Son kills mom with a sword.

This is what I do at 6:30 in the morning when I haven’t been to sleep yet.

So, more information was released on the bat shit crazy semi famous actor who killed his mom with a 3 foot long sword.

I’m not trying to make light of this poor woman’s death.  I feel for her.  It’s a terrible thing.  But with crazy stories like this, a lot of questions run through my head. I can’t imagine what it must be like to:

1)Get killed with a sword

2)Get killed with a sword by someone you love.

3)Get killed with a sword by someone you love, who came out of your own body.

4)Get killed with a sword, by someone you love, who came out of your own body, while they scream like a lunatic at you.

Anyway, the sword was a three-foot ceremonial Freemason sword.  It must have looked something similar to this.

“I didn’t kill her. I killed the demon inside her,” he said during his confession.  He heard voices, including that of God, instructing him to attack his mother.

I wonder what the voice of god instructing you to kill your mother sounds like.  Was it a great big BOOMING voice, like you hear in movies?  Or maybe a soft whisper.  How did that internal conversation go?

God: Michael, Michael this is god.  I need you to kill your mother for me.

Michael: God?  Holy shit.  You’re picking now to talk to me?  Why didn’t you answer when I was trying to finger bang Sally in 9th grade, but she wouldn’t let me, so I begged you to convince her it was okay? What about all the times I begged you to get me some real work, not some part time crap gig on Ugly Betty?

God: Not now Michael, this is important.  Your mother is possessed by a demon.  I need you to kill her for me.

Michael: Okay, but when I get to heaven, we’re going to have a chat about all the times you ignored me.  What should I use to kill her?

God: See that great big giant fucking sword over there?  Grab that, just hack the shit out of her until she is dead.

Michael: Okay god, whatever you say.

“She had the voice of the demon,” Brea said. “I asked, ‘Do you believe in God?’ She said, ‘No, Michael no,’ and began screaming. I began slashing her like this,” he said, making violent hacking motions with his right hand.

How cliche.  Do you believe in god?  Why not just be straight up with her.  “Mom, god wants me to kill you”.  Also, who the shit says “No” when a person is looking down at them with a giant sword in their hand?  I’d say , “Shit yes I do Michael, praise Jesus, please don’t hack me with that 3 foot long sword.  Just put it down and let’s go to church together.”  The odds are if someone is asking you that question with a weapon in their hand, they have every intention of killing you, regardless of  your response, but damn, make some effort.

He added: “I didn’t want to kill her right away. I wanted to give her time to get right with God,” he said.

So what was that like?  “Mom, I’m only going to maim you, you need a chance to let god into your heart.”  At this point, did she?  I imagine the pain was overbearing, and by this point she was in shock.  If not, I would have given him a great big “Fuck you Michael, I should have gotten an abortion.”

The police arrived, but Brea says he knew he had time to finish the job. “I knew they wouldn’t open the door and stop me because the spirits were protecting me,” he said. “I just kept cutting her. No one could stop me. I was doing the work of God.”

The cops didn’t open the door right away.  Maybe spirits were protecting him.  I doubt it though.  It probably just took a few seconds for the cops to smash down the damn door.

Among all the gore stood Michael, with the bloodied sword in one hand and a Bible in the other.

Close your eyes and imagine that for a second.  That’s all you need to do.  There is no need to comment on it, the image in your head says it all.

Friends has said they believe money worries and fears about his stalled career pushed him over the edge.

Yeah, that sounds about right.  That’s more logical than god telling you that your mother is possessed, and that you need to chop her up into little bits.  I also think when Michael grabbed that sword, God sided with his mother.  “You’re on your own Michael, I can’t help you now.  Enjoy hell.”

Still no rainbows and kittens folks.

The Culture of Fear.

My next blog will be about fun and exciting things, I promise.  Like rainbows and kittens and  autoerotic asphyxiation.

I’m not sure how many of you that are oh so fortunate to know the link to my blog, have read Barry Glassner’s The Culture of Fear.  I’ve read it a few times since I bought it about 6 years ago or so, and paragraphs here and there when I need something to read on the toilet.  If you haven’t read it, and are even mildly interested (assuming you are one of the few Americans that don’t just read books that have Vampires or Wizards in them), here is the Amazon link:

It’s basically about how as Americans, we are taught to fear everything.  The oh so menacing Black man, flying, drugs, our youth, every illness under the sun, everything.   I’m not saying everyone lives in a perpetual state of fear.  But do you worry about things you probably shouldn’t be worried about?  What do you fear?

The media does a pretty good job of keeping us afraid.  Wars, murder, drugs, rape, you name it.  I’m going to do a brief experiment and go to a few different news websites, and see how many of the fear words are there.

CNN, MSN, FoxNews (I stopped after three)

Death: 8

Murder: 4

Arrested: 1

Explosives: 1

Missing: 3

Drugs: 5

Destruction: 1

Violence: 6

War: 8

Health warnings about doctors/hospitals: 3

Sexual Assault: 1

Gangs: 2

Honorable mentions include:

“Your paycheck is about to shrink”

“Fake Doctor”

“Infections”

That’s 43 stories that involve those words, not including the honorable mentions…on three websites.  That’s all that seems to be going on in the world.  Sure, the whole Korean thing has popped up, but there is always a country mentioned in the news that we should be fearing is about to start World War III.

I don’t fear very much.  At this moment, it’s 10:27, pitch dark outside, and no lights are shining on my truck in the parking lot where I park it.  The doors are unlocked.  The keys are sitting in the middle of the seats.  If someone wanted it, they could easily take it.  I might be dumb for doing it, but I just don’t think about that sort of thing.  It might be especially dumb considering I have no reservations about giving my address out to internet friends.  I don’t worry about it though.  It makes me feel sort of bad, because my sisters car has been broken into twice since I moved back to Denver.  Homeless men, vagrants, people who look like they’re on meth walk through the alley all day and all night long.  Not once has someone stolen anything from my truck.  In fact, a few weeks ago someone left me a zip up hoodie in the bed of my truck.  It’s still sitting there too.  I don’t want it.  Hopefully the person who left it there picks it back up.

I walk around at night, most of the time with Emma, some times without.  Because I have insomnia, the times I walk her can go as late as 2-4 in the morning.  I don’t worry about getting robbed or mugged.  I did call my sister a few weeks ago and ask if it was safe to walk around Sloan’s Lake at night, but I wasn’t truly worried about it.  I just didn’t want to deal with homeless people asking me for money while trying to take a walk.  If someone wanted to rob me while walking, they can take my ipod, wallet, and cellphone.  It would piss me off, but I don’t worry about it happening. I’d rather give them all my shit and walk away unstabbed or unshot.

I don’t worry about “the black man”.  I don’t cross the street to avoid anyone, regardless of what time it is.

I don’t fear that drugs are destroying our youth.

I don’t fear that our country is turning Socialist.  Mainly because we already have Socialist institutions in America, and they seem to work out alright.

I don’t fear Islam.

I don’t fear that giving gay people the same  rights as everyone else will somehow lead America down an immoral path.

I don’t fear spiders either, since I am like 10,000 times their size.

But I wonder, do I not fear things because I’m a white male?  My sister, and other women I know, fear constantly that someone will break into their house at night and rape them.  I can’t imagine living like that.  It must be terrible.  Of the list of things I’m concerned about, getting raped is pretty close to the bottom.  I do my best not to go to jail to ensure my chances of getting raped are even slimmer.

So what do I fear?

I fear that stupid people will continue to vote.

I fear that our elected officials will lead America into a permanent state of war.

I fear going to my physical next month and the doctor telling me he needs to check my prostate, and sticking a finger up my anus.  I’ve just never had a finger in my anus.  Maybe I should start doing it to myself so when the doctor does put his beefy finger inside me, I won’t gasp.  Maybe I’ll like it and fall in love, and marry a doctor though.  Doctors are sooo dreamy.  Amirightladies?

The point is, I just don’t fear very much, because there isn’t much to be afraid of.  But I’m curious what you fear.  So leave me a comment you big fucking babies, tell me all of your fears so I can use them against you.

A to Z of my apartment.

Because I am bored, I just got a memory card for my camera, and no one wants to hang out with me.

 

Alex Grey Art Books.

Black Hand and Books.

Chair.

Dirty Pan. Gross.

Emma.

Folder of Important Files.

Guitar.

Hat on a Head.

In between H and I, I cut myself.

i-pod.

Jack3d.

Karate Chop.

Led Zeppelin.

Matryoshka Dolls.

Night Vision Goggles.

Oatmeal.

Pull Up Bar.

Q-Tips.

Ribbons.

Saved Sports Pages.

Title for a Tacoma Truck I just got in the mail Today.

Underwear.

Vitamins.

Wooden Man.

X-Men next to an X-Box.

Yellow Pages and Yoplait Yogurt.

Z.

 

 

Idiots.

Idiots.

I’m making another blog post so close to my previous one because I am a defeated man.  The idiots win.

Your numbers are too strong.  For every one of you I knock down, ten more of you pop right back up to takes it’s place.  The most frustrating part about idiots is that you cannot argue or rationalize with them.  Know why?  Because they are too dumb to grasp what you are saying to them.  I try to explain to them why they are being dumb, but their stupid fucking brain won’t allow them to understand.

There are different kinds of idiots.  Some are just born with a brain that won’t allow them to understand things around them.  Some are willfully idiotic.  The latter I have no sympathy for.

You will be the destruction of this earth and all of its inhabitants, do you realize that idiots?  You’ll keep killing each other over stupid reasons.  You’ll keep voting, which surprises me that you even have the brain power to write your name, and stupid laws will keep being upheld, or new equally stupid ones will pop up.  You’ll keep starting wars.  You’ll keep killing all off the animals on this planet, even though they are going extinct.  You’ll keep teaching people and making more idiots. You’ll keep fear mongering and cutting people down because the idiot on the T.V. screen told you too.

Besides all that, you make the world an intolerable place for the rest of us.  You’re too dumb to figure out how to work a self checkout scanner in the grocery stores.  You’re too stupid to know that other people are driving on the same road as you are, and you shouldn’t be sightseeing while driving down the freeway.  You’re too stupid to read books or newspapers, and attempt to fill the rest of our heads with stupid ideas.  You’re too dumb to know you smell horrible when you’re out in public places.  You’re too stupid to turn in paperwork I submit to you, thus fucking up things I need done.  I could go on and on.

But, you win.  You will always win. It has taken me until this very day to realize that you run this world.  The rest of us have no hope.

 

Chipped teeth

Chipped Teeth.

When I was young, I rode my badass BMX bike up to the top of a paved sidewalk, and attempted to jump a ramp.  I peddled as fast as I could, hit the ramp, then…nothing.  I regained consciousness while two friends were supporting me, trying to get me to my front door.  What had happened was an asshole slid his skateboard along the path I was going to land my bike on.  I hit the board and flipped over my bikes handlebars and landed on my face.  I am so glad I blacked out for that.  I also would like to find the kid who slid the skateboard under my bike and beat the shit out of him. 

As a result of landing on my face, my two front teeth were chipped pretty badly.  It looked something like this.

I was rushed to the hospital by my parents.  I remember using my tongue to feel where parts of my teeth used to be, I swear I felt roots.  Anyway, at some point they were fixed by Air Force doctors and everything was great and I lived a happy life and got laid like a million times.

Except I’m mildly retarded (probably because my head  smashed into a concrete sidewalk at one point in my life).

My parents bought me cowboy boots for some reason.  I hope I didn’t ask for them, but I’m sure I did.  While waiting for the school bus, I showed an older and tougher kid how hard my cowboy boots were by stomping on his foot.  Understandably, he punched me in the mouth and knocked out my fake teeth.  After that, my parents decided that I would just get them knocked out again if they had them fixed.  There was a cost/benefit to their decision. Clearly the cost of replacing my front teeth, enabling me to live a normal, reasonably happy childhood, was not beneficial enough.  So, I lived my pre-teens and all of my teenage years as the kid with chipped teeth.

I did a fairly good job of covering them as best I could.  I didn’t laugh as much, my smile was all lips, and I tried not to talk that much.  It worked on some people, some it didn’t.  I went home on leave from the Air Force (before my teeth were fixed) and hung out with a friend of mine, one of my best friends from high school.  He asked me, “what the hell happened to your teeth?”.  He had no idea, even from the 100’s of times I’d hung out with him, that I had chipped teeth.  It made me feel clever.  However, I did receive a normal dose of getting made fun of that you would expect a kid with fucked up front teeth would get.

I cherish the people who didn’t try to hide it from me.  Not the people who picked on me though. I later became friends with some, but I still reserve a middle finger and a big “fuck off” for them.  When I win the lottery and they ask me to help them with their money problems, that’s when I’ll use it.  Anyway, I’d like to acknowledge the people who didn’t mind my hideous teeth.

Scotty –

“Hey Brian, do you know you have chipped teeth?”

Ray – 

Me: “Ray, do my teeth ever bother you?”(this was after we graduated high school and I didn’t have the nerve to even bring it up to one of my best friends). Ray: “No, I don’t give a shit man.  Why would you even ask that?”

Michelle/Melissa – Pictures unavailable

For letting me make out with them a bunch.

Of course there are plenty more I could add to this list, but for the sake of time and your eyes, I’ll only list those four.  I do need to say that I had plenty of close friends in high school, all deserving of my thanks. “Thanks for hanging out with me and not picking on me like those other assholes”.

Now, back to my depressing chipped teeth.

I joined the Air Force at 19, yadda yadda, and got my teeth fixed at age 20.  I swear to you, I wanted to hug my dentist.  Had I not been in the military and had he not been an officer, I would have.  I would have hugged him and never let go.  Instead, I looked him straight in the eyes and mustered the most sincere “Thank you”, I would ever be capable of.  To him it was just another day at work.  To me it was a life changer.

I almost didn’t know how to act after my teeth were fixed.  I went back to the shop where I worked that day, but I must have taken 20 bathroom breaks just to go the bathroom mirror and smile.

I have a special place in my heart for people who had or have chipped teeth.  I know a woman named Alli.  I met her at a bar while dating Michelle.  Michelle told Alli that I had chipped teeth, and that Alli did too, (Alli’s are removable).  Instant friends.

I met a guy at a Halloween party.  We were both dressed as hockey players.  Of course we started talking, and I noticed he had chipped teeth.  He told me my costume was cool, but his was the real deal.  I used black halloween stuff to make my teeth looked chipped.  I told him my story.  Instant friends, we hugged, laughed, and had a beer.

Having chipped teeth sucks.  It stunts your social growth. Seriously, if you have kids with chipped teeth, fix them.  If I can reach just one parent who has no idea that their child’s missing front teeth is a bad parenting decision, then this blog has all been worth it.

I’m also going to add this facebook conversation I had yesterday, because it made me laugh.

Brian Bowers Apparently it’s “National Daughter’s Week”. Although I do not have a daughter, I would just like to send a message to all the semen that I have deposited into tissue paper, into condoms, that went down my shower drain, that I wiped off stomach with a gray gym sock, etc. 

I’m sure you would have grown up into a beautiful girl who I would have been proud of. I’m sorry.

M: Oh my god, you’re so disgusting! LMAO

Brian Bowers: I thought it was sweet. You don’t have semen, you wouldn’t understand.

M: I would. I’d like to send a shout-out to all those eggs which have gone unfertilized and been released once a month. Darn those missed opportunities!

Brian Bowers But that’s only once a month. The average male has 280 sperm in his ejaculate. That’s like, a million sperm I’ve killed. I’m being modest, probably more like 2 million.

M: LOL. Which makes an egg FAR more important. One trumps one million.

Brian Bowers So not true. If I were fighting a war, I would want a million men, not one. Unless it was Rambo. You can’t do anything with one. At least my sperm have friends for a short amount of time.

M: Or one trumps 280 times how much you ejaculate in a month.

Brian Bowers Negative. Women only have one egg. Sperm fights to get there. The best get there first. Imagine fighting your way, struggling to get to the egg, and you have one choice. It’s a crock.

M: But in making a kid, there is only ONE egg. If it doesn’t happen, there is the next month…and the next. It’s like going into war without a general.

Brian Bowers Your egg is a general? A general that disappears during the month. My troops are always there, ready to go.

M: It’s there at the crucial moment. Then another one takes its place.  Unfortunately, your troops get involved in a lot of other skirmishes which don’t yield any results.

Brian Bowers That’s my point of this post. I feel bad for my semen. I’m going to start saving them in envelopes and mason jars, so I always remember them. Then when I die I will have them cremated with me, and the ashes spread over the Great Barrier Reef, while the spreader reads “For Anne”, by Edgar Allan Poe.

Brian Bowers Annie*

M: Aww….Well, maybe you should start impregnating. Then you won’t feel so bad.

Brian Bowers I’ve tried, women always want me to wear a condom, or the semen in their face. Not to mention the dirty women I have sex with that want it in the backdoor.

M: You ever see that Spike Lee movie? About the guy who impregnates 15 women in one night? Maybe you should do that.

M: I thought this wall was PG-13.

J: Wait… this is beginning to look like a script for a romantic comedy… when Brian’s sperm met….

Brian Bowers

M:: She Hate Me? I’ll have to check it out. My wall goes from rated G to NC-17 at my discretion. 

J: That is a great idea. I’m going to start writing the screenplay tonight. I’m gonna be rich. You get 20% of all profits from toy sales too.

M: I want profits. I played a major role here.

Brian Bowers Profits only go to semen carrying friends on facebook. If you really want a share, I guess I can give you 1%, since all you have is one egg.

J: definetly… and I chickened out on completing the working title: “… M’s egg”. That was before the fifteen lesbians showed up.

Brian Bowers We’re going to be in a romantic comedy together M!

M: Argh. Time to go do laundry.

J: Argh? It’s okay Brian… I’ve taken worse 🙂

M: I didn’t mean it that way:-) I finally got fed up with the argument.

L: I so wish I hadn’t read this post! You really are one of a kind Brian!

Brian Bowers That is what I am going to repeat over and over to my sperm as they leave my penis, while I weep for them. “You really are one of a kind”.

M: And how I wished this comment thread would end.

Brian Bowers It may end, but it will lie in our hearts and minds forever. FOR-EVER.

C: So a hooker walks into a spem bank and says gurgle gurgle I would mmphike to gurgle make a deposit.

Brian Bowers Then what happened?

C: I don’t know ask M

Brian Bowers What happened M?

Brian Bowers I don’t think M would know anyway. What happened C?

C: She swallowed and had to walk back to your house with no money! Did you smack the ho

Brian Bowers No, I only smack women when they screw up my dinner. Just kidding kids. Domestic violence is wrong.

J:  This was a nice, family oriented thread until C came along and turned it ugly… way to go C!

Brian Bowers Seriously. C the ruiner.

K: I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life. I think I peed muhself.

Brian Bowers This has been a great facebook day.

Gays, My Truck, Emma.

Gays(Gays in the military).

I am so sick of this discussion.  I’m tired that gay rights are still an issue.  Let them join the military, let them adopt, let them have the same rights and privileges as everyone else.  I have nothing against gay people.  I don’t care if there is a 50 man orgy, with all of them forming a circle, penis in anus, going on in the apartment next to me.  I don’t care.  It is none of my business.  Just like I don’t care if you like people pooping on your chest.  Where consenting individuals want to put their penis or rub their vaginas has nothing to do with me.  I was in the military, I figured some people were gay, I didn’t care.  I’m boring myself even writing about this subject.  I really don’t understand why it’s an issue.  If it’s because of a religious belief like, “the bible says it’s wrong”, then believe it’s wrong and let god deal with it.  Until a law is passed that makes you personally have to suck a penis or rub your vagina on another vagina, shut up about it.

My truck.

I love it.  It’s old( a 96′) has  120,000 miles on it, and a bunch of things wrong with it that I need to fix, but I don’t care.  I would rather have this truck than a brand new one.  I’ve replaced the leaf springs on it myself, which was an enormous pain in the ass and could have caused my death, (my cousin and I had to use a blowtorch to get the front left bolt off, right next to the gas tank), but I love it.  The key sometimes gets stuck in the ignition, so I have to disconnect the battery to get it out, but I love it.  It’s never truly let me down.  I’ve treated it like complete shit while mudding or going through back trails in the woods while I lived in North Carolina, all to beat a friend to the job site, and it’s never let me down.  I kind of feel like the truck is me.  It’s getting old, there are things wrong with it, it puts up with a lot, the exterior and interior isn’t pretty, but it’s reliable, it keeps going, it likes to be put through hell to prove it still has what it takes to make it through, and it doesn’t give a fuck if anyone else likes it or not.

Emma and other dogs.

I felt bad when I got Emma.  It was a struggle paying $800 for her, when there are dogs at shelters who need a good home.  I went to a few shelters to try to convince myself to not get Emma and get one of them.  This horribly ugly dog with three legs really stole my heart.  I was so close to getting him.  In the end I was selfish and got Emma. I’ve wanted an Irish Setter ever since my family had one. …

Her name was Brandy.  I still remember her very well.  My parents chained her up outside, and every time I tried to leave the yard to go and play, I would see Brandy staring at me.  I always chose to play with Brandy, at least for a bit, before I could leave.  On Thanksgiving day, someone stole Brandy from our yard.  I’m not sure if this is accurate after growing up and learning things my parents did to our dogs.

I had a Rottweiler mix when I was in high school named Comet.  I didn’t ask for him, my parents just brought him home for me.  I loved him too.  My parents ended up not wanting him and told me they gave him to a friend of theirs that lives in the country.  My sister told me later in life that they actually just drove out into the country, opened the car door, let him out, and drove away.  I hope he made it okay in life, and someone found him and cared for him.

We also had a dog named Jacob, who was a retarded Cocker Spaniel.  Honestly, he was retarded.  He loved chasing rocks.  Sometimes he would get rocks that were way too large for him, and he would struggle carrying them around in his mouth.  If you threw a rock for him, sometimes he would run into the clothes line pole.  He was probably the most friendly dog I have ever met in my life.  He loved people, he loved everything.  When I was in the military I learned from my sister that my Mom put him to sleep, after my parents got a divorce.  Later I found out that he had an ear infection, and for some reason my mom wasn’t giving him his ear drops, which for some reason made him get maggots in his ear.  So, my mom put him to sleep.   I loved Jacob.  I hope he made it some place nice.

We also had a dog named Tawny.  As much as I love Emma, Tawny was the best dog I have ever had or met.  She was amazing.  She was so smart and loving.  When I left for the military and didn’t come back home for almost a year, Tawny was so excited to see me home again.  My sister ended up taking Tawny, and moved to Colorado.  Tawny was getting really old, and it showed.  She developed health issues and could barely see.  Despite that she was still loving.  My sister told me she felt it was time to put her down, and I agreed.  I went out to Colorado to see my sister graduate law school, and to be there when she put Tawny down.  I went to the vet with two of my sisters.  My middle sister patted Tawny on the head and said, “goodbye Tawny”.  I thought it was callous at the time, but she doesn’t deal with emotions well, she did the best she could.  My youngest sister and I stayed in the room as the vet injected the first shot into Tawny to put her to sleep.  My sister and I held Tawny, petting her as we cried.  He injected the second shot into Tawny, which made her vomit.  My sister lost control at that point and had to leave the room, I don’t blame her for that either.  I wanted to run as fast as I could from that room.  I couldn’t though.  I had to be strong for Tawny so she did not leave this world alone. My sister and the vet left the room and left me alone.  I held Tawny in my lap, brung her close to my mouth and held her.  I whispered over and over, “I’m so sorry Tawny, I’m so sorry”.  It was the most emotional experience of my life.  I hope Tawny made it to a some place nice too.

Which brings me to Emma.  I’ve had her for almost three years now.  She’s been a struggle to raise  right, since she is a hyper Irish Setter and always want to play.  She is so smart.  I’ve taught her basic commands like, sit, lay down, roll over, shake, “go potty”, to get one of her balls to play with, to go to bed(which means go to her crate) and a few other things.  She loves spending time with me.  I think I spoiled her in that regard.  The first few years of her life she has always been with me.  I would bring her to the job sites with me, she was always around.  Now when I leave, even if it’s all day, overnight, or just for 5 minutes, she acts like she hasn’t seen me in years, and jumps and spins.  She loves going on runs or walks with me, though no matter how fast I go, she always wants to go faster.  She is a really good dog, I couldn’t have asked for a better one.  It tears me up knowing that she will pass on one day.  It will end up being harder than it was with Tawny.  Sometimes I feel I shouldn’t have gotten her to spare myself the forthcoming pain.  Equally, if not worse, is the thought that I might die before Emma.  If I do, I hope she finds a good home.  I’ve considered making a will, which is probably a good idea, and naming a certain person to take care of Emma.  I’m not sure if they would though.  They would be my choice. I don’t want to die thinking that she wouldn’t have a good home.  If I do die before her, I hope she remembers me from time to time.  I hope when she passes, she makes it to a nice place as well.

Things I dislike.

Sarah Palin.

I love “the troops” as much as any patriot.   I was “a troop”.  Sarah Palin injects “the troops” about 50 fuckinbizzilion times in a speech.  We get it, Sarah.  As a whole, Sarah Palin offends me.  She offends my intelligence.  When John McCain announced her as her running mate, I swiftly went to my computer and made a fake Sarah Palin page.  Within the first few hours I was up to 2,000 fans.  Within days that number shot up close to 10,000.  I read every single email the people sent me.  I would respond to some with some of the more absurd things she has said and done.  Quotes mind you, I wouldn’t make anything up.  The hate mail was the greatest thing about doing it.  I wish I had saved them.  Of course Myspace shut the account down  fairly quickly, as it became clear that I was not the real Sarah Palin based on the wall posts I wrote.

People in general.

Specifically people who run their mouth with subjects they know nothing about, shut the fuck up.  That, or they simply repeat whatever nonsense Rush Limbuagh, Glenn Beck, or Keith Olbermann say.  I kind of feel badly about adding Keith to the list because Rush and Glenn are just so fucking stupid it’s unreal.  Listen people, however you get your news, internet, newspaper, a homeless man with a sign, I don’t care.  Just do the world a favor, read or listen to what is being said, let the information swirl around in your brain for a bit, decide how you really feel about an issue, then open your mouth so I can tell you to shut the fuck up anyway.

My building manager and the crazy woman who lives below me.

I covered my building manager a little in my previous rant, but I’ll toss in some more.  Every thing he does annoys me.  He always wants to talk, to everyone, always.  Every so often I really lose my temper and go off on someone.  Last year I went off on my building manager.  Let me explain…

I pick up my dogs shit.  Whether it’s during the day or 2 am in the morning when I know I can get away with it.  Last year my building manager saw me in the morning, started talking to me and following me around while walking my dog around the building.  My dog proceeded to shit, and the building manager proceeded to tell me that I better pick it up.  You would think that me waiting for my dog to finish shitting, with a plastic dog shit bag in hand, would be a clue for him that I had every intention of picking it up.  He is a moron however, and told me he could get me evicted if I didn’t pick it up.  I went off on him.  For a good 5 minutes too.  I won’t go into everything I said, but some of my close friends that have faced my wrath and cared for me enough to forgive me have said that when I go off, I “go off with all guns blazing”.  It’s true.  When I get to that point where I see red and unleash my arsenal, it’s not pretty.  I hate getting like that but I can’t help it.  Anyway, he deserved it, he’s a sex offender.

I started a novel about the building manager so I’ll cut it short.  He is a stupid mother fucker.

The crazy woman who lives below me is an elusive creature.  I have never seen her before.  I’ve gotten a brief glimpse of her when she looked through her window screen at me and tried to flirt with me, but I didn’t really see what she looks like.  She screams, at the top of her lungs, to almost anyone who passes by her window.  By almost anyone I mean anyone who isn’t white, and anyone who isn’t male.  She screams nonsense like:

Fuckin whore bag gangbanger!

Fuck you, you fuckin cunt whore bag, drug dealing fucker!

Unprovoked mind you.  I don’t know why she does it, she must have mental issues.  Usually it’s kind of funny, at least it was for the first 50 times.  It pisses me off when she does it to a woman walking her two small children into the building though.  I’ve tried knocking on her door to talk to her about it, but she just screams, “Who the fuck is it?!?!”, and never answers.  I’ve called the cops on her 3 times, nothing works.

“The Situation”

I don’t really know anything about him.  I’ve seen one clip of him from a safe sex ad featuring him and one of Sarah Palins butt babies, but.. Anyone who calls themselves “The Situation” and takes themselves seriously at the same time, deserves to get their face smashed in.

The phrases “made history” or, “history will be made”.

Everything is history.  I took a shit this morning, its history.  When a pitcher throws a no-hitter, he made history, along with the other 269 people who did it before him.  It is extremely over used.  Please stop saying it.

That’s enough for now.

Here is someone I do like though.

http://www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/10/08/heroes.louisville.fire/index.html?hpt=T2

I don’t believe in heaven or hell, but sometimes I hope that there is a heaven for people like this woman.

Building Manager

The stupid ass registered sex offender building manager seems to feel everyone needs his arm waving and directions whenever they back their car out, or when the garbage man is setting down the dumpster. I want to punch his retarded sex offender face. I need to get some sleep.

Blog

I started this account months ago.  My friend Robert was taking an English class that required him to create an account here and start blogging.  So, I created this to confirm to him that people could read his blog.

Should I start a blog?  What is the point?  I have no audience and I’m pretty sure nobody is interested in what I have to write anyway.  Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.