunch.org/frank01262006.html

tell me what you think...

every little thing she does is magic

Normally when something comes to me, I let it roll around in my brain and it festers there for a bit before I write about it, but in this case, I'm just letting it fly. For all of you out there that want to be writers, this is usually not the best way to handle a good idea. Not that I know that for sure, but it sounds good to say.

It's a flirting tactic and it's usually a sign of an escalation in friendly behavior. During a banter with someone, a phrase or a word might fall out of your mouth and the person with whom you are engaged in a conversation with, will take that phrase or word and give it a sexual connotation. For example; You are chatting about cooking and you say, "make it spicier" and the other person says, "oooohhh, I like to make it spicy" or something to that effect. Normally, this is a good sign and it can mean that something yummy is about to happen, but often it's just annoying, especially if you don't want to see the situation escalate. You can say what you want, you can tell that person point blank that you are not having any of what they are doing, and it still doesn't work. "ooooohhh, why don't you make me stop." [side note - it's illegal to hit them or set them on fire]

I had my moments where I was being the louse, it was when I was in my early twenties and I wasn't aware of how annoying it was at that time. I thought it was cute, which is what I think everyone who does it thinks. I was that louse perpetuating the banter and I will admit my guilt. WHY? Perhaps this kind of banter is a last ditch effort to get the other person to understand your true intention. Perhaps there is a notion that if you continue to do it long enough that they will somehow magically get in the mood and then you can bed them. I don't know. But whatever the case may be, it's annoying to both the person it's directed at and to those that are too close and have to overhear it.

I think the equation to presenting these little phrases is this: one part intention added to two parts coyness. Divide that by self-esteem and then multiply that by the situation and you get the odds of you actually saying something like, "oooohhh, you can add my figures together anytime." The ratio of success is a figure that I would like to see. How many people actually fall for these lines? It never worked for me. (Maybe that's why I don't like it...)

For me, the biggest turn off is someone that is coy. I can't stand someone who feels that beating around the bush is a good thing (ooohh, you can beat around my bush.....). I have said it before and I will say it again, I LIKE it when people are direct. I like to see that they have a spine, some courage and have no doubt about what they want. People who second guess themselves are not sexy. They can be cute, but they are never sexy.

I guess I am being overly dramatic about this, but like I said, I haven't had time to really think about this issue thoroughly. Perhaps with a few more days it will all make sense, but for now, it's just a rant. I think I need to get over my disdain for coy people and I think what I need to do is just embrace the coy comments and run with them. Maybe what that other person is trying to do is test my intelligence and see if I can run with the banter. It's true that good banter is a sign of intelligence, so perhaps it is a test. Banter is a gift that few people possess and it's sad that the bantering of old, with it's superior overtones, has been ruined by interlopers that have borrowed it and then lowered its value. Instead of coyness being a "tell" that the person using it is probably smart, now it's a gamble. Are they smart or do they think Dean Koontz is a good novelist?

Any moron can banter now and the quality of the banter is slightly lower than rap lyrics in prolific meaning. I have seen people that were asked to leave junior high because they were not smart enough to cut the mustard (oooohhh, you can cut my mustard....) use banter to seduce people and it's revolting. Every time I hear it come from one of their mouths, for some reason images of Nagels, tiger print blankets, glass coffee tables, particle board entertainment centers and matching black hexagonal plates, bowls and glasses all come to mind. I seem to equate cheap banter with people that haven't taken Bon Jovi's "Slippery when wet" out of the CD player. (ooooh, you can play my CD....) It's wrong of me. Dead wrong. And yet, I can't do much about it.

I'm being harsh, I know it. I need to let go of this and just accept that some people don't know how to use their eyes or their smile to seduce someone or and get their point across. For some people, a quick, "ooohhhh" added to the beginning of a retort is all they have to get someone to rut with them. It takes different strokes and their strokes are just not moving in the same direction as mine. (oooohhhh, I like different strokes....) I'm sure that my tactics are probably not accepted (probably-nothing, I know they're not) by everyone. I have seen more than one person run from the room when confronted with my forward nature. So who am I to judge what other tactics people use to get laid. (ooohhhhh, I like - well I guess you can't be coy when you say that)

If you're one of these "ooooohhh-ers" then I would like to apologize. I hope that it works for you and I hope that you find all the happiness that you need. Perhaps if we meet you would do me the courtesy of not using your little catch phrase on me. If I do hear it, I will most likely jump on my extreme retort bandwagon and let some choice phrases fly. I am warning you in advance, my banter is not cheap movie line quality. I don't borrow my little phrases or my delivery from Meg Ryan or either of the Fiennes brothers. I tend to go the extreme to see if you can retort to what I say. Come on! I dare you to put an "oooohhh" in front of one of my favorites. Here are some examples: I have no problem telling women that I am going to make their ass bleed or that I don't want to see them spit or swallow, I want them to gargle and then spit it into another girl's mouth. If they thought they were a freak before, this will usually wipe that fantasy out of their head... or it means Daniel is going to have one hell of a night.

I would like to hear back from you on some of the best coy lines that you have heard in your lifetime. They make me sick, but I think I need to learn to accept them. I don't think I will ever like them, but at least, I can get past my hatred of them.

QUESTIONS OF THE WEAK

I AM ONLY GOING TO POST THE QUESTIONS THAT I THINK HAVE MERIT. I CAN'T ANSWER EACH QUESTION YOU ASK BECAUSE SOME ARE TOO OBVIOUS AND SOME ARE RIDICULOUSO. HERE'S WHAT I HAVE FOR YOU THIS TIME AROUND. REMEMBER TO INCLUDE THE DAMN POST TITLE WHEN YOU WRITE THESE QUESTIONS.

What is the male equivalent of Bukkake?

Well, gay men love a good bukkake. Actually, there isn't a man that has ever lived that doesn't want to be in the middle of an orgy. I think that every male lives on the belief that his life will one day be, if it's not already, the center of the female sexual world.

Have you ever participated in a bukkake?

Hmmmm... I have put my "stuff" in some pretty interesting places. But never with the intention of being a "bukkake".

Do you really believe all that stuff about Iran and Canada?

Yes. Even though I was experiencing some serious delirium, I have been thinking about these issues for a while and have written about it before (i just didn't post it) but with the Canadian election and my willingness to showcase my mental status, I felt that the timing was perfect. If I were you, I would invest in bicycle tires and chain oil.

Do you think the Carlyle group is behind the recent decline in western civilization?

Yes - among other entities. Check out the money winners on the NASDAQ and AMEX since 9-11 and you can see who is responsible for what is happening to us today. The majority of the money makers earned lucrative, secret military contracts and are making so much money that they could have bought freedom from terrorism by now. Of course, not all of the big winners on the market are war profiteers, but if you follow the paper work, it all comes back to Haliburton, Carlyle and specialized Economic Development Corporations that Former Presidents are a part of.

What is wrong with your throat?

tonsillitis. Yucky white things started growing on my throat. I can't blame it on the Carlyle group, but I think a universal karma was working against me. I believe enough people held hands and prayed for me to lose my voice and it happened. But, I'm better now.

Do you have a foot fetish?

I like to screw women who know how to wear sexy shoes, but I don't smell them or get off on touching them. But a woman who has great taste in shoes, I would choose her first over a lesser shoe wearing mare.

Does owning over 100 pair of shoes make me a fetishist?

No, it makes you well off or a hoarder. Do you wear them all? Are most of your shoes hold over from when you were in Junior High. I know a lot of women have that problem. (let go)

Are you really going to run a marathon?

Marathon... NO. Bloomsday Race... Yes. The major difference, Bloomsday is only seven miles and a marathon is.. A lot more miles. But I haven't seen the gym since I returned from Monterey so I am a few days behind in my training. Of course, being out of the country for seven weeks before the race will make it hard, but I will make it. I swear on all of your lives.

Did it rain in the mountains for 33 days like it did in Seattle?

No, those pussies in Seattle only saw half as many days as we did. It only made headlines because it was in Seattle. The rest of us in the state got left out of the media and that's why we are the "forgottens". So, shine that light on the western side of the mountains, I am content to be in the dark, soaking wet.

Have you ever worn a leather cock ring with spikes on it?

Yes. Once... Once. I don't recommend them. Spikes are mostly for show and I think are as silly looking as flowers or bows on bras. Spikes don't make you look tough. SCARS make you look tough. However, I like the Little Rubber Ring. Even though it grabbed a nut, it taught me to be forgiving and I forgive it. Leather chafes the nuts. Metal rings are awkward. Rubber hugs your body and tickles the imagination.

HEY, where's that magazine ad... I didn't get to email them yet...

If you haven't emailed, them do it. If you have emailed them, email me and let me know you have... so I know how many of you did.

FEATURE WRITERS NEEDED

posted 01/05/2006

A quick three-question quiz: 1) Are you an experienced writer with a strong, lively voice? 2) Are you up-to-the-minute savvy with one or more of the following media, primarily of the independent and mildly subversive variety: modern music, arts, lit, film and pop culture? And 3): Are you capable and willing to generate creative, timely and unique topic-driven story pitches? Yes to all three you say? Then congrats you're our dream date! Of all three criteria, #3 can't be emphasized enough: your brain must be a boiling mass of clever and compelling ideas, from topical and investigative journalism pieces to stuff that's just damn funny. You think beyond the confines of artist profile pitches; you are a big-picture hipster who can detect relevance among cultural phenomena and brings ideas with depth to the editorial table that clearly answer the question: So what? What do you get in return? We pay you. Yes, modestly (out of indie-budget necessity, not because we are greedy slimeheads), but if you have an idea that sets our pants on fire, we'll host a bake sale or sell an unproductive intern on the black market to put coin in your hands. What else? Not only do you acquire resume clips from a respected national glossy magazine, you also get to work with a warm-fuzzy group of editors who will love you. Email your cover letter, clips, resume and several query pitches (1-200 words) to features editor, Kris Kendall (kris@resonancemag.com), and cc info@resonancemag.com.

Is it the Jimmy Stewart one? If not, which one is it?(three truths and a lie)

I did meet Jimmy Stewart. (by the way, this is the one everyone guessed) I was working on bio docs in LA and met Mr. Stewart at his house to talk about his thoughts on several different people. The one that is a lie... is up for debate. Hint: It's not the one about Jimmy Stewart

Why, of all the things that you mentioned, did you feel you had to mention corsets? (to each their own)

The inspiration for that post comes from a woman that I have been in touch with for a while now. She and her husband have been trying some new things and recently she purchased her first corset and was giving it a go. It was working some serious magic on her husband and in her excitement, she got worked up, started breathing hard (as hard as she could in the corset) and she passed out. That story, and several trends in recent emails from the readership, forced me to write that post. Corsets were just the first thing on my mind.

How is Heidi?

I realize that I haven't said much about her lately, but I can assure you that she is fine. There are noises that she will be seeing a younger man from Florida very, very soon. Other than that, she's fat, black, fed and still chewing on her leg.

Who is Adam? Where does he live? (friend)

Adam is the same person I wrote about from the new year's eve show of last year. I have known him since my late teens. He presently lives in Kansas City, KS and works as a delivery driver and professional Uncle. He puts almost every other Uncle to shame.

How many people have you stopped talking to? (friend)

Close to twenty. I miss them, but it's time to move on. If you don't want it to be you, call me.. or write.

Do you still smoke? (I am sick)

Yes, but it's slowing to a crawl. It's a hard habit to kick and I think I know why... It's not the nicotine that is screwing me up, it's the reward aspect of it. I enjoy the after sex, after meal, after writing, after long movie, after-after... Smoke. I need to find something else to do at those times. Sadly, the only thing anyone recommends instead of smoking is running. Running after sex just doesn't sound that effective. Running after a meal is dangerous. But, smoking is on the way out. So then I can be one of the semi-healthy dull people.

THE REST OF THESE ARE FROM ONE EMAIL.....

Why do men like women with big boobs?

They don't. Big boobs is a fetish. If you really asked most "men" they would indicate that smaller, handful sized are their favorite. However, larger boobies look good in certain clothes, as most women know, and that's one thing that draws men to them.

Why do men always want to have two women at once?

Again, they don't. And as I have written about before, it's not something that benefits a man at all. However, there are men that hold on to the belief that women are created to please men sexually and that two women are better than one. You can equate their knowledge to the same childlike belief that it would be cool to make a fort out of pillows. It sounds good in theory, but it's not likely to be the case in reality.

Why are relationships so hard?

Because we like them that way. The amount of variables that have to be taken into consideration to make a relationship work OR, to be a good idea, is staggering. You do it because it sounds like a good idea and it appeals to us on a primal level, but it's so complicated now, you either WANT it to happen, or you figure out reasons to make sure that it doesn't. Of course, this changes from moment to moment, so there is really no way to know what you are going to do.

Why are women always stealing other women's boyfriends?

You can't "steal" a person. That would make them a possession. If you view them as a possession, you don't deserve them and the universe will work hard to make sure you see that. Other women are just as greedy as you are. Always wanting what the other person has. Men cheat, women cheat. It's not specific to one sex or the other.

How do I know if my boyfriend is lying to me?

What is the issue? There are several ways to tell if a man is lying. The Government types call them "tells". - flushing of the cheeks, widening of the pupils, inability to stare at you, redirection of comments, sweaty palms - upper lip, and/or temples, fumbling with hands - usually with each other or object nearby, lack of facial movements, increase in blinking, grabbing of the nose/wiping of nose. (there are more) I guess you have to know your boyfriend and decide if what he is lying about is worth you caring about it.

What's the deal with men always looking at other women when you are out with them?

Either you are really boring or they are completely normal. If you don't like him looking, make him concentrate. Can't make him concentrate on you - ask what he likes about the women he's looking at. Get involved. OR look around yourself, OR dump him.

Do men ever ask directions?

Yes. It depends on the circumstances. In today's world, no matter who you ask, no one knows. So why bother?

Is it normal for men to fight all the time?

Testosterone is wicked harsh! I can't say that all men like to fight, but I know some men don't have all the mental strength in the world. Fighting is the dialogue of idiots and dullards. If you don't know any other way to get your point across verbally, you punch. It's singularly gratifying. Me want candy. Me take candy. Me eat candy. Candy good. Same principal. If you meet people like this, it's okay to use them. Take their money, their women and their personal property and make them thank you for it. They're pretty dumb. The same is true of women. The dumber you are, the more likely you are to swing.

Why do men like to be mothered?

Duh! Why do women look for men that remind them of their father? Issues!!!!! If all you know of a woman is that they baby you, then you expect women to baby you. Women are too blame. They raised these men.

You don't have to answer this one if you don't want to. What's the deal with anal sex?

If you don't know. Then buy yourself a butt plug or some anal beads and figure it out. If that doesn't work, go to a doctor and found out what's wrong with your butt. If you are one of those women with an "icky" issue. As in - I don't swallow, that's icky. Then you need to grow up. If you think your pussy is all that glorious, then you need to stick your mouth on one someday. It's all icky!!! (icky is why it's good)


THANK YOU ALL. IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS FOR ME OR IF YOU NEED SOMEONE TO VALIDATE YOUR EXISTENCE, CONTACT ME AT NATIVEROCK_2000@YAHOO.COM

prognostication

First off, it's a great word. A wonderful word. It takes some verbal skill to get it out of your mouth, but when you do, it's a lot of fun to say. Don't believe me, say it out loud.

prog nog sti kay shun.

Lovely, isn't it?

Sadly, the word can only be used in certain conditions and sadly those conditions almost always contain someone who believes that they have "gifts". These... are NOT... my favorite people. In fact, they are only slightly less annoying than "Rennies" (renaissance festival actors... I say actors to be kind, but actors create roles and still maintain seperate lives but these people refuse to abandon the role and continue to say, "thou" and "thee" all the time. I hate that) The gifted people are always sure that there is something speaking to them - stars, voices, animals, dead relatives, the ages... whatever it is, these gifted people are always doing what they are told to do by inner dialogues that only they can hear and the rest of us, well, we have to treat them like they are TWO people. We have to pretend to be accepting of this and not act like it's strange. I'm sure that the gifted people get sick of answering questions like, "is so-and-so or such-and-such, here now?"

Treating the gifted this way is asking a lot of the rest of us ungifted. And it would be a lot easier if they weren't naturally weird people to begin with. If they were normal in some fashion, I guess I could live with the periodic one sided conversations that are being held out loud. But the gifted ones always seem to be the oddest of the odd. I can handle most of it. I love odd people. But not an odd person that has baggage. And for all their gifts, they are always broke, lonely, drunk, a heavy smoker, out of shape, and caught up in scandals with previous employers. For some reason, the voices never seem to have great insight into financial matters, health issues or dating standards. [side note: these voices do often tell them who or who not to sleep with... I think this is where the voices express their humorous streak because they always say no to what could be a great piece of ass and say yes to equally broke and equally annoying, Rennies]

I am not sure if the gifted people are really gifted or not. Perhaps these people just saw, "The Neverending Story" too many times and really feel that they have some connection to the outcome of the world. (that movie, by the way, is the greatest film on manic depression, bipolar disorder, and countless other mental disorders, that has ever been made - connection, I don't know) Of course, these people sometimes get things right and cast shadows of doubt in YOUR mind as to whether or not they are gifted or if you're just too close minded to accept it. They get a pick right and then they do something stupid like claim to be immortal or a vampire or to have seen a unicorn and then that shadow of doubt clears right up. They are back to being freaks of nature.

Perhaps that's the catch. Maybe it takes someone that believes in unicorns and mermaids to be able to free up the part of the brain that allows for prognostication. Perhaps you have to be willing to accept the slings and arrows of the world around you in order to hear the voices of the truth that exist in our heads. If we think that things are impossible, then when will we believe that they are possible?

I have a theory that says that the people we call crazy are actually privy to information that affects us all, but they lack the ability to communicate it and that drives them insane. Perhaps if we were to take them seriously, we might find the answers to our future. Of course, this would mean more Rennies in our future, but, hey, it takes different strokes to run the world.

Hopefully that future has no Rennies in it.

three truths and a lie

There are all kinds of parties that you can attend and most of us have experienced a good cross section of them in our lifetime. There are the parties of our youth that took place in school and were attended only by the other kids in our classroom. There were the birthday parties that we attended as children that were decorated in a theme, always had a cake, some cheap games and if you weren't invited, it said something about your social position in your school. And there were the parties that our parents threw, that involved going to bed early and then sneaking back out to steal unattended glasses of booze. These were all great parties... When you're 8.

You get older and the parties start to splinter off into various different types of musical social standards. The cowboy set found themselves drinking beer in the back of trucks, listening to loud music, occasionally smoking some dope, fighting with whomever and possibly getting laid. The same was true of the rock set, but the music had a different beat and the hair was longer. Rap parties were inside, there was always sex, always a fight, rarely anyone drunk and were always busted in the first three hours. Punks found Legion halls, paid five bucks, danced, got in fights, then got arrested. The other music scene didn't have parties, they just walked around and got beat up by the rest of the other musical genres. I guess ravers didn't. Ravers took enormous amounts of drugs, danced, shared hepatitis, and redefined the Dr. Seuss look.

Again, we got older and the party scene changed.

Some of us found ourselves staying with the old methods, Find a remote field or lake and then get loud, ridiculous and possibly arrested. But somehow, some of us found our way indoors, into nice dining rooms, nice houses, freshly cleaned and organized surroundings. The music is softer and usually more socially conscience. The clothes are modest. The conversation is deep. The food is experimental. There is rarely a fight or fucking and the night almost always ends with a game.

Actually the whole night is a game and the object of the game is to determine who is the smartest person in the room. Every aspect of the party is designed to test your knowledge - Can you identify the food? Can you identify the music? Can you identify the wine? Can you keep up your end of the conversation? It's not enough to have heard to the food being served, you have to know where to get the best version of it in... Buenos Aires. It's not enough to be able to identify the wine, you have to know who made the wine, where they learned how to make it, the secret recipe of that wine and why it's better than the ones you can get in Prague. The whole night you either feel like a genius or an idiot and you have to feel that way in front of strangers. It's very relaxing.

If you're able to keep up with all of this, then you're doing well. The meal is over and the "party" has moved to the living room and things seem like they might be winding down, UNTIL - someone suggests a game of sudden death overtime. To settle once and for all, who is the king of the intellectual hill. And what game do the intellectual elite prefer to play to determine the mental Alpha male (or femala) - pictionary, scattagories, trivial pursuit, scene it, or various mind games that someone remembered from psyche 402. The brilliant minds of our world... At play in the field of Milton Bradley.

The mind game that stands out for me is called, "three truths and a lie". It's a game where everyone in the room writes down four things about themselves - three things are true, one is a lie, and everyone else in the room has to figure out which is which. What the game is designed to do is to showcase the ego, the fear and the capacity for deception that each player has, but that's not what people get from the game. Everyone plays the game differently and the outcome of the game is always the same - that girl is crying, that man is pissed off, that woman is turned on and that man is pretty sure that no one will ever talk to him again.

And that's why I love it.

Men play this way: The three truths that they share are usually boasts. Rarely will they reveal a weakness or admit to having done something wrong. The lie is usually obvious and more colorful than their personality. In order for the game to be played, you cannot reveal which is which until everyone has been able to discuss it at length. If you are male with a frail ego, this discussion part of the game can be a soul crushing event.

Women play this way: The three truths and the lie are always sexually oriented. Rarely does a woman reveal any information about themselves that can't be defended by saying, "I was drunk", "I was young", "I was dating a guy who was into that", or "Hey, you never know until you try." Women with a bit of wine, feel free to let out of their "ocean of secrets" tidbits of their youth BEFORE they were with their present stud. Sadly, you can see on his face that she was much more wild than he and his manhood is looking pretty sad. She's laughing, blushing and apparently enjoying the memories and he's sitting there, feeling like a pretty lousy lay.

The game is always a disaster, but it adds something to the dullness of the evening. I think it's very entertaining to watch the delicate fabric of a stiff dinner party get ripped to shreds by announcements of wives sleeping with black men or of husbands sleeping with black men. I love it. I love the game because it never just stays at three truths. OH NO! She reveals a daisy, so he one ups her. So she does the same and a pit of shame dug with the honesty shovel, starts getting deeper and deeper and deeper.... A nice, boring dinner party becomes the social event of the year with just a few nasty bits of trivia. ( I am always the one who recommends that we play this game... I know, I know.. I'm an evil shit, but I can't help it. You know how boring these dinner parties can be. Do you want me to have a good time or not?)

There was a time when a party was a fun, exciting or relaxing place to spend some time with strangers or friends. Sadly, it's hard for me to find a field party at my age. If I show up now, I look like a cop and there is nothing like being stared at in a negative way at a field party. It's sad. I wish I could go back. It's not because I want to get drunk, listen to loud music or get in a fight, I just want to attend a party where there are no games. No one at a field party wants to test their trivia knowledge and no one there is good at determining common sayings from pressure driven drawings. They all just want to get drunk and enjoy the air. And screw some sophmore up against a tree.

My three truths and a lie that I usually go with...
1. I was a child genius
2. I was a prostitute
3. I was in 34 adult films
4. I spent an afternoon with Jimmy Stewart in his house

bukkake

If you have ever ordered a dessert at a fancy restaurant, you might have experienced what I like to call, "short on the shortening". It's when you drop ten bucks on a delicacy and it shows up on a huge plate, surrounded by swirls of chocolate, raspberry sauce, and mint leaves, but the dessert, itself, is no bigger than a bite-sized snicker bar. A lot of hype, little return. When you see the waiter coming toward your table, your heart leaps. Your heart rate increases and your mouth begins to water. Then the dish is placed in front of you and the record scratches. You don't order diet sized desserts. You order dessert because you want to be bad and naughty and overindulge. This pea sized lump of sugary sweetness is an insult. You're offended.

It's actually #8 on my pet peeve list.

I am a dessert fan. I could eat dessert as a meal. I could subsit on dessert. I have dreams about swimming in pools of chocolate mousse, and tiramisu. I want a bed made from whipping cream that I can sleep on and... other things. Dessert is the treat that we give ourselves for living with ourselves day and day out. It's not easy to live with self-imposed cowardice and dessert represents a little bit of courage and a big, "fuck you" to the limits that we are forced to live with. Dessert is a reward for making it to the promise land. It's a small taste of freedom.

Of course, you cannot live on dessert alone. First - it's not healthy, and second - it would no longer be a treat if you ate it everyday. It would become part of the system that keeps you down. It would become, "the meal". Not that you would live long enough to ever hate eating dessert day after day. Your heart or kidneys would give out within the first year, or you would end up falling victim to an accident brought on by sugar shock - like driving your car into a wall at 90 miles an hour, or walking into a wall at 90 miles an hour. Perhaps, we should make it illegal to let people drive under the influence of sugar.

It's because we can't live on it everyday and every meal, that makes dessert so special and therefore, so desirable. Almost fetish-like. We know it's wrong, but we love things that are bad for us. Sadly, we have to restrain ourselves and limit our intake of the things we love, to protect our health, to insure that we will be able to enjoy the things we love again, and to increase the pleasure of the things we love by doling them out in small doses over a period of time. If you never really satisfy a desire, the desire just gets stronger. As they say, "if you have never eaten forbidden fruit..."

Sadly, you can go too far... If you have ever eaten an entire half gallon of ice cream, you might have noticed that the first twenty bites were better than the last twenty bites. AND, when the gorging has past, the physical discomfort you have to endure strips away some of the sinful pleasure and grounds the part of the brain responsible for future fantasy fulfillment. It's during all that moaning and groaning that we swear we will never indulge another fantasy (don't worry, this evil sentiment will pass). Everyone has seen the effects of overindulgence and swore that they would never see them again. In fact, we see them again, and again, and again. e.g., Hang overs, sunburns, blue balls, hickeys, cheese constipation, pizza gut.

But wouldn't it be nice if you could indulge and not feel like shit for it? It took me years to learn how to do it, and it's glorious. I wish you all could do it. I LOVE overindulging. Carefree, reckless and blissfully happy.

There is a name for this kind of behavior. There is a term that says, "hey! I know this is bad and possibly dangerous, but I want it so badly, that I don't care. I just want to overindulge and if I die, then I will die in bliss." The word for this feeling is... Bukkake.

Okay, okay. Bukkake is a cooking method in Japan, but it's also a term for a very special party. Its the kind of party that everyone would love to be a part of, but their lack of courage(they would have you believe that it's common sense) prevents them from doing so. In a bukkake get together, one person, maybe two, gets to be the center of attention and they get to be the focus of everyone involved. From this point on, I will not describe what happens, I will rely on your ability to look up, BUKKAKE, on the internet for the rest of the description.

You back?

Okay... You can see what I mean. Some people just love to overindulge. They know it's bad, but they don't care. They are so tired of being restrained and restricted by voices of authority that are found only in their head, that they just need a way to LET GO! They are so very tired of behaving and controlling their urges, that they finally burst and just let it all out. The next thing you know, these people embrace what they truly want and they dance with the edge. Because they have too... they do.

Because sometimes you want a bigger piece of cake when you eat at a fancy restaurant and you don't care if it's bad for you... You made the decision to eat poorly, so now you want to go as far as you can go. Gluttony, my friends... Is the greatest sin of them all. If you still don't know what Bukkake is, I suggest you order some the next time you eat at a fancy restaurant.

If you could, what would you overindulge in? Can you let go of your controls? Can you just embrace what you want and swim blissfully in the moment?

Bukkake for everyone.

my least favorite post

It could be the idle ramblings of a man with a fever, but I think I have something to say and I think you might want to hear it.

I must preface this commentary by saying that the information gathered and shared is not wholly my own work and some of it can viewed at other sites. So if you are ready, let's begin.

First, I would like to say that we are in trouble. All of us. There have been some singular events that when added together, add up to a really shitty total.

We start with the recent election in Canada. If you are not aware of the present state of affairs in Canada, then this post is going to be hard to follow, but I will try to keep you involved.

The recent election in Canada has shown that any election in the world, can be bought or sold, and that there is no level of depravity that the powerful oil interest will not lower themselves too. Not a year after the discovery of one of the largest oil reserves in human history was found in northern Alberta, an election was fabricated by the poweful American oil interests to make sure that the ruling party of Canada would be "oil" friendly, or, more specifically - American oil friendly. Every election in Canada has seen it's leaders come out of the East and each of these leaders has had their own level of scandal attached to them, but for the most part, they have kept that country running in the right direction. And they are doing things in Canada that the rest of the world should be doing. This recent election, the winner came out of Alberta and he can best be described this way... Puppet. He is a Bush wanna be and a big friend of American Oil. Sadly, all that Canada had going for it is about to be lost...

The new leader of Canada is not unlike Saddam Hussein, Tony Blair, Manuel Noreiga, or any other weak minded-power hungry fool that wants desperately to be liked by the US. He will have his moment in the sun... Then be made a fool of when his country is wiped clean of oil and left to struggle to maintain itself on the world stage. Nothing says, "it's all downhill from here" like electing a Nazi. America needs that oil, it needs Canada's lumber and it needs to eliminate the beef industry. This all sounds weird, but I ask that you stay with me a bit longer.

Oil is it. And Canada isn't the only one with some oil that needs some major plans in the near future. Iran, for all it's recent press, isn't trying to build nuclear weapons, or nuclear power plants. It doesn't need them because it has all the oil in the world. It has a ton of it. As it sits on the globe... Iraq has a large cache of oil, Afghanistan has a lot of oil and sitting squarely between them is Iran. With a lot of oil and no where to use it. If they wanted to sell it on the open market, they would have to use the US market and the US dollar. If they DID do that, we wouldn't hear a damn thing about Iran. BUT, Iran, along with a lot of other Muslim countries, have become pretty pissed about the US war in Iraq and have decided to drop their oil on... The European Market. Using the Euro. Which will all but crush the American economy and create a legit competitor for American oil interests (and their newly acquired Canadian interest). That's a lot of information to absorb and follow, but think it over... read it again... and read on.


Times, well, they are a changin'...

Iran is on the clock. Somewhere around March, plan on seeing a Canadian trade agreement. It will be shrouded in beef talk, lumber deals and medicines exchanges. It will sound good, but it will deflate the Canadian economy and bolster America's. At the same time, Iran will see it's fate sealed. By then, the media will have made Iran into the new Iraq and we will have to start a whole new war with "terrorists and their weapons of mass destruction". With Iran being battered, look for all other Muslim countries to come down hard on America. Thankfully, we will have a whole new bunch of buddies helping us fight over there. Canadians... and their newly aquired American built military, will be there to help fight the war in Iran. Helping Canada keep the value of their oil and helping America rape two countries at once. One that is going to allow us too and the other that is going to piss off a bunch of countries... Countries that do have nukes... It's going to get really nasty. Our American oil interests are going to create an event that will make 9-11 look like a minor car accident.

If you see where I am going with this... You needn't read any further.

I should be in Europe about the time that all of this goes down. If I want to see the other side of the Dick Cheney-James Baker-George H. W. Bush dance with world destruction... I am thinking that staying in Europe might be my only plan. When Cheney, Bush, Baker and the rest of the power freaks are in jail or better, then I will come back. I might not be able to come back if the borders get locked down. I would say run to Canada, but hey... I think we can say that America finally owns Canada out-right.

It's never easy to read these kinds of things and it's easy to dismiss them as idle ramblings. But they are only idle ramblings until they become true. It's time for everyone to start reading into some of the information that is available to them and start doing the math. Things are going to get pretty rocky and I ask you do what you can to prepare yourself for it.

counterpunch.org
strike_the_root.com

See what you need to see... Compare it to the past... Evaluate your future... Act now or live in the decision you make.

REMEMBER THIS POST WAS WRITTEN WITH A FEVER

i'm sick

My throat is covered with little tiny white pockets of soreness. It hurts to swallow, it hurts to talk, it hurts to eat. Usually this wouldn't be a big deal, but the rest of my body is achy and poopy too. I'm tired. Really, really tired. Forgive me for not letting you know about this earlier.

There is a lesson to be learned here.... Never go to Monterey and eat fish.

I will be back in the game when my mind is working. I almost want to write with my brain as unbalanced and sporadic as it is. I'm sure it would be pretty colorful, but I need to rest... I will get back to you when I wake up from this.

Daniel

sanaquarium

I am not a "why" person. I'm not. I know, I know, I am leaving the most important question in life out of my daily dance with it, but I could care less. I have spent too much time wondering about the "why" of things and I have missed out on the "now" of it. So I no longer think about the why of things. It's easy to miss the moment if you spend your time thinking about the why something is happening or why something "is". I don't ask why the caged bird sings. If I did ask, I would miss the song. I can figure out the "why" later. I want to hear that warbler, warble.

With that in mind, I have come to Monterey. Home of a very special fish zoo. For a mere 21.95, you can view the fish, and other creatures of the sea, in state of the art fish tanks that have more space in them most people have in their homes. These tanks are huuuuuge. They are pretty. And they are designed to make you feel like you are underwater.

When I got here, I planned on going to see the famous Monterey Aquarium because I was caught up in the hype and felt that I needed to see it or I would hate myself for the rest of my life for passing up the chance. When I got here, that hype wore off. In a huff, I decided that I would boycott the aquarium because I didn't want to be a conformist. It wouldn't be punk rock to go to a fish prison. I came up with all kinds of reasons not to go; It's wrong to keep animals in captivity. I don't like fish. The fish don't give you lap dances. I was fine with my new frame of mind.

I was walking down by the bay with the ocean filled with free range fish just a few feet away, and it was free. I didn't have to pay a dime. I felt smarter than the freaks that ran that Gulag. But the more I walked, the more the ocean talked to me. That strange fish perfume was blowing past my nose and I couldn't get fish out of my head.

So I went to the damn aquarium. Not very punk rock, but some of the fish looked pretty punk, so it balanced out.

It's quite a show. It was very, very educational. If you haven't seen what shrimp look like when they are happy, then you're better off. It's best to think of shrimp as scampi, and not as living creatures. It's not that I care if we eat living creatures, that's not the reason. It's that shrimp live in a soup that looks a lot like split pea - they go crazy in it. They love it. And it makes everyone who loves shrimp with cocktail sauce incredibly ill, which is secretly what the owners of this joint want to happen. Those damn animal lovers are using fish zoos to make a point. DON'T EAT YOUR ANIMAL FRIENDS! Everyone who saw the shrimp, made the "eeeckk" noise as they looked at it.

There are sharks, other fish, some more fish. Fish that look like cats. Fish that look like monkeys. Fish that look like dogs. Fish that are flat. Fish that are fat. There were snake fish. Fish, fish, fish, fish and more fish... In large tanks of water. It was quite a sight. There is also a petting zoo, which is almost like a lap dance, but not quite. But strippers won't let you touch them this way, so it's a trade off.

It took a wee bit over an hour to see it all. It was exactly what I knew it was going to be and I am kicking myself for doing it. I was cursing my decision as I walked out the door and I didn't notice that I walked straight into Cannery Row. This isn't the same Cannery Row of Steinbeck fame because it doesn't really hold the same feel as Steinbeck's Cannery Row. There are no bums, no poverty, no labs. Just kitch stores with over priced clothes for rich women, post cards, Christmas ornaments, a Thomas Kincaid art gallery, fudge shops, a starbucks and restaurants... 50 of them. Every single one of them... Seafood. That's right. You walk out of the aquarium - the last bastion of fish rights in America, straight into the greedy arms of buildings, stacked on buildings, next to buildings, filled with fried, boiling, battered and filleted servings of what you just saw swimming around. I wasn't angry very long. Suddenly the shrimp-split pea soup looked appetizing, and there were 50 places calling out to me to get a bowl for nine bucks. It's a far cry from Steinbeck's ode to poverty on the seashore, but you can pretend that the shrimp/split pea soup is being served at a soup kitchen as "lasagna".

I don't ask why. I don't. I don't ask why things are the way they are, I just appreciate and enjoy the experience. View fish - twenty dollars. Eat fish - twenty dollars. Walk along the beach and look at free fish - free.

I had halibut.

you can't hug every tree

I don't know what it is that draws me to the trees of California, but there is something special about them. I think I am beginning to see the genesis of the phrase, "tree hugger". They are glorious. It could be that I haven't seen a tree with leaves on it in such a long time and I am just being romantic about the whole thing, or it could be that I have been driving for too long and the dementia is mixing up my noodle. What ever the case may be, I am diggin' these trees.

Perhaps it's because there is no such thing as an ugly tree. Trees, for all their variety in shape, construction, genetics and use, are all pretty to look at. There is no tree scale that I am aware of, that rates trees on their looks. Unlike humans, who can really challenge the depths of ugliness from time to time.

Someone once told me that there were more trees than people on the planet. That might have been true along time ago, but I am cursed with knowledge and I know that places like India, China, Africa, South America and Oklahoma exist and I know they love to breed. I know that people have probably surpassed the trees in numbers by this point. Trees are just too slow on the procreation to keep up with us. It's either that, or trees are pickier than we are when it comes to gettin' it on.

I am not always in the mood for trees, but sometimes they can make my whole day. I'm sure that there are other people like me out there. People that are wishy washy on the tree issue. I don't blame them. I know that there are times when seeing a tree is considered a bad thing - downhill skiing, flying a kite, during a tornado when the tree is "in flight", on the side of narrow, curvy, icy road, or on a dark and stormy night around Halloween when you are walking alone. However, I think these pale in comparison to the times when seeing a tree is a good thing - lost in a desert, a drift at sea and needing something to hold onto, on a hot day in the summer sun, when being chased by wolves, when you need fuel for a fire, or when you have the craving to carve a bear sculpture with a chainsaw. I think these moments make trees the special addition to the life of this planet and therefore, always a good thing. Let's face it, how often do we feel the need to carve a bear sculpture?

California is full of trees. In fact, it's home to the largest trees in the world. Sadly, when people think of visiting California their first thoughts are of Disneyland, LA or San Fran. They overlook the fact that California is 70, 000 square miles of natural beauty or they never see it because each of the big three metro areas is surrounded by mountains and covered in smog, fog or flying Dumbos. The northern half of the state is pine forests and majestic redwoods (if you haven't seen a redwood, it will amaze you in a way that meeting a movie star or Donald Duck, will not). In the middle and southern part of the state, you see the orchards of olive, nut and fruit trees. There are also various other mid-sized trees that simple call out to you and say, "salad!". These trees are great trees.

It's unfortunate that most people will never see them. Most people fly in, do what they have to do and fly out. Never getting a chance to view some of California's original and sexiest residents. You could travel the countryside for years and never see every tree that lives here. There are just too many of them. But each is as beautiful and colorful in a way that each actor in LA is dull and lifeless.

I don't think we will ever see the number of trees in our world reach "one" and I don't think we will ever see an award show that celebrates tree beauty. As long as the number of beautiful trees outweighs the ugly ones, I think we will have trees. However, the day we start to see ugly trees, I think we should view that as an omen and seriously consider euthanizing the people of Oklahoma and Kansas. If the end is near, then we need to thin out the herd to create more time for us, the beautiful people, to survive a little bit longer. (for you religious people that would have a problem with my statement, I say this.... The ugly people are going to need more time to get into heaven and so we are giving them a headstart. Beautiful people rarely have to stand in line for anything. There is no reason for us to dely the ugly people's entrance into heaven by stuffing the front of the line with beautiful sure-ins. I think this is the most generous thing that beautiful have ever done.)

more touring than you can shake a stick at

Monterey, California. The last great strong hold of conservative politics on the west coast. Just a mere 134 miles south of the largest concentration of liberals in the world, Berkeley. Monterey was the site of the Monterey Pop festival (creative name eh?) that brought us the greatest known performances of Otis Redding, Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix. ( all in one night and on one stage) Cannery Row, for all of you who know what that means, is in Monterey. The second largest aquarium in... California, is in Monterey. Yes, Monterey has a lot going for it. A lot to be proud of and a lot to offer a magic man, such as myself.

And this week... I am going to Monterey. My show isn't going to be the history making event that Otis, Janis and Jimi made, but they didn't have to perform with "two drink minimum" printed on the bottom of their tickets, undermining the integrity of their show. However, when a man like me - a simple, quiet, humble man - is invited into California to give it all he's got in front of conservative aquarium loving cannery workers, I have to step up my game. I have to give those "Calis" all I have. People could get hurt, or die, and I am not sure if I am going to make it back alive, so, with that hanging over my head, I have put this, last will and testament together.

I would like to leave all my clothes to a man that doesn't know his sexiness potential. I would like to think that my clothes will bring out in him an inner, "man-whore" that lives in every human. Perhaps he can finish the work I have started. To select such a man, I looked at my world and have come up with the best candidate, and the most worthy soul, for a gift such as this - Brad Pitt. I think he could use the help. A little of my mojo and I think this man could be something.

I would like to leave my car to the people I think need it the most. People that need reliable transportation and enjoy the color green. I am leaving the car to the great people of North Dakota. Perhaps with reliable wheels, all nine of them will be able to join the rest of the free world and experience the glory that is, Sonic Drive Thru tater tots.

I would like to leave my computer to a dear friend. I hope that by giving this person my computer, they will see that the world can be theirs - if they really wanted it. I hope that they will use the Mozilla Firefox to view the internet - virus free. I hope that they discover the truth about the world, the way I see it. I hope that my computer, and all of its talents, will let them be the person I KNOW, deep down, they can be. I leave my computer to Bill Gates. I hope that he sees that a Macintosh computer is the answer to the questions, "Why are we here? Where do we come from? and Where do we go when we die?" (yes, a Mac can answer those questions for you.)

I don't own anything else, but if anything else is found that appears to be mine, either because no one else will claim it or because they want to get rid of it and they need a reason, then please give the rest of what is left to the RNC. I wouldn't want them to feel that they didn't a cut of my existence.

HEY!!!! If I do live... The rest of my spring tour is shaping up like this...

Northern Nevada in February.
Canada again.
Europe the next day.
Montana a few days later.
Spokane, Seattle, Tacoma and parts in between, a week later.
Maybe some Indianapolis, or some Louisville, or some Lexington sprinkled in between.

That's what I have to look forward to if I make it out of Monterey alive. Having lived through the barrage of hate emails from you about the "Invasion" series... I shall not "Invade" Canada or Europe.. I shall merely be "expanding my territories" on this go round.

I shall be skipping Thursday, in the mean time, visit counterpunch.org
(If I really do die... I hope you realize that I was kidding about giving my stuff away. I am a greedy pig, bury me with all of my stuff.)

to each their own

It's time we have another clarification session as I am getting a lot of feedback from you that indicates that some of you are taking some of what I say, WAY TOO LITERALLY! Or, you are taking some of the ideas from my posts and are giving them a try, without asking for help or guidance and you are running into some major problems. So before you go off and try and install a sex swing in your bedroom, here are some things I need to say to everyone...

Let's address these in no particular order of importance.

One. Corsets are not for everyone.
Okay, actually, they are. But the ones that are available at your local Victoria's Secret are made for specific body sizes and do not accommodate most women. You can get a hand made corset but it will cost you a few hundred bucks, but they are glorious. You have to really love them to pay for them. If not, stick with a garter belt and thigh highs, they work too.
Corsets are wonderful, but if worn wrong, or if you don't know what you are doing, you are going to run into some trouble. Recently a reader told me of her first corset experience and how she passed out from the heavy, yet restricted, breathing. In order to avoid some of these odd and scary moments, remember this.. Test drive your corset before you wear it for that "special" date. Get familiar with it. Where it sits on your body, where it rubs, how well you can breath, etc. Perhaps you should jog in place for a few minutes to see what heavy breathing in one feels like. If your corset is uncomfortable, find ways to modify it. Finally... And this is a big issue that extends beyond corsets... Ladies, the underwear goes on OVER the garter belt straps. Otherwise you have to take off the straps to get to the goodies. It's either, wear no underwear or remember to put the undies on after you have strapped in the stockings. I do love hearing about your forays into sexual territory. I am very proud and very turned on.

Two. Writing isn't easy, be patient
My first book will show you that my early attempts at this blog thing were pretty sketchy. For those of you that never read the early stuff, the book may be a bit of a let down as the quality and the topics aren't as glorious as they might be now. I hope that the early writing will show you how far someone can go with writing when they stick it out. For those of you that are just starting to write, I hope that the book shows you how much you will grow if you give it time. I understand that it's difficult to organize ideas or to make them sound special, but the more you do it, the easier it will get. The better you will feel about it.

Three. I do not want you to visit me.
Recently, I experienced a blind siding to my life when someone asked me a really tough question which forced me to think really hard about my behaviors and one of the things I have realized is this - I have two worlds that I live in. The public world and the private world. The public world is made up of my writing and my comedy appearances. In those contexts, I am free to you and willing to chat, answer questions or hang out. In my private world, which is when I am home, I need to be able to separate and isolate myself from others. It's not really a healthy thing, but I ask that you do not cross this line and respect my wishes. I am pretty open, as this blog will show you, and that is what I am willing to share with you most of who I am. My home is not open to discussion.

Four. Erotica has it's time and place.
If you want to write to me and tell me who you are, what you like to do or what you are doing, I think that's great. BUT DO NOT, under any circumstances, send me links, forwards, jokes, handcrafted stories of fantasies or pictures of your animals. I enjoy you, not what you have found on the internet, or what you think would be fun to do if you came to visit me. The easiest way for me to block your email is for me to see that you forwarded me something or if you carry on with erotic tales that are fabricated. I enjoy the true stories (and the photos) of your lives, but I do not have time to read every erotic fantasy that is sent to me and I will not visit a site that you find interesting. Sorry, I spend too much time on this thing already.

Five. Be sure of what you want.
I understand that many of you are going through some critical points in your lives; New jobs, new relationships, new homes, etc. However, I ask you to think about what you are doing before you act. I am flattered by the notion that I might have helped you find a new life, a new experience, a new perspective or a new attitude, but I ask that you be sure of what you are doing before you go out to a Swing club or buy a motorcycle, or before you buy tickets to Tuva. I like the spirit that drives your ambition, and I am a bit envious at times of the things you get to do, but please, don't feel that you have to try everything I talk about. It's your world you are trying to live in, not mine. I would hope that what you gain from this site is more motivation, but not direction.

Six. Offer accepted.
I live in Washington state. I travel quite a bit and lately, my career has been spent the majority of it's time in the Pacific Northwest and the Orient. So, your offer to come meet you, or you and your husband, your wife, your sister, your mother, or your best friend whom I remind you of, I will gladly accept. But understand this; If you live in Florida, it might be a while before I make it your way, so don't get frustrated if I don't make it down there the next weekend. When I do come that way, I will do what I can to meet you. I have enjoyed meeting all of my readers with two exceptions.

Seven. Name please.
Most of you I only know as kooky little names in your email profile. If you want me to write to you, it would help to know more about you than the fact that you are balloon_lover69. I have always been bad with names and I am working on trying to remember them from now on. If you email me, put your name on it so I know with whom I am dealing.

Eight. Questions, questions, questions.
I like your questions. If you want to ask me about a particular post, please indicate which post the questions come from. Please put, "Question.. (and the name of post)" in the subject line, so I know what you are referring too. That will help big time. I am not a big fan of the Questions of the Weak, but I will do them if I think the questions have merit. No more of this ridiculous shit. Have a real question or comment, then let me know.

Nine. Recommendations.
If you tell someone about this blog, I love you. I would love a ton of readers. But if you do tell them about me, remind them to tell me how they found the blog and how long they have been reading it. I am never sure if some of the emails I see are virus, spam, or if they are legit emails from new readers. If you're a new reader, let me know that in the subject line.

Ten. No nudes.
I have no nude photos of myself to share so stop asking. If you want one, you will have to take one yourself, if, and when we meet.

Eleven. Keep it short.
I have to read a lot of emails, so if you want me to read what you have to say and respond to it, keep it short. If it's the weekend, when I generally have more time to read and respond, then go ahead and lay out a fat one. But keep in mind, I may not read it all. A few sentances, a few lines, that's great. I can read that and I will usually write back. I can't write back to everyone, so my responses might be short in general. Unless I like you, then they will be long.

Twelve. Editing.
I love all of your editing comments. I know that I don't possess the greatest English skills in the world, it's something I fight with it everyday. Your tips and comments are greatly appreaciated, but let's keep away from the comments about wrong or right.

Thirteen. Requests.
You want to see the comedy show, find me a venue. You want me to set up a web site with more photos and other information, introduce me to someone that knows how to do that. You want me to write about something, give me a clear idea of what you are talking about.

Fourteen. Ads.
I think they are funny and, yes, it is weird that they match up with what I am writing about. So far, I think, nine people have clicked on the ads, so they may pull them soon. Are they really that much of a distraction?

Thank you.
I don't say thank you enough to all of you that do come to this site. Some of you are daily readers and some of you just do the one day-read the last week readers. What ever you do, thank you. I really appreciate everyone who reads this.

a shoe's life

There is always a great deal of excitement that comes with buying a new pair of shoes. Trying them on you never really know if they are going to work for you and a thousand questions can race through your mind - They're a little snug, but they'll stretch out. Right? How many pairs of brown shoes do I own? What can I wear these with? - These are all valid questions and concerns and if you can get to the other side of them, you'll buy the shoes. Any hang ups and you have to move on.

I have purchased shoes that I wore out of the store. This happened more in my youth, but it happens now, on occasion, when I DO need to stretch them out or if the shoes I wore into the store look like dogshit compared to what I am buying. (This happens with clothes too. You enter the dressing room, put on a new shirt. Look it over, like it, then take it off and put your burlap sack back on) New shoes are full of hope and usefulness and the self-imposed rules that you place on them fill you full of hope for a more colorful future. Some people see their shoes as conversation pieces or items to be used to inspire envy in others. I know many, many souls like this. These are the shoes! These are the shoes that you have waited your whole life for and there is no way that you are going to scuff them, wear them in the rain, mud or snow. There is no way that these shoes will ever know abuse. They shall be used sparingly so that they might be useful forever. They shall last me until the day I die. Because, these are your magic new shoes.

Then... That day... First scuff. First drop of spaghetti sauce. First puddle. First pile of dog shit. First fray. The worst thing that could possible happen, happened, and all bets are off. The shoes are worthless and just filler for your closet floor. The life of those shoes just saw its clock start.

In my world, I am surrounded by mud, various forms of animal shit, automotive goo, wood particles, hay and just general yuckiness that can ruin a pair of shoes in a flash. I have accidentally worn a pair of shoes that I purchase for my stage work, back home after a long tour and, squish! A Heidi surprise! And those shoes become another pair of what we like to call around here, "Farm Shoes". Shoes that you could care less about. You would wear them white water rafting, when shoveling horse surprises, or to paint the house.

My shoe closet contains...

One pair black combat boots. My favorite and most comfy foot wear.
Three pair brown work boots. I can't let go of them.
Four pair running shoes. One I run in, three I can't let go of. ( I might go white water rafting)
Five pair of black dress shoes. I wear none of them and have no idea where they are.
One pair of slippers.
Five pairs of brown work/dress shoes. One I wear, the rest are relics that I can't get rid of.
One pair of Nazi jack boots.

This is the life of most of you. We have the shoes we wear and the shoes that we used to wear and once loved, but can't get rid of. We have shoes that we purchased with the best intentions and they never worked out, but we hope that some day they will. These are the shoes that enter our minds when we are shopping for new shoes. These are the "flip side" shoes. The examples of bad purchases that we hope to avoid with each new shoe purchase. No one needs two pairs of black shoes that they will never wear. And most of us have a problem giving our paid for shoes to charity.

Man, I have a lot of shoes. I should get rid of them. I am sure that some poor person would love a pair of shoes covered in paint, cranberry sauce and Heidi Surprise.

Sadly, I don't have shoe caddy or a shoe rack or a shoe shelf or anything like that to organize my shoes and they just live in poorly organized rows on the floor of my room. Some of them are under the bed, out of my sight, so I won't wear them. Some of them are in plain sight and get worn a lot, but they are kicked around a great deal. Some of them are in other rooms, where they were kicked off after their last use. I am not that great at putting them in their "place" when I'm done with them. I lack Shoe Respect. A sure sign that I am not a shoe fetishist.

Shoes. Foot attire. The lowest form of fashion on the body. Is one of the largest fetishes in the world. There are people that love them, people that crave them, people that cannot stop buying them and there are people for whom shoes are a real problem. The equity in their shoes is enough to purchase a small house.

Of course, there are people for whom shoes are just foot warmers. People that would rather duct tape their shoes together as opposed to buying a new pair. These people own, max - four pairs of shoes - black, brown, tennis and their old baby shoes that were given to them by their mother. For these people, we need to bow our heads in a moment of silence.

I just recently lost a pair of shoes from the "high-hopes" category to the "farm shoes" designation. It was a misstep on my part, but now the glorious pair of winter slippers have been tainted by outdoor surprises and I have to let them go. Thankfully they are cheap enough to replace. Sadly, when a slipper goes bad, there is no second use for them. I doubt highly, that I would ever wear them white water rafting.

rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain

It has rained, or snowed, for the past three weeks without stopping. It's a constant driving rain which seems to have washed away all the joy out of the new year. There is a bit of wind mixed in, to make sure that anyone that was okay with the rain or snow, is just as uncomfortable as the rest of us. The sky has been either grey or black and the sun has only made its presence felt by making the clouds look omnious and poopy. At least the sun is there. Without those glowing grey clouds, I wouldn't know that it was there at all.

Normally, I am not a person that gets depressed by the dreariness of the winter weather, but I know that many people are having a rough time right now. I can hear it in your emails and I have talked to several people on the phone that sound a bit down. It's just a rough spot at the wrong time, for many of you, and for others it's just early onset cabin fever. A wet, grey day means another day of staying indoors. It means having to wear clothes that you don't care if they get wet when you do go out. It's not very exciting stuff.

The first day or two of indoor living is pretty easy and you can find a lot to do and it's sort of romantic to have a reason to be inside. Soup sounds good. So does hot tea, cocoa, coffee or grilled cheese sandwiches. Comfort foods that make you feel warm and dry. Those first few days of indoor living lets you watch TV and not feel guilty about it. You also feel pretty motivated to get some indoor stuff done that you have been putting off; organizing papers, cleaning out closets, rearranging your CDs. It's a healthy few days. But after the fourth or fifth day, you are running out of things to do and you are pissed that you are tracking in mud and that all of your nice clothes are getting soaked and uncomfortable to wear. If it's raining, that means it's not snowing, so you can't really go out and do anything "fun". The rain is too cold to screw in and skis just don't respond the same to rain as they do to snow.

Leaving week one and entering week two, you have had it. There is just nothing on TV, you could care less about laundry, tracked in mud just sits there, filing papers or putting food back in the fridge is just not going to happen. You're depressed. Nothing sounds good and motivation is hard to come by. Friends call you and they sound depressed too. No one wants to admit that they are, but you can hear it. Odd that this sort of malaise would overcome us so soon after the festive season where everything was so chipper and optimism was at an all time high.

Leaving week two and entering week three... Sleeping 14 hours is a no brainer. You find it hard to get out of bed after 12 solid hours. If you have a day off, why get up at all.

We are an active animal. A curious animal and an animal that likes to see change from time to time. In the summer, four weeks of 100 degree heat gets pretty old, but it's not as depressing as winter rain. That's because you can still go outside and have a good time. The day isn't 6 hours long, so you have more time to do nothing, if you wanted too. Summer rain is actually a blessing and it's always a good day when it does.

We need space to roam. Things to do. Places to visit. We need conditions to be optimal so we can do something... Anything. So here are some ideas for all of you experiencing weird winter weather...

1. Learn how to cook. Not cookies. Try to learn how to cook something that requires several hours and several steps to complete. Bread, for example.

2. Learn how to sew. This was mine last year and it's not as easy as you think,let me tell you. You can find a good, basic sewing machine just about anywhere. Learn how to make a shirt or how to make a thick comfy robe that you can walk around and be depressed in.

3. Learn a language. Take this time to learn French(the most common language in the world), German, Spanish, Japanese or English(the hardest). Perhaps some of you could refresh your math skills... this just might be for us weird math people.

4. Start writing. As many of you that have started blogs or that send me clips of your work, I think that many of you could start putting that talent to the test. No more simple line stories. Get a good idea and start rolling with it. When you see my first book, you will see that I started out writing pretty simple stuff and it took me a full six months to a year before any of my writing was where I wanted it. Some of you could take it seriously and actually do something with it.

5. Yoga. I can't stress enough how yummy this is. It's been a while for me, but I miss it a lot. It feels good, improves balance (which most of you need) and it's easy... well, not at first, but it gets better.


I think any of these ideas will validate the short winter days and make the spring time that much more enjoyable. Sadly, winter months are no longer for going outside with a sled in one arm and booze in the other. It's time we view winter as the time we should update our person. Time to download the newer, faster version of yourself. Perhaps you will find something in that Cat in the Hat day that will make your future more exciting and less depressing.

Or maybe the gods hate us and are making us pay... Build an ark, fill it with the animals you like to eat, the people that make you laugh, the people you like to screw, the people with some talents that you don't have... then prepare for the cruise of a lifetime... now isn't that exciting?

bloomsday

I have my goal for the year....

Bloomsday run. Spokane, Washington. Sometime in the near future. It's a seven or eight mile race and I want to do it. It's my only physical goal for the year. If I can run the whole thing without stopping, then I will have completed a small goal which should help me achieve some other goal with a bit more confidence.

I FINALLY got my ass back to the gym. It only took two months, 11 days and a bunch of hours, but I am back in the gym. I HAVE NEVER... been in more pain in my life and I am pretty sure that there is nothing but blood sludge in my veins. None of my extremities are getting any oxygen and my legs feel like there are being weighed down with rocks. My lungs are on fire! I am not sure if running seven or eight miles is a great idea or even plausible. It sounds more like a torture at this point.. AND that's why... I am going to do it.

I think it's pretty easy to give in to the condition of your body and just let it rule your lifestyle. I know that I have had moments where I didn't care that I was out of shape or flabby and there wasn't anything that anyone could do to change my mind. I was going to just "accept myself for who and what I am, and everyone should love me for my inside, not my outside". Of course, this never lasts as a validation, but it sounds good, doesn't it? Somehow a brief window of self-discipline opens and I am back in the gym, addicted to the endorphin high of working out and ready to let everyone love the outside as much as they love the inside. Gone is the five meal a day sloth and arrived is the 5 hours of sleep, two meal a day, gym nazi. Everyone loves a gym nazi. Especially one with an agenda. "I'm going to run Bloomsday!!"

The road to Bloomsday starts now and I plan on finishing that race in under 45 minutes. It may sound too ambitious for someone as out of shape as I am, but I like the challenge. Not only do I have to finish on my feet, but I have to finish the race quickly.

Road runners are different people than gym runners, and rarely do the two groups ever see eye-to-eye on any and all issues, running. Every time there is a race like Bloomsday, you can see the two groups warming up differently and in different areas. Gym people warm up in one place and road runners use a wider area. They do this eyeing each other, stretching their hammies and "focusing". At some point, you would expect that each group would start to circle the other and start snapping their fingers. A mad show down of malnourished people in short shorts and pinned on numbers. Of course, runners aren't generally known as great fighters, but they are devious and cleaver and they have been known to bump others off the course into a ravine if they can. Mean little skinny people, mean.

I have thirty pounds that I need to lose. I'm not overweight, but I have thirty pounds of weight that needs to leave to make the running easier on my knees. I don't want to be so skinny that I'm Ethopian or Somali, but I do want to tone down the large look and settle into a reasonable healthy look. Something that will allow me to look good in mirror without having to adjust the lighting. Something more streamline. Not easy for someone with Native blood. We tend to be pretty husky people.

First thing I have to do is figure out when the damn race is and then I have to find out if I am touring at the time or not. It would be sad if I missed the race because I was drinking wine in Turin or drinking beer in Hamburg, but these things happen. I guess that would mean I would have to put the race off until next year, which means I can take the year off from training and just start getting back into shape next January. Hell, I like this idea...

a million tiny voices cried out

I have worn all kinds of cock rings in my day and most of them are just lovely. Yes, I'm a proud to admit it and I highly recommend them to anyone that truly enjoys their cock. There is all kinds to meet the tastes of everyone; You have the leather ones with snaps. There are the solid metal rings that really look better than they work, but the look cool. There are the surgical tubing kind... Those just make you feel like someone's going to pee in your mouth. There is something about surgical tubing that just isn't very sexual. But back to the point, there are all kinds. Find one that works for you and give it a try.

Yesterday, for reasons that I shall not explain, I entered an adult bookstore. I enjoy adult bookstores, especially when they call their "stock" marital aides. Well, the normal stock of marital aides were there; oils, condoms, crotchless panties, 9 inch platform shoes for the wife, a rubber vagina for the husband, videos (3 for $10.. isn't that great? How do they make any money with bargains like this? I must have twelve tons of...) Most of these marital goodies work wonders for the American marriage as America can proudly boast one of the lowest divorce rates in the world (If you compare us against Saudi Arabia and Syria - lots of widowers in Saudi Arabia and Syria, hmmmmm.) So these kind of adult bookstores are working wonders for keeping good, healthy, strong family values alive. That's why I am really here - to keep the spirit of the American family, alive and healthy.

I like to view everything in the store and more importantly, I like to be loud about it. If you ever wanted to see the cowardice of a society, go into it's local adult bookstore when there are actually some people inside and it's not midnight. It's deathly quiet. No one looks at each other. Everyone's sexuality is on display and everyone is nervous about that. One guy doesn't want another guy to know what he's into and in turn, he doesn't want to know what he's into. These "he's" are people you might know. The man who sells you insurance might be there buying "grow big" pills and the entire series of "big black anal mammas". The woman that teaches your 7 year old how to read and write, might be buying some vanilla flavored motion lotion and a black latex mask with matching panties. A young, spirited woman barely old enough to be in here might be looking around for some answers. And a young man, not old enough to be in here, is hoping she might share them with him. NO ONE... Says a word. These places smell of fear and anxiety when they should smell of hope and excitement. I mean, come on, you are going to get off at some point after you leave here, now isn't that exciting? Shouldn't there be some joy in their behavior? Why are they moving so slowly and awkwardly?

...No....

Just quietly grab the videos and read the back as if they information written in the description is going to "sell" you on it. Wander aimlessly, waiting for the aisle with gay porn to clear so you can view it without figuring out you're gay. Don't make eye contact with anyone. Smirk and quietly chuckle a few times to look cool. Grab a box of condoms... You can always put them back later, but this way it looks like you had a reason to be in here for something and not your not one of the "perverts" that frequent these places.

You would think that an adult bookstore would be the most hopping, happenin' place on earth. A place where everyone could gather and just have a grand ole time, but it's not to be. Fear envelops us and we succumb to the anxieties of social pressure. NOT ME...

I am loud.

I am really loud.

I ask questions, like;
"Does this blow up doll come in any other colors?"
"Is there a warranty on it?"
"Can you heat a dildo in an oven without melting it?" (to clean it)
"If I don't get off to this video, can I bring it back?"
"Do you have any videos with REALLY young looking chicks in it?"
"Will this lotion burn if I use it for anal?"
"Do you have any hot grandma action videos?"
"My uncle used to show me this porn with these two guys in it, do you have it?"

Remember, it's important to as far away from the counter as possible when you ask these questions. It gets laughs or it scares people out of the room. But it shows them that you can be proud of your sexuality and you don't have to hide it. [Note: there is virtually every kind of porn in this 3 for $10 deal... Black grandma midgets with one eye who like to take young Mexican she-males and their white lesbian lovers at the same time.. It's a good one, I recommend it]

I almost made it out of the store, but I saw the little display of cock rings and I just had to take a peek. It's time for a new one anyway. The usual cast of characters were there; leather one, metal ring, surgical tube, and little rubber ring... Little Rubber Ring??? I have never seen Little Rubber Ring. This is a new one on me. Little Rubber Ring - really! Okay.

Now for those of you with weak hearts, I ask you to skip the rest of today's post.

I am home, alone with my new Little Rubber Ring. It's purple. Not my choice, but who cares, it matches my hair anyway. Flaccid, the ring is barely big enough to fit around my pinky. The rubber itself is familiar and I soon realized that it's the same material that they make wall crawlers and those annoying sticky hands with. So, flaccid it's pretty small and not flattering to show off, but it has amazing skills. It can stretch around your skull( I checked, it does). I am pretty sure you can crawl through it, if you wanted too. It's not particularly sexy looking, but it's comfy, which I can't say for every cock ring out there.

The trick, for those of you who don't know, is to put on a cock ring when you are "soft". Then you get hard and the ring stays in place. Sadly, many people believe that the ring just goes around the shaft and they learn the hard way that they are wrong. It goes around the whole package. (knowledge is power) This little rubber ring, well, you can put it on whenever. Being a purist, I put it on first and then settled in for a moment with myself.

.... ..... .... ....

... ....

Thank you.

A cock ring's purpose it to keep blood locked into place thus keeping things at their fullest capacity, so after the show is over, it takes a while for things to "disappear". I know this, but I also know that Little Rubber Ring is flexible and I can just pull it off....

Men, avert your eyes for a moment.

NEVER, pull off Little Rubber Ring when still aroused. I used the condom removal grab-and-throw method, which looks a lot like someone taking off surgical gloves. Little Rubber Ring grabbed a "friend" and tried to take him with him. Little Rubber Ring grabbed him HARD. Really hard and Little Rubber Ring and I had to have a clarification session - No grabbing my nuts. They get abused enough in the show and they needn't be strangled after the fact.

Little Rubber Ring is good. He was cheap. He works out pretty well and if it wasn't for his foolish wanna-be French Tickler lumps that he has on him, he would be pretty cool. AND! I can wear him everywhere as a bracelet while he is out of service. Everyone will think I am supporting cancer survivors. Which is why I went into the adult bookstore in the first place.

enjoying your booty

My fingers are losing circulation and I am very uncomfortable. Do I complain? No. Because the pain means that I am carrying home a very large take. Every store adds more pain to already swollen and blue hands. One bag becomes five, which becomes ten. My ability to carry six large bags per hand is amazing and I am stunned at my ability to do so, each time I am forced to put the bags down and regrip them. Some of the early bags are beginning to give way under their own weight, so some of the latter store clerks offer new bags, but I have this down to a science and don't want to screw it up. I want to get all of this shopping done and make it to the car without changing my grip or losing any of my booty.

It feels like I have twelve tons of goods in my hands. With each new purchase my excitement to get home and roll around in them grows more intense. There must be six thousand items in my hands. I might have to build a whole new addition to my house to store all these delicious treats. I will have to give away everything I own to make room for this new stuff. I cannot wait to get home.

The doors open to my room and the twelve tons of goods hit the floor. To showcase my impatience, I empty the bags in a frenzy, by turning them upside down and dumping them on the ground. With each bag, a new item falls out and builds the excitement level as they are added to the pile. When the last bag is emptied, I can see that the pile of goods isn't twelve tons. It's not six thousand items. It's no where near the amount that I thought it was going to be. I am still excited, but it seems to be fading with each passing moment. Wasn't there more? Is this is it? Isn't there more somewhere? Did I lose a bag?

I guess I don't need to build an addition to the house.

I am actually in a bad mood now. I am sitting here looking at all of this new stuff, and I am upset that it isn't as much as I thought it was going to be. I have somehow turned a good day of shopping into a form of selfish depression.

This isn't the first time I have felt this way, but it's an odd feeling each time it has happened to me: I thought I took more photos, but it turned out that I barely took ten. I thought I walked farther, but it turned out to be barely a mile. I thought I wrote the equivelent of a novel only to find out that it's barely one page in MS word. Each time these things happen to me, I find myself disappointed. I am never sure if I am disappointed in the actual results or if I am upset at myself for making it feel and look bigger than it actually is. I don't seem to have a problem with the quantity of a haul when I know it's measure. But when it's measure is unknown and I am allowed time to think about it and make it sound better than it truly is, that's when I come away with some bitter feelings. I was allowed too much time and I made it into something it wasn't.

I want to see the other side of shopping that so many people get that I deny myself. I want to be like the other shoppers that go out, shop, enjoy it, come home, still enjoying it and continue on with life without every giving it a second thought. Maybe there isn't another side and everyone feels like shit after a large shopping day. Maybe everyone gets their loot home, dumps it out and they too, are suddenly overwhelmed with a great sadness. I could be normal, but I think that most people actually enjoy their take.

I think the only universal feeling that comes with shopping, no matter who you are, how long you were out, or what you bought, is the nasty, "grand total-itis". The feeling that comes when you add all the receipts together and see that a simple day of shopping turned into more money than you spend on rent or your mortgage, in three months. Grand total-itis hits us a little bit when we are shopping but it's easily chased away with all the bliss that you are feeling. With twelve tons of goods slowing depriving your fingers of blood and your body sensing pain, it sends endorphins into the blood stream which creates a blissful sensation to cover the anguish. It also erases any thoughts you might have about how much the grand total might be, because that is a nasty thought and endorphins are all about joy. It isn't until your fingers have had some time to heal, and the body had dropped the levels of endorphins, that your mind can actually tabulate the damage and your imagination can start to show you images of you, living on the street, wearing your newly purchased garments to keep warm.

I want to be rich, just for a while, so I can learn how to enjoy a large haul without ever taking into consideration the price. I guess if you have ever known poverty, that you will never be totally free of the burden of fearing the total. I'm sure if I were rich and went shopping, I would still suffer from grand total- itis, but not to the level that I see it now. I may still see my imagination sending me images of me on the streets, but those images would quickly disappear when my mind reminds my imagination that I'm rich and I can buy the street.

I think I have to take back half this shit. That feeling is actually not too bad. You walk away with your money and you feel pretty smart. Sure, you had to give back something, but you still got to enjoy the fact that you owned it for a little while. Which is the only time you really love something anyway. How many people still love the clothes they bought in a shopping spree from four years ago? How many of you own anything from four years ago?

the karoake singer

Alito... Delay... Bush... Cheney... Republicans all. Every one of them is in the news and each one is hoping for a better day, tomorrow. I don't really know what's going on with them and I don't care. If they are GOP and they are having a bad day, then that means I am having a good day and I don't want to jinx it. It seems the the very, very slow American public has finally picked up on the fact that they were being humped in the pooper for quite a long time and now they are no longer happy about it (it turns out that humping in the pooper is viewed as a gay thing and republicans aren't big on promoting gay lifestyle choices). The GOP is taking some serious hits on the popularity scale and it doesn't look like many of them are going to make a come back. None of them will see jail time, for the same reason that major movie stars never see jail time. No one with any amount of fame or fortune sees the inside of a jail, unless the charges are drug related (even then, if your last name is Bush, then you have nothing to worry about). But even with a stay out a jail free card, most of them will not see the popularity or power that they were used too in their heyday.

I must admit that I have been away for too long from the world of media propogated news and my opinions are a bit incomplete and I apologize if this is way off base. This is what I do know - Alito. I am not sure if Alito is good or bad, but if Bush nominated him then he must be bad. Delay. Delay has always been and will always be a huge piece of shit, so I don't need to follow his story for any new reports. Unless it's revealed that he is a transvesite, then I am not going to waste my time staring at his smiling face. I'm sure he's still smiling and still hoping to return to the throne after his little trial is over with (not unlike another powerful and corrupt leader that is on trial in a sandy country far, far away) Bush. I don't think words can express how bad it is that we finally feel the same way about him that the rest of the world does. I think that we should be baking a lot of cookies and sending them to other countries with a lot of notes asking for forgiveness. He can only get worse and his only salvation will be in Cheney dies. A nation loves a funeral and Bush's numbers might crawl back up if his VP takes a dump. Of course, Cheney isn't going to die easily. He is in love with that money and he isn't going to die without taking as much of it with him as he can. It's going to come as a great shock to him when he does die and his money stays here without him. Sadly, when he dies, he doesn't get to take anyone with him. Sad, isn't it?

My hope for the future is hard to define in these difficult times. I can't say that I have any hope that the world leaders are going to make our future any brighter for us. It's hard to believe that WE KNOW that our leaders are this incompetent and we sit by and let them fuck things up for us and we do nothing about it. It's amazing. How pathetic are we? I guess staying home so we can vote on who is the best 20 year old karoake singer in the land, is far more important than being able to sing our own song without the fear of going to jail for doing so.

Perhaps the answer does lie in Karoake. Perhaps a talent contest is how we can settle the debates and elect our officials. It works for Miss America and in Baking contests. So why don't we just have a political karoake contest for the leadership of the free world. The best singer wins the power to kill or preserve without being second-guessed. (Now isn't that more impressive than a record contract?) In order to keep it exciting, I think we should just keep it to a karoake contest. I don't want to see a lot of juggling, trumpet playing and tumbling in my future leaders. Let's just see who's voice is really "touched by angels" and therefore, the rightful leader of the most self-righteous country on the planet. "Of course he/she's right, haven't you heard him/her sing?" I think this might work. Aren't we always being told that we must engage in a massive amount of school activities if we want to get into the right school? So what do we do with all that talent after we get into the school? I think it could finally find it's usefullness... or we can just shit can all the B.S. about after school activities and just have everyone sing for everything. Job interviews. Raises. Dates. Sex. All decided by singing ability. What a glorious world we would live in if everyone was always singing for their supper.

Of course, for those of us that have seen a lot of karoake, this might not be the easiest thing in the world to pull off. I am going to make this statement and I hope it doesn't hurt anyone's feelings - Janis Joplin can kiss my ass. And Patsy Cline too. I realize that they had talented voices, but they have inspired too many women across this land to think that they can sing like them and too women have tried, and failed, with me listening. I would like to say that the first rule of the Karoake-sing-off-for-the-leadership-of-the-free-world contest is... No Joplin or Cline (for men, no Elvis, Sinatra, Dino, Led Zepplin, Lynard Skynard or Tone Loc) I realize that this will eliminate a lot of really talented people from obtaining the post, but if they can sing that well, then they can sing something else. No matter how great of a singer you think you are, you CAN NOT sing, "Me and Bobby McGee" or "Crazy". Stop it! Stop thinking about it! Give it up! Cease! Let those songs regain some of their respectability. (Pat Benetar should be on this list, but I love "Hell is for children")

The second rule - No costumes. No one is allowed to dress up like Dorthy from "The Wizard Of Oz" to sing. No one is allowed to dress up like Elvis and no one is allowed to put on a crazy wig to be Tina Turner or any lead singer from an 80's rock band. Let's see the politicians just wear their normal bland suits and sing some Tesla.

The third rule - If they invite friends to the contest they have to order food and drinks. No one sitting there just drinking iced tea. The wait staff and the bar have to see some profit.

The fourth rule - No group efforts. At no time can a group of women get up to sing, "Love Shack" or "We are Family". It's an unfair advantage and it will be hard to split up the power between those involved. This is also true of duets. No "Summer lovin" or "Leather and Lace". Power couples rarely make for healthy countries.

I think this might be the answer to all our of political problems. It saves us from the outdated and useless political process that we have today and eliminates media scrutiny about backgrounds, phrasing or policy adjustments. If someone with the voice of god tells us that we are going to celebrate the Fourth of July on September 23rd, then we do it. No questions and no debate. Which frees up a lot of anxiety and eliminates a need for Fox news, MSNBC, CSPAN or any of the other boring channels that you pay for but never watch.

Kelly Clarkston for ruler of the free world in '06.