Cardiac Fantasies™

HURRICANE RELIEF

2008-09-17T17:00:00.002-05:00

For those interested in contributing to Hurricane Relief Efforts, some of the folks at Wunderground.com have started a relief effort. All the donations go straight to supplies, etc. for the area. You can read more about it here - IKE Relief
You will start to see the extent of the disaster over the next few weeks, if media coverage doesn't make it go away.
We were blessed with minimal damage - but the Bay areas.......... Up to you. But anything you give will be used immediately and directly into the emergency areas.

Michael

IKE Update

2008-09-16T10:48:00.002-05:00

Houston got whacked pretty hard. I got out this time. No 29 hour ordeal. My house survived and we were very fortunate. Send your prayers for those down here whose nightmare isn't over. Gas and Food are still a major issue. The majority of the area is still without power.

Oh, and for those that don't think a Cat 2 is very unimpressive - this storm flooded Chicago, put power out in Cincinatti, caused Hurricane Strength Gusts in Lexington Kentucky, and did millions in damage to New York State on the way out of town. That was after we took the full power and toned his ass down a little for the rest of the country.

How Time Flies

2008-09-08T08:09:00.003-05:00

An old friend from Otherland wrote me this weekend with a gentle reminder - It's been almost a full year since you've posted. Why don't you drop a post and let everyone know you are still breathing, or something, you utter dork!
So, as you can tell, I'm still breathing. A lot has happened in a year, and yet a lot remains the same. From the lack of posts, you can sort of tell that the Beast has been in hiding almost full time for a long, long, time. Nor have I self destructed. Sorry to blow the betting pot on that one, folks. Closest to a year without going over? Someone tell me who won - I want my percentage. I earned it.
So I'll try to get back to this. No promises. Life is too stinkin' busy right now for promises. But sometimes, as another friend wrote me this weekend - you have to stop and smell the roses, if only to push back the date of the impending heart attack.

Dream Well,

Michael

Dial Tone

2007-09-17T23:35:00.000-05:00

How on Earth did we ever reach this point in life? People deserve better than me, and I need something else in my life. I'm incredibly empty right now. DIAL TONE. DISCONNECT.

There was a life somewhere back there, that I somehow missed the turn for. I look back along the road and I can't figure out where I missed the fork and ended up here. DIAL TONE. DISCONNECT.

I was almost happy once. And then out of the blue, for whatever reason, things changed. I missed the shortcut to the relatively happy door, and ended up outside in the cold, looking in, wondering where I'd wandered off of the path. DIAL TONE. DISCONNECT.

"Whatever you do, don't let them get this letter when they come. Make sure it gets mailed before they find it." The desert, the dust, the heat. Silver flashing, pain slamming deep into my arm, then numb. Looking down, tendons open to the dry night air. Moving. Terminaor flash back. Fuck this. Find a towel. Driving through the desert, blood loss taking its toll, the car sliding sideways, almost rolling. DIAL TONE. DISCONNECT.

Faced death. Been there, done that. Father died a week after moving to Houston. Middle of Lowes. Phone call. Shock hitting. sitting down in the middle of the aisle. No tears. Nothing. Just a picture of my dad, unable to get one more breath. Falling over. The doorbell ringing. Too Late, Too late. He was fucking dying awhile someone came to visit him, only he didn't answer the door. He couldn't, because he was dying. My mom wasnt' there. My Mom and first son enroute to Houston from Albuquerque. They were on the way to see me when he died, alone. I gave the eulogy. No Tears. He fucking died. What is left to say? Is there anything I can say to bring him back? No - just to ease the pain of these simpering idiots that put in an appearance at the funeral. DIAL TONE. DISCONNECT.

In one two minute explosion of emotion, I finally loosed the grief in a storm of agony, six months after he died. That was it. Nothing else. One little explosion of anguish, and then silence. Nothing to say. DIAL TONE,. DISCONNECT.

I hate where I am, who I am, my life. And no one is close enough to me to even begin throwing a lifeline, much less saving me. I built the fucking walls too high, too deep, too strong. I did that after someone got in. Got in and never appreciated what she'd accomplished. Burned me. Left me for dead. So I rebuilt the walls. No one gets in now. NO ONE. But then, there's no one strong enough to find the door to get in and save me. So it goes. It's what I do. Survive. No happiness, no love, just alive. Life support. Not brain dead, emotionally dead. No one left to break down the walls and free me. No one left even to show mercy and pull the fucking plug. This is me. Its what I am.

Michael

A Cry in the Night

2007-09-14T23:23:00.001-05:00

I'm rapidly approaching that time of year. On the good side - its Renaissance. My eight weekends to escape from the doldrums of my every day life. On the bad side - October. Anniversary of my death in the desert. The one that should have been. I'm totally without connection to any of my friends here in Otherland. This summer has been oh so busy, and bizarre, that I have basically lost touch with anyone who meant anything to me in this Fantasy other place here online.
As for IRL - no friends there to lose. LOL. Try that little dichotomy on for size. I know there's a few readers still checking in. Most of those from the Barmaid Blog - for some odd reason, as she's grown more popular, and updated her links, she's never dropped me, and to this day I still get a lot of new traffic from there. Go figure. Mebbe she's just one of the loyal ones. Of course, she's 3/4 of a country away. heh heh.

Yeah, yeah. Just another could have been a nice time blown by Michael's mouth. No issue there. It will never happen any other way.

So here's to you all, and here's to hoping your October turns out better than mine - just another anniversary of a failed suicide attempt in the dark of night in the middle of the desert.

Dream Well
Michael

Missing Anniversary

2007-08-27T22:56:00.000-05:00

This post made One Year on August 15th, and I was so damn busy that I missed the fireworks. I'm still busy, so as my anniversary gift to my readers, I'd like to repost one of my most open, honest, and dark posts. The story of the night I died. Or should have. You'll want to keep the children away from this one.......

The Straw That Broke the Camel's Back

This particular entry is dark and somewhat – well – you might want to skip this one if you’re squeamish or have a weak stomach.

This time of year is Fantastic, Busy, Packed, Happy, Sad, Haunted, Threatening, and Hopeful, all rolled into one for me. Work always gets busy at this time of year. Construction projects start about now so they can place the concrete in bad weather but won’t have the risk of so much bad weather when they get to the finishes inside the buildings. Playtime gets really busy this time of year, too. For the next 7 weekends (and this past weekend) the Texas Renaissance Faire runs, and that means I get to dress up every weekend, exit my normal life entirely, and become a simple Renaissance Shopkeeper at one of the largest fairs in the United States. So basically, I am working seven days a week for eight weeks straight without a day off. Add four total hours of travel time to and from the fair, and my life gets pretty packed in short order. When I’m not doing that, it’s football season. Those are things that I look forward to in life. Simple things, actually. I’m pretty much easy to please.

Cut to the Month of October, 1985. Sophomore in College. Honors Student that basically tested out of my entire Freshmen Year before I ever sat foot on a college campus. Fall of 1985 – The stress of classes that I truly wasn’t ready for, and skipping classes, and problems with women still handcuffing me emotionally, and I was starting a increasingly steep and uncontrollable slide straight to hell. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.00. Toss some drugs in the mix in October.

Watch from above, like an eagle, as I pop two percodan to prep for the pain. Watch me lean toward my roommate, hand him an envelope, and tell him to make sure that they don’t get that later. Look down in judgment as I climb into my car, drive 10 miles into the eerily moonlit desert. Watch me get out, sit down on the edge of the dirt road. Wait, don’t go yet. Watch the moonlight highlight the razor as I pull it out.

No, don’t go yet. Don’t miss the tip of the razor blade entering the top of the wrist. This is better than Halloween. More Gory than Freddie and his glove. Look close as I rip that razor back towards my elbow. Oh no, no weak ass carving a notch across the top of the wrist here. Fuck no! Watch as the skin tension in the forearm suddenly yanks the open edges of my forearm skin back all the way to the bone on either side. Watch me as I look down in shock, and beginning panic, as I move my hand, and like the old Terminator movies, I see every ligament, tendon, and remaining muscle in my arm sliding back and forth.

I was lucky that night. Had my arm simply bled out, with little pain, I would have been dead that fateful evening. But when I looked down and saw crap moving in my wrist, I totally freaked out. I headed for the hospital, already disoriented from blood loss.
October was never a good month for me for a long, long time after that.

It’s a threatening time because Christmas is on us, and you’re already worried about enough money for the kids present, and the Sigo’s. It’s hopeful, because the New Year is coming, and no matter how jaded, cynical, and sarcastic I may become in life, the New Year will always symbolize at least a hope for a better beginning, for a step up the food chain, for something really fantastic to come along to make up for your suffering.

Michael

Weather Report - Erin and Dean Come-a-visiting

2007-08-17T08:06:00.000-05:00

Phrase of the Day – If you can’t do it right the first time, don’t take up Skydiving.

So here’s the weather update – Current Computer Modeling has Houston taking a direct hit on 1 of the five models, and on the “Wet Side” on another one of the models. SWEET!

As an aside, Tropical Storm Erin made landfall and headed straight over San Antonio on her way to parts West. Unfortunately, she was training in moisture from the gulf (you’ll see it as a band of clouds, water vapor, and rain looping into the center of a storm, if you look at a satellite photo). So it was Thunder and Rain Alley all day long yesterday here in Big H. Flooding and highway shutdowns. Its good in a minor way, because after the rain stopped two weeks ago, the heat index has been between 100 and 110 degrees that whole time. So we’re at a balmy 84 for a high. It’s really bad, though, because we expect to get rain through Monday from the remnants of Erin, meaning the ground will be close to saturation in terms of soaking up water just in time for Dean, if he decides to make landfall anywhere near here. Dean also means evacuation, if he heads this way. I spent 29 hours on the road evacuating for Rita (which made a last minute turn and missed our dinner date), and during that 29 hours, I only made it from South Houston to 15 Miles north of Greater Houston – usually a 45 minute trip where I live. I don’t want to wish it on anyone else, but I have to tell you that I don’t want to see it going through here, either. Greater Houston Metroplex is the 4^th largest city in the US – and would be a nightmare to evacuate.

But we have about a week. If it does hit here next week, you’ll be hearing it on the evening news. God knows if it does, there’ll be no innernets, as the ‘chick would say, for no telling how long. Until then,

Dream Well, Michael

Dealin wit' it

2007-07-30T22:18:00.000-05:00

Oh good Lord be with me, the Beast is stalkin' tonight. There's a huge gaping hole in my gut tonight. Dark. Empty. Reeking of the grave. The putrid essence of decay, of death, prolonged and dyin'. Like an empty grave, waitin' on a soul, it carves me to the marrow, that emptiness, that rotting stench of death warmed over. It cleaves my soul, this loneliness, this empty basket, knowing nothing this side of death can fill the blank void of my soul. It's almost a year since this journey began, and as I come full circle, I find that nothing, indeed, has changed, or been solved. There is a piece missing in me. My greatest fear is that I'm Harold Lauder, the Prince of Darkness, temporarily absolved but never forgiven, an example for the Walkin'Dude. I knew in my heart that tonight, the epiphany, the answer to all questions, but when all of the questions have been asked, I'm still alone in my nightmare of empty discontent.There is a hole in me, a flaw, that will never be riven, never be forgiven never be healed. I walk upon this earth, an empty caricature of the foolishness of man. I could never die by my own hand, not ever, ever, again, but in my mind, I wish I could die tonight, to release the endless pain, the sorrow, the emptiness, the loss of any friend that I could ever spill my guts to. You, my loyal readers, will never know whatit is like, not haveng a single person in your entire life that you can spill everything to without fear of reprisal, or shame, or judgment. But that is the fate I find myself bound to. An endless search for someone who will find me attractive for how I am, not who they want me to be. Do you have any clue at all what I have given up, knowing that the things that did the most for me were outside the boundaries, unattainable, and a dangerous pipe dream
of a simple, naive, retard? For that is what I am, when it all comes down to it. A retard. A genetic defect. A smudge upon the cleanliness of a New world. Verily have ye found the stain within ye, and purged it out.God forgiveth sin, but he does not forgive naivite, because, when it comes down to it, God doesn't give a flying shit about a rolling donut for those who don't meet his standards. The meek shall inherit the Earth, but that doesn't apply to those weaklings amoung us who don't deal his word like an ace high flush in a poker game. God could give a shit about those that don't fulfill his holier than thou proverbs.
That leaves the rest of us sucking hind tit on the holy goat. Always the bridesmaid, but never the bride. He is real good in his infinite wisdom. He'll suck the life out of you in your "holy matrimony" but at the same time he'll skew the fukkin deck when it comes to reaching fulfillment elsewhere.
Yeah, The Holy Beast is stalking tonight, selectng his kill, and ripping the life and hope out of those who have nowwhere else to turn.
Sweet dreams, to those of you who don't make the fekken cut. Your sacrifice, your sorrow, is but the foundation for the rest of the world's new hope.

Mike

To Whom It May Concern

2007-07-30T07:01:00.001-05:00

I'm alive. Work is a bitch. The Beast is prowling. Once work gets cooled down, I'll be back to regular posting. Until then......... Dream Well.

Michael

Solitary Confinement

2007-07-16T22:23:00.000-05:00

Still in solitary. But it seems one of the warden's little bitches got taken by the Three Amigos awhile back, so instead of the evening meal tonight, I got a laptop slid through the little slot in the door. No internet access, but it has a word processor, so I have a few seconds to send a little message, along with the instructions on how to send this post.
I have no way of knowing, at this point, whether Booger managed an email or not, but I'm seriously doubting it. So the summary of what happened.... we left our hero with an open cell door, and many minutes for kindly visitors to stop by and take a piece of rookie ass for free. Didn't happen. I sort of had a blackout in the middle of it, and don't remember much, but, call me what you will, I like to retain control of the one way traffic out my ass. Call me a damn traffic cop, but this is a one way street as far as you are concerned, fellas, and I feel somewhat strongly about that, even more so when I haven't had alcoholic drink one. I suppose a shot of X would grease the particular skids in question, or so I've heard, but that's probably the one non injectable drug that I didn't get the opportunity to try.
So I freaked. I'm a little guy, and don't fight, but damn it all, you better kill me, cause when I get out of the hospital I'm well and truly going to ruin you permanently.
I came to my senses with Booger standing over me, three pummeled bad asses surrounding me, and all kinds of guards looking through the damn bars in amazement, wondering how I'd managed to smuggle a couple of bats and a wood axe into my cell to create the damage on these poor souls.
I couldn't tell you. Neither could anyone else, cause Booger ain't a real good story teller, if you know what I mean.
So they tossed me in solitary. With the "attempt to maim" charge suddenly making so much more sense to most of the prison employees. But it made an impression on some folks, I guess. more corruption in the system. But I'm getting out soon. And there have been notes stuffed in the mashed potatoes of who to contact when I get out.
I'm pretty much employed for life, once I'm outta this hole.

If I could only remember what I did to those punks..........

Michael

In Dem Kuuler day 2

2007-07-10T23:25:00.000-05:00

Yes, my loyel posse, I surfived the nite with my rektm, my ass intact. Unforchenitly, the aktuns I tuk, got me in soliterry fuk it. Mike wint syko and wupped da chit out of all dem stoopid biches. Now him in da kuuler, and I, him cell buddy, gotta try un type dis stoopid chit for em, cuz now I oh him one, and he caynt git out of dem kuuler to do dis stoopid chit. He say, Booger, yu gotta tellem my posse dat I made it. Goddam it hard enough tiiping in dis web address hoo hoo, now I gotta try and pass dat meesseg to him posse. Dis aynt workin so good, gotcha? I spell pretty gud, was smartest fello in Hokachie, Texes, but him tok too much hi falootin bull pukky for me. Ifn I dident oh him 1, i tellem get yur stoopid ass out of Kuuler and tiip this chit yerself, collej boy. But dem boys was gonna tayk turns on Booger after they rip newby Mike a new assho, and he dun sav my po Booger ass, so nows i goottah do dis chit for him. I's supposed to siine dis chit, 2, but him gonnah hav 2 deel wit it. Booger.

Incarcerated - Day 1

2007-06-22T16:37:00.000-05:00

Things didn't really work out as well as I expected. Apparently, the wheels of justice only grind long and slow if you are a hardened criminal. If you are a first offender with nothing more on your record than your last ticket for not coming to a full stop at a stop sign back in 1994, you are apparently qualified for the Jet Stream Processing at the City Lock Up. No sooner than the word came down from the Powers that be at the University of Houston that they took offense at the beating of one of their anger management psychologists, than the Houston Police Department showed up at my office with some handy little paperwork in triplicate, and a single pair of hinged handcuffs. THEY had no anxiety and experienced no traumatic disorder at the thought of me beating the shit out of one of them. In fact, it was immediately apparent that this isn't the first time that the anger management professor/guru/victim waiting to happen had been beaten by an enraged student. Apparently, this happens frequently enough that the skids through processing are already greased.
The HPD has reached a new level of technology. They no longer have to use the ink for finger prints. Just place your hands and palms flat against the little window on the machine there, if you please sir. No sir, try and sort of place them inside the outlines of the hands on the glass there. Much better. No sir, please don't tuck your thumb underneath. You what? My apologies, sir. I wasn't aware that you were missing a left thumb. >>Clearly the stupid MF wasn't aware of the magnetic plate holding the top of my skull together, as he leaned forward with his cell phone in one pocket and his little flash disk hanging from his flash disk necklace - you know the ones. Its the in style now to have your flash drive swinging back and forth over your shirt. He'll think twice about wearing it that way again once he tries to pull all of the fingerprint data that he's collected today off that magnetically garbled disk, or tries to pull his 250 person contact list off his damn cell phone.<<
I suppose I should thank all of the bleeding heart liberals for the position I'm in right now. As an incarcerated convict, I'm not only guaranteed the right to an hour of exercise a day (Paris Hilton notwithstanding), I'm also entitled to three square meals a day at the taxpayers expense and one hour of free internet access - which the general public pays monthly for. I'm here for a guaranteed six weeks. As the perpetrator of an assault with intent to maim >>Someone tell me how my public defender let THAT one sneak through without a fight<< I'm not entitled to stay in the White Collar Crime block. No, I get to spend my six weeks in D Block with the other similarly violent offenders. Actually, I'm fucking terrified, but I can't afford to let any of these brainless brutes know it. But my time is up. They're coming to escort me back to my cell, where I'll be allowed a minimum of 30 minutes "limited visitation" with cell doors open to better get to know my fellow convicts. Just long enough for the three pricks that I looked wrong at when I sat down to eat today, to enter my cell and do whatever the hell it is they're going to do to me before they lock us down. My cellmate here doesn't exactly get any positive votes from me, either. I rather expect that he'll be joining in the festivities rather than prevent them. Or he'll look the other way, biding his time until the moment I drop off to sleep before making a move of his own. I'm not very big, physically, and I didn't have weeks to build up for this coming crisis at the gym, due to Speedy and efficient justice. It's going to be a long night, and one that I may not make it through.

Other Issues

2007-06-21T22:41:00.000-05:00

I have major issues with friends at this point in time. Or folks that I believed were friends. Friends that look for excuses to bail and do exactly the opposite of what they say they are going to. I have to believe that, at this point in time, that I am just about the most naive MF in the world, because for some reason I keep believing that the standards I hold my self to for friendship and otherwise are something that others should be able to reach. Turns out that is a load of childish fantasy, as evidently I am the only one that can live up to my own friendship standards.
People say they're buddies. Yet they will turn the other way as you drop off the face of the earth without a trace, and never once look to see that you've fallen over the edge.
People say they're with you through thick and thin, and yet the first time you challenge something in their world view, they'll brush you out of their sorry little lives without a second thought, on the slim excuse that you just don't fit in anymore.
People say that they're tolerant of their friends shortcomings, yet a single email is enough to send them fleeing for the nearest doorway, without even the common courtesy of explaining why you are no longer worthy of their neurotic little world view.
Yeah, I'm the naive dumbass here, because loyalty and brotherhood have always been tops on my list. Evidently, the military had too much of an influence on me in these matters, because in the Enclosed little world of the average civilian - Civvy's for short, loyalty means less than the fake friendship that they wipe their sorry little asses with.

Anger Management

2007-06-21T22:24:00.000-05:00

Today isn't a real good day. For a long time, I've had anger issues. My fuse has made short look like the longest yard. After a long time, I decided that maybe a little help was in order. So I signed up for the Anger Management Class at the Houston University Department of Psychology.
I showed up for the first class, brand new books in hand, hoping to find a solution to my dilemma. The first class in the curriculum, it seems, is group therapy. I sat and listened to 15 of the same stupid mF's that drive me nuts every day whine about how the world angers them, and how they feel they need to be empowered to resolve that dilemma without resorting to a temper tantrum.
Jesus God, by the time I got up for my turn, I was ready to kill every one of the whining little bitches.
Each face became a mask as I explained my morning commute, and why each and every road rage incident on my way to work made me want to get out and beat the shit out of the loser drivers in front of me.
They started to move away when I explained that walking in the door to a house full of defiant 6 and 4 year olds, whining like babies and throwing tantrums like a spoiled little three year old made me really wish that I could beat the little attitude out of their smart ass little butts.
The class basically cleared out as I explained to them that someday, my boss and I were going to get into it, and only one of us was going to walk away, whether he was born and raised in South Philly or not.
The Instructor decided to pull an intervention at this point. He asked me to turn to Chapter 3 of Required Course Curriculum Book Number Two, and read out loud the first three paragraphs of the chapter. I counted to three and pulled out the book, taking my time finding the reference as I used the interlude to calm down. Then I started reading aloud,
"Anger is the outlet that subjects with poor self image use to empower......"
That stupid cocksucker was empowered enough to withstand three full roundhouse punches before he hit the ground, looking for a straw to insert into his shattered nose, so he could breathe. I guess he wanted to empower his shnoz to live and breath through the beating, to better improve its worthless self image.
Unfortunately for me, the rest of the empowered little cocksuckers called security. So today isn't a really good day, as I wait to determine whether or not the University will side with him, empowering him to press charges with the Houston Police Department.

Holding my breath, Michael

Define This.........

2007-05-31T06:39:00.000-05:00

Michael --

[noun]:

A poltergeist sent back in time to change the course of history forever

'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Now That's Funny, I don't care WHO you are........

Michael

Thanks for the freebie post, chick!

Faces of Death

2007-05-19T00:05:00.000-05:00

Despite everyone's best intentions, my regulars really read this blog because they feel the connection with my fight with the Beast. Folks don't come to this blog for humor. They have MIST, and Q, for that. Folks don't come to this blog for a twist on daily reality. They have Mac and Fringes for that. Folks don't even come to this blog for tech updates. Gyuss covers all of those with a professionalism far beyond a tech reporter. They don't come here for the Restaurant/bar update. BD, The Barmaid, and Waiter Rant have totally got that covered. (And yes, BD, I'm one of your three regulars and I do put you on the same high level as Debra and the Waiter.)
People come here for the same reason they watch Nascar and read Susan and Kristina's blog. Folks visit here because they have homo sapiens deep ingrained need to watch a train wreck as it happens. The real thrill of watching racing is the off chance that someone eats it against a wall, or explodes in a spectacular fashion. They go because, there's a chance, if they are near, that they'll be an eyewitness to the train wreck, or be one of those fans that catch the free flying tire that bursts through the chain link fence will take them out, severing their head from their body.
Homo Sapiens has always had a singularly eccentric problem. If there is trouble,rather than running the other way, we'll be crowding the police line, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gore and death.
Nothing makes us feel more alive than straddling that thin line, adrenaline pumping through our veins, knowing that a single mistake will make us the object of the next crowd's entertainment.
Homo Sapiens has at least one inherent flaw. Our thirst for an adrenaline high supercedes our built in survivor instinct. The regular readers of this post are no different. They get a contact high from viewing the depths of hell. They don't want humor here. They don't want quaint little pictures. They want to see just how close I'll come to being overwhelmed and pulling the trigger. They would have their finger along side mine on the trigger, if they possibly could. Because my true readers deal with the same shit I deal with on a daily basis. They want to succeed with me, or, if that isn't in the cards, they want to watch the burning explosion of self destruction, and maybe, just maybe, avoid their own Ground Zero by a cunt hair, catching one small life line or another that I missed in the process.
So view to your heart's content, my regulars. Know that the daily fight goes on, and each day that I wake up alive, and breathing, is a salute to the hardiness of mankind. The will to live, despite the fact that everything in your life is telling you to eat a bullet. In the end, love conquers all. Even the will to live. Sometimes it is easier to die than to live without hope.

Michael

Ah, Summer

2007-05-18T10:09:00.000-05:00

Once again, the Aussies have shown themselves superior in dealing with tough situations. Australia is currently in the middle of one of their worse droughts in history. Water restrictions have cut residential water use for car washing, landscaping, etc. to practically nil. Car Wash businesses that are geared for recycled water use abound. In the midst of this stiff competition, we find that another enterprising Aussie entrepreneur has beaten his competitors to the punch - With an X-Rated Car Wash. Yahoo News gets credit for the details on this lovely innovation. I'm planning ahead for the drought in Houston!

Friday Attitude Check

2007-05-11T08:09:00.000-05:00

This is for all you wonderful folks that like to run around like the silver ball in the Pinball machine, spreading bits of hope and joy everywhere, and always reminding us that it takes more muscles to Frown than it does to Smile. Other than this choice bit below, I can only respond that I prefer to work out as many muscles as possible during a session, and I'm trying to incorporate a 43rd into my daily routine.

And now, for a good and timely example of Truth in Advertising

Wanna be a Hit Man?

2007-05-09T07:35:00.000-05:00

KB has found yet another great little name thingy. Feel free to play.

Bloody Thumbs
People Iced:	Thirty
Car Bombs Planted:	Nineteen
Favorite Weapon	Shards of Glass
Arms Broken:	Twelve
Eyes Gouged:	Nineteen
Tongues Cut Off:	Two
Biggest Enemy:	The Arm Breaker
Get Your HITMAN Name AWSOME-GAME

Peaceful in Purgatory

2007-05-08T13:53:00.000-05:00

They lied. Purgatory is supposed to be a neutral type of place, a place where you spend time while Saint Peter’s reading the fine print on your contract, since you didn’t clear customs on the first go round. It is supposed to be a place where you can feel the heat of the hellfire, look down the red slide to the burning bottom, and possibly work that last bit of evil out of your body so you can pass inspection on the cheap bus to Heaven. But they all lied.

Purgatory, as it turns out, is a taste of the pain and suffering you’ll endure if they send you down that slide. It is the Cliff Notes Version of Hell, and Heaven and Pearly Gates have nothing to do with it. Purgatory might as well be the foyer to hell. Lying on a bed with every muscle in your body clenched in pain as they feed the IV line with the fourth antibiotic (which won’t work, either) as they try to bring your fever down from that 105 point it keeps hovering back and forth around. It’s not eating for four days because the very thought of food is like a strange and far away world. Rolling back and forth on the bed, shaking arms and leg muscles to let them loosen long enough for the pain to go away for a few minutes. Sleep Dep from four full days without two hours in a row of uninterrupted peaceful sleep. Sitting up in bed every five minutes in a panic, because you’re choking and you’ve coughed so hard and so long that you’ve completely ripped an abdominal muscle, and you have to sit up and lean over the bed so you can at least hold your gut in with one arm while the other desperately tries to keep you on the bed. It’s taking treatments every four hours with a nebulizer, in order to help you breathe, but knowing that the drug in the neb is also going to make you cough uncontrollably. Anticipation in that case is such a wonderful thing. Purgatory is having the little breathing tubes in your nose for 72 hours straight, pumping rich oxygen into your bloodstream, but also leeching the life out of your sinuses to the point that your nose and the back of your throat are nothing but layers of dried blood, their passages slowly constricting as another layer after another layer gets added. I read a book a week. It should have been a time to catch up. The only thing I read in five days was the daily menu, looking for something remotely appetizing to sustain me.

They lied. They said I was going to Purgatory for a few days.

Instead I spent five days in hell, wishing I was dead.

Michael

Performance Anxiety

2007-04-29T02:32:00.000-05:00

Jesu' Christo. You'd think I was performing for the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. But I feel that I owe you all some kind of post after a month. I'd like nothing better than to post some lighthearted little bit with a lovely picture and all that, just like fringes advised. She forgot that that Shit don't make it out of the editing department here at the ER. So this is what you get. I cannot begin to explain everything and nothing that has gone on in my life the past month. Suffice to say She's probably leaving and there is nothing that I even want to do to stop it. I got home from a roadtrip Friday evening, and my stress level went through the roof the second that i pulled into the driveway. If that doesn't tell you that something is wrong, there is nothing that will.

For those of you that used to read this blog, I appreciate all of you, but there is just nothing to post that isn't negative right now so you are really better off finding a happy happy blog to go support your view on life. It isn't happening here. There just isn't a light way to look at my life, despite all of fringes good advice. Even jokes seem lame right now. So go find a meaningful blog that makes you happy. This blog will only bring you down. I love you all, but there just isn't anything to be cheery happy about around these parts right now. Sorry. Wrong Blog. See Ya. Been fun. Time to get your kicks somewhere else people.

Pirate Ways

2007-04-09T07:05:00.001-05:00

My pirate name is:

Bloody William Vane

Every pirate lives for something different. For some, it's the open sea. For others (the masochists), it's the food. For you, it's definitely the fighting. You tend to blend into the background occaisionally, but that's okay, because it's much easier to sneak up on people and disembowel them that way. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

Fear

2007-04-03T06:46:00.000-05:00

Confused feelings.
I'm Drifting.
Not sure what I'm feeling.
I only know that it terrifies me,
When the Beast goes quiet,
and runs and hides from something worse.

Bad Day at the Office

2007-04-02T06:18:00.001-05:00

There are bad days. Then there are BAD days. Friday was a BAD ass day.

We had important meetings in the morning. I dressed my best. Threw on my best dress shoes that I hadn’t worn since the Christmas Party. They felt almost magically springy and soft. I was loving it. I put them on in the semi dark. When I reached the Dentist, and laid back in the chair for the numbing narcotics to take effect, I took a close look at my shoes. Much to my chagrin, my shoes had evidently dryrotted. I basically danced my shoes off at the Christmas party. The heels and soles were crushed through. Pieces of shattered exterior were falling from my shoes like confetti at a parade. I buried them that afternoon. Do ya suppose MIST has a line on guys shoes?

I was in heavy morning traffic after our meeting. The lane to the right was merging into my lane. Everyone else was dutifully letting every other car in that hadn’t gotten the merge message 400 yards back. A large SUV decided to go to the front of the line and insert himself without waiting. I don’t like this. I don’t tolerate this. I showed him in one motion that he was number one with me, and to back off and fall in line behind me. After three feints trying to scare me into slowing down and letting him in front of me, the pilons of the right lane finally closed in. He misjudged his fourth attempt at highway chicken and did the old bump and rub. At this point he finally decided that maybe he WAS FUCKING STUPID after all, and backed off. The $250 deductible for repair on my right side wasn’t worth stopping and getting into an altercation with a clearly deranged piece of humanity. Nor was the wrath of the thousand plus drivers behind us that would have been blocked completely.

After having the filling for a cavity at the dentist, they stuck the little piece of carbon in to check my bite. Tap tap tap, then grind. The results pleased the dentist, no apparent problem. I told her that something was very wrong. It didn’t feel right. Something wasn’t working here. She stuck the carbon back in. Tap Tap GRINDDDDDD. With my jaw still closed, she pulled my lips back to identify the problem. Apparently, the entire time I was grinding, I was simply chewing away on my own numbed tongue. Yeah, it left a mark.

My boss informed me upon my return from the dentist that I was to serve as the sole scapegoat for losing a four million dollar contract. Because the firm that we’re paying to provide a specific service hadn’t done that service, even having been notified that there was a specific problem.

To close out the perfect day, I pulled into the driveway at the house, turned the car off, and reached to pull my satellite radio out of the car. The mount broke and my satellite radio lost its seat on my dash. They don’t sell them separate. You have to buy the whole $40 kit.

That was my Friday. What was your worst day?

Michael

I Should Be RICH

2007-03-29T17:39:00.000-05:00

My blog is worth $10,726.26.
How much is your blog worth?

The check must be in the mail. Yeah, That's the ticket.

Feeding the Beast II

2007-03-28T22:17:00.000-05:00

We surely appreciate all of the people that called and checked in on us. Truly, we do.

The Beast has been hunting for weeks. On a good note, I don't have to have back surgery, or take the risk of never feeling the family crown jewels again. That's a good thing. It really makes you appreciate how you've taken them for granted in the past. You just want to give them a quick squeeze to make sure that they are still there.

As you all know by now, I can't write well unless the Beast is stalking and serving as my Muse. Oh, yes, such a dilemma. Oh, I can write some self serving crap, or amuse everyone by dogging myself out, but when it comes down to it my most inspired writing comes within the deepest depths of depression, when the very voices of hell rise like a choir to provide the back up for my solo. My liturgy of death. I suppose that I should be reading some message between the lines, when the most jovial and light hearted bloggers are all checking in on me. I don't suppose, however, that I can ever explain the fact that, at least for me, when you've been to that deepest depth, and did what you did to yourself, that every last little tiny shred of self respect is going to rise to the occasion and keep you from a half assed suicide attempt that is nothing more than someone crying out for attention and help. I'll never make that attempt to off myself again because it would be the ultimate in humiliation if I failed again, and I have enough failure in my life to bring the stomach acid rising in anger to my very lips.

He walked to the door, pressed his ear against it. A sudden shiver as the outside chill seeped through and into his skin. It was an uncomfortable match, though, the same temperature as his soul. He heard knocks. Yells. Someone outside trying desperately to get his attention. To get him to open that door.
It was not going to happen on his shift. The last tenant had given in to the wailing, the screams, the shouts. Had opened that black door and exposed himself. The memory of his body, chest ripped asunder, jagged broken ribs rising from his open chest like the rotting ribs of a sunken galleon. The racket outside dimmed, softened, reorganized itself. Quietly calling out. "Join us. Be Free. Be Happy, live the life you have dreamed for so long." So persuasive. His forehead touched the door, the lovely voices calling for him to leave responsibility aside, and come out and play. Let your fears, go. Let your duty go. Let yourself go. Come outside. Join us. Belong.........."
He shook his head violently back and forth. Clearing the offers, the voices, the false invitations. His eyes widened as he looked down on his own betraying hand, grasping the handle of the door, slowly turning..............
It's all he can do to pull his body back. His hand won't leave the knob, won't stop turning.........
Looking around wildly, he reaches to the shelf. Grasps the hilt of the family sword, pulling it free with his off hand. Bringing it down in a huge, inevitable, painful slash as he severs the betraying hand from his body.
He slides to the floor, gaze blurring as he focuses on . . . he smiles. Watching his life blood spill onto the white carpet covering the entire floor, he looks up at the offending hand. And laughs. and cries. Smiling as his heart pumps slower, the river of blood slowing to a stream, a trickle, and finally, the last drop oozing out.
But he smiles, as his life energy drains out with the last drop of blood. The door is still shut. He grins, a rictus of pain as his body slowly shuts down in a wild counterpoint to the last drops of blood streaming to the floor.
The fucking door was still shut. Triumph. Victory. His head slumps to the side. Still smiling to the end. Sure, he was dead as a fucking door nail, but he died on his own terms, and nothing was going to come in and find him lying with his chest ripped open, his very soul shredded as it was ripped from his dying body. He smiled. Laid his head down upon the floor. There was a tear left to shed as his eyes focused, the family blade lying within inches of his eyes. Shifting focus. The blood tear drops to the floor, as his remaining hand finally chrystallizes in his view. The last betraying hand, opening the door.......

Open Note to My Best Friend in the world

2007-03-24T23:16:00.000-05:00

You are the most lovable, capable friend, that anyone could ever have.

You would put anyone in Otherland to shame. You've always given it to me straight when no one else had the fucking balls to do it. For that I thank you. But I have to disabuse one of your notions on life. Because when it comes down to it, there are some that aren't worth saving and there are some that no one in the world can save. That would be me. I love you to death for all of your efforts. But not even the most optimistsic folks could save me now. You just have to understand, my true friend, that some people just can't be saved, no matter what you do. It is not a reflection on you at all. Some people just can't be saved.

Tear Down the Walls

2007-03-23T23:50:00.000-05:00

Given my incredible list of failures with the opposite sex, I was basically left with two options. In order to survive the emotional crisis inside, I could either withdraw completely from society, or I could Protect the weakness inside. When you are needy, and insecure, and completely dependent upon others for your self image, it's incredibly hard to withdraw from that necessary input, no matter how negative the input is. So I chose the other option. I built a wall. I built it so that no one could get into that quagmire, and sometimes its for their own good. I figured, I'm married, she doesn't need to be exposed to the worst of that. Who fuckin' knew that someone else was going grab a shovel and dig right under, undermining the whole thing. Collapsing it in a vast explosion of dust and mortar. I think I've pretty much explained how well all that turned out. So you think after that, I'd build it up right this time. Make the foundations deeper. Keep that shit from happening again. No, I'm not smart enough for that. I rebuilt the walls, Better, Stronger, Higher, and put a gate in it. Which I threw open to the first person that gave a shit. Sweet. I'd never wanted to be the one to keep repeating the same mistakes again and again. I hate people that do that. I detest those people. I feel so SUPERIOR over those that can't avoid repeating their same old mistakes, again and again. Looking at it with totally detachment, I should really be hating myself. Who builds a wall and leaves the f-ing door wide open?!

Michael

Vacation Autoresponse

2007-03-22T13:21:00.000-05:00

Leaving for B.F.E. West Texas, and won't have access to technology for several days. Everyone have a happy, safe weekend and we'll see ya soon!

Resurrection

2007-03-21T00:17:00.000-05:00

He scrabbled upward, fingernails clawing at the hardened layer of dirt above. Breaking through, his fingers felt the chill of cold, clean air. Faster, faster, digging himself through, pulling himself from the cold hard grave.
At last he was through. Crumbs of cursed soil fell around him, shaking free of his emaciated body. He peers around. The surround him in their puritanical white robes. They won't let the dead rest. Oh no, they're too connected to let one of their own die.
They gather in their sacred circle, chanting, giving him life, giving him the reason to live again. He stares deeply at each one in turn, regret churning in his very soul. Looking down at his hands, he adjusts the silver rings on his left. Puffs of dust waft into the air, as the bones of his fingers crumble. He reaches wildly as the silver rings drop to the ground. He takes a step forward.
His leg collapses beneath him, the bones crumbling under the sudden onslaught. He has one leg, one thigh left. He curses aloud.
They couldn't just let him rot in peace. Oh, no, they had to bring him back. They missed him. They needed him to fulfill their own destinies. Their life without this failing body was akin to the grave. He falls forward. Forearms shattering in their attempt to stop his fall.
Bones with skin on them, walkin' around. That was him, only he was crawling on four stumps.
So thankful that they brought him back.
NOT. They only raised a shadow. They only raised The Beast.

Friends and Lovers

2007-03-20T23:19:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking about many pieces of this entry for a long time - and I'm going to try to piece them together in a readable whole.

I had already started this stuff, but Yahoo crashed my comp. Hua. So let me repeat.

Bloggers are a special group. Mebbe it's the fact that they have a little more time on their hands. Maybe its the fact that they are able to connect with just words. But for the most part, they just seem to care more. You won't find that kind of compassion or caring in Otherland.

Here's the short and sweet of it all. One email that I wrote would illicit a major reaction from my friends in the Blogosphere. They're tuned in. They give a shit. One email will illicit a mass reaction of concern and caring. The folks in Otherland will never match up. I won't get a single reaction from many clues from the Sigo for an entire week compared to the reaction I'll get tomorrow.

My best friend and cellmate tomorrow will be the first one to sound the four alarm fire when she wakes up and sees the sudden 4 entries in my Blog. She's keyed in to the signs. How does that happen in six months when the love of my life, my soulmate of 8 years, can't figure it out. That's your Blogosphere Buddies for you.

You explain it, Lucy. How does that connection click? Because the Blogoshpere friends are more connected. How else do you explain it?

Here's the rub.......... If it came down to it and I was in real trouble, friends like Fringes who actually live close, would show up on my doorstep despite the Sigo's reaction. Imagine that for a moment. Fringes showing up at mi casa, because she knows she's needed, while the Sigo looks on in bewilderment and suspicion, having no clue as to what's going on because we've been together long enough that the alarm signs aren't registering any more.

The Beast is hunting tonight. Make no mistake. its been quisent for too long, and it damn well knows it. It's got a blood debt to extract. It's been quiet for long time. Taken for granted. The Beast won't stand for that. It's going to draw blood tonight, and it doesn't matter what the consequences are.

WELCOME BACK TO MY WORLD, fearless readers. I know a lot of you have been missing this part of your vicarious living existence through me.

I'll lay a $100 to your $1 that my hit stats climb the f-ing mountain tomorrow.

It's a bet. See you Thursday.

Michael

The Wicker Pedia Tag

2007-03-20T21:40:00.000-05:00

February 18th, 1966 - Yeah, that's me

Histrionic Events

1685 - Fort St. Louis is established by a Frenchman at Matagorda Bay thus forming the basis for France's claim to Texas. That would be the last time some cowardly frog claimed any part of Texas. You'll note, that this isn't in the history books. The French rolled over and played dead for the first explorer from another country that set foot there.

1878 - The Lincoln County War begins in Lincoln County, New Mexico. I have roots in New Mexico. Tracing all the way back to Prentice White - born on the Mayflower. So this is meaningful to me, if to no one else.

2001 - Dale Earnhardt is killed in a crash during the final lap of the Daytona 500, which was won by Michael Waltrip, driving in a car that Earnhardt owned. His son, Dale Earnhardt, Jr. finished second. Not to be morbid, but this was a special birthday event. Dale Earnhardt was a prick of a dirty driver, and ultimately got what was coming to him. Karma Boomerangs can be wicked. Go Jeff Gordon!

People -

1936 - Jean Auel, American writer
She manages to insert great sex scenes for Cro Magnon Man. But seriously, I read all of her books.

1954 - John Travolta, American actor
Give credit where it's due. Who else could play a Dancer in Staying Alive and turn and play the ultra intelligent villain in an action thriller. Honestly, he pulled it off much better than that manly man Patrick Swayze?

1964 - Matt Dillon, American actor
As the 'chick would say, ya'll won't believe this for a minute but I actually did a reading with the director of Outsiders for the movie of the same name that this boy was in.

Deaths:

1294 - Kublai Khan, Mongol Emperor (b. 1215)
It just doesn't get any more powerful than this dude.

1967 - J. Robert Oppenheimer, American physicist (b. 1904)
No one else in History helped kick the shit out of another country better than this old coon dog.

Holidays/Observances:

Gambian Independence Day -

Let's face it, you've never heard of Gambia, either. Let me put it this way. Google Maps couldn't zoom in far enough to see the borders of this "country", and I use that term in it's loosest possible definition. The overall outline on the West coast of Africa looks like a limp dick with a banana bend. As far as I can tell, they claimed the banks of a river. Or a stream. Or perhaps just a flood tributary.

Overall, despite the fact that only Gambia has a significant Holiday, I think the personnel list MORE than makes up for it. To be honest, I was hoping for a serial killer, or a Greek God of Sex and stiffies. Such is my luck. Such is my life. But you JUST CAN'T BEAT the combination of Genghis Kahn and Earhardt Pancakes for breakfast.

Beef, it's what's for dinner.

GAMBIAN FLAG

Michael

Imagini

2007-03-20T07:28:00.002-05:00

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Lines

2007-03-13T07:50:00.001-05:00

When you’ve gone that far, where do you go from there? I have the feeling that I made this very grave error back when I started this blog. I was fresh. I was energized. I was full of ideas about where it was going to go and all the things I was going to find out about myself and finally tell about myself with the aid of anonymity. The Beast was hunting full time back then, and acting, as always, as my muse and inspiration. I thought back then that if I told all about myself, that it would help someone, somewhere, deal with their own similar issues. I thought I could make the world a little brighter, one person at a time. I spilled practically my entire life history in the course of a two or three weeks. Every major thing that had impacted my life was laid out in intimate detail. I’d never even done that in a journal. I’ve never told the Sigo even half of it. Oh, I’ve still got a couple of dark secrets, but I pretty much laid it out down to the night I tried to bleed myself out in the middle of the desert. Renaissance came and went, and gave me a lot more material to work with. And jerked a few more secrets from my gut. The ER veered off course then. First it was the guest blogging. Then the Venus-Mars deal. And finally, it just up and f-ing died. There’s practically zero content in my blog anymore, when I do post. I think it crossed the line from meaningful to self-justifying excrement a long time ago. Deep down, I’m scared in my gut that if I don’t keep posting, even some frivolous spur of the moment garbage, that the small reader base I do have will bleed off like a puddle of water in a desert wind, leaving only cracked, barren earth behind. I’ve developed a few close blog “relationships”. I hesitate to label them friendships outright, because they are both more and less than that, in their varied ways. These, too, seem perched on an invisible, fragile, and very thin line, where the slightest touch will send them over the edge to shatter on the black rocks below. My list of fears grows by the minute. Add those relationships to the list. It’s been an incredibly bad year healthwise for me, and I turned 41, and I’ve reached that invisible point already when you start wondering if you’ve already passed the halfway point in your life, and wasted that first half. I fear that I’ve crossed that line, too. My worst fear of all, though, is that I’m becoming the bitter, angry, early aging leech that I promised myself that I would never become. I see nothing but the same four blank walls in my future, the same cage. I’m scared to death that my life as it is right now will never get any better, that there is nothing more to look forward to than paying bills, working, and watching TV every night. I’m terrified that my body is already writing my obituary, and that my brain will accept the final manuscript, and I will cease to be. I haven’t crossed that line yet, but I can see it glowing on the near horizon, approaching ever faster as it becomes a blur of light rushing towards me, to cut me down like a scythe at harvest. I feel like a robot already, with no heart, no feelings, nothing but lines of code, input, output, the sole reason for existence is to continue to process, without tasting or feeling or touching the world that the computer code describes. When you’ve gone this far, where do you go from here?

Michael

Blognote: I seriously considered closing comments on this. This isn’t a cry for attention. (Here I am, screening, explaining, and justifying again). This isn’t a plea for interest or more comments. This just. .. . . . is.

Good Drugs

2007-03-08T07:30:00.000-06:00

So here we are again. I’m writing this from a drug induced haze – and not a necessarily fun one. I’ve had a minor back problem over the last few months that has escalated recently into something possibly more along the lines of major problems. When the pain got so bad that I had to buy a cane at Walmart in order to get around, it ballooned from a minor aching irritant to something a little more. . . attention grabbing. Sixteen visits to the chiropractor had only made it worse up to this point. I happened to have to go in for a quick check up in order to get my meds renewed. My previous doctor had flown the coop just after seeing me back in October. So this new doctor goes through my records, and renews EVERYTHING, whether it was a one time thing or not. We’re talking the good stuff. Sleep aids, tranqs, the whole kit and caboodle. Sweet. I told him about the back problems. He set me up with some muscle relaxants on top of all that.

Opening Day was Saturday for T-Ball. Newsflash folks. If your kid is thinking of playing, you’d better clear your entire schedule and rearrange your work hours. It isn’t like soccer, where you bring juice to every other game and just make sure that they’re there for practice. No, Little League, and T-Ball are a religion here in Texas. We produce National Champion Little League Teams all the time around here. To join, you need to pay double just to get them in. Then you have to shell out an extra $45 or sell $90 worth of candy. If you choose to sell the candy, they start you off with $90.00 worth, and at the end of the fundraising deal, you pay them $90. Even if you sold #5 in candy. Oh, yes. The shirt, hat, belt, and one pair of pants is included. You get to buy the glove, the helmet, the batting gloves, the extra pair of pants, the T-shirts for the adults. Then you get to work the concessions stand on opening day. By the end of the day, I was hobbling on the cane. I took almost double the dosage on the relaxants – nothing. So I called on Monday. They prescribed a better one that actually works. It also interacts well with my other meds, increasing their potency. It enhances the effects from any alcohol I consume. So in effect, my Anti-D’s are acting like triple the dosage, one beer affects me like three, and I’ve been walking around in a daze. Enough of a daze that people are asking if I’m okay.

It must have looked really bad last night. We went to bowling and half the league were asking T if I was pissed off. How do you tell someone that you aren’t pissed off, that it’s only you being somewhere else in your head, and not even hearing them talk to you? “Oh, by the way, I’m not ignoring you, I’m just in slow motion and by the time it registers 5 minutes later that you said something, it’s far too late to do anything about it. Have a nice night. Go Away now.” Clearly, it’s also affecting my chain of thought, because I looked up right now and saw just how long this post had gotten, and just how rambling it is. So forgive me. I posted. That should count for something, right? So here we are again. Have a nice day. I’m going away now.

Michael

Humor Break 05MAR2007

2007-03-05T17:11:00.000-06:00

An elderly man in North Carolina had owned a large farm for several years. He had a large pond in the back, fixed up really nice, along with some picnic tables, horseshoe courts, and some apple and peach trees.
The pond was properly shaped and fixed up for swimming when it was built. One evening the old farmer decided to go down to the pond, as he hadn't been there for a while, and look it over. He grabbed a five gallon bucket to bring back some fruit. As he neared the pond, he heard voices shouting and laughing with glee.

When he came closer, he realized it was a bunch of young women skinny-dipping in his pond. He made the women aware of his presence and they all went to the deep end to shield themselves. One of the women shouted to him, "We're not coming out until you leave!" The old man frowned and replied, "I didn't come down here to watch you ladies swim naked or make you get out of the pond naked." Holding the bucket up he said, "I'm here to feed the alligator."

Moral of the story: Old men may move slow but can still think fast. .

When Things Pile Up

2007-02-28T16:30:00.000-06:00

Things are going marginally crazy at work. So, sorry to say, all you loyal readers that visit every day, but I'm going to have to slow up on the postings (like I've had diarrhea of the Blog Posting lately anyway, right?) somewhat. I'll still be visiting all of your blogs on a semi-regular basis, but I've just got to take care of some crap. So, until I get some time - I'll be lurking. I know, ease off on the collective sigh of disappointment, all fourteen of you. Feel free to contact me by email. Take Care, and Dream True.

Michael

Messages From Mars

2007-02-26T07:02:00.000-06:00

As of Post Time, we’re missing a panelist. So we’re going to run with it. I was conflicted as to how to put everything together. One post per question, one post per panelist, but I finally decided on One Question with Everyone’s answers. To make this easier on the reader, I’ve color coded the answers as follows:

Michael

Bice

Briliant Donkey

That way, if you have a favorite, you can skim their answers first. This will also help if you want to print it out for posterity, toilet paper, etc. So, without further adieu, and for your reading pleasure, I bring you the 8 Commandments from Mars:

Q - *Special Thanks to Dagromm, he and I conferred on several of these questions to come up with answers.

BD - About a week ago I was recruited to the male panel to answer women's questions that they wanted to pose to us guys and get real answers to. I don't know how much 'help' my answers will provide since I don't tend to think like a 'typical guy' but for what it is worth here is my opinion on them. Feel free to agree. Feel free to whole heartedly DISagree. I just hope if worse comes to worse you(like me) are willing agree to disagree.

X O X O X O X O

1) Why do men say they want a confident, assertive, independent woman, then tuck tail and run when they discover I AM a confident, assertive, and independent woman?

Sorry, but I'll have to just say that that is just your impressions of what we want. To actually say that would be saying we want an in house Dominatrix. Guys want a Dom; a Sex Slave that cooks, cleans, and fulfills all of their fantasies; or a woman that isn't an airhead, that can stand up for herself, and that isn't completely high maintenance. No guy wants someone too assertive – it challenges our ego, authority, and sense of superiority.

We want one that is confident and independent but not one that is assertive unless we are in the bedroom, and trying to get kinky. Plus there is such a thing as overly confident, assertive and independent and that is not what we are looking for when we say that.

I would say this is a simple case of 'grass is always greener' type of thing. I don't think it is all that different(if at all) from women saying they want a 'sensitive,caring, loving man with a sense of humor' only to find one and dump him for the first 'bad boy' that comes around the corner because he is 'just a bit tooooo wimpy or clingy' or the other miriad of excuses. Why do we all do that? If it isn't 'the grass is always greener' thing I can only guess it is because God has a sense of humor, we are his personal sitcom and he made us all this way.

Because men will say anything hoping to get laid. Some times it works. Some times it doesn't.

X O X O X O X O

2) What's the deal with guys saying they want a relationship when what they're actually looking for is only a steady, no-strings-attached lay?

I'll step out on a limb and say that the majority of men aren't good at what you view as a relationship. Guys interact on a whole different level. So we'd rather you be one of the guys, with fringe benefits. (We'll accept Fringes Benefits) We'd much rather you come down off that high intimate relationship level and interact on our guy-guy simple level. We like it because it's simple. To us, you make coexistence far too complicated. And a no-strings-attached lay is our fantasy girlfriend. It isn't your fantasy boyfriend because only a very small percentage of you are capable of having friendly sex without attaching emotional attachments, stigma, and other complicated strings. Fems have way too much automatic baggage attached to sex. We prefer ours baggage free, and don't enjoy overthinking it so much.

Guys do want a relationship. It's just not the relationship that women want. Guys want the relationship where you take care of all the menial chores and give us sex on demand. On top of that if you could not interrupt the ball game and like action movies and video games then you're a great find.

I am personally of the opinion, that women are just as bad(if not worse) about this than men are. I am not sure if this has always been the case or if it is something recent that I am noticing more the older I get. Perhaps it is only noticable to me because I am a 'nice guy' and wind up with the short end of the stick too often I do not know. Maybe women are finally giving in to the 'if you can't beat em join em' mentality and giving guys back thier own medicine. Again I don't know for sure. I DO know that in my field, I work with 90% women and a bigger group of 'players' I have never met. The only difference is when a man does it women consider him a 'player' which is said with the same disdain as 'slut' would be for women . When THEY do it it is called 'keeping my options open.' Conversely from a typical male point of view when a man does it he is considered a stud for some reason while women are considered sluts. I suppose it all comes down to your own personal point of view.

Because 'relationship' is male code for 'sex'

X O X O X O X O

3) Why is there ~still~ a double standard regarding past sexual partners. If guys sleep with 6 girls a year they are considered studs. If a girl sleeps with 6 guys a year, they are considered sluts.

I read Q's answer first. It has to be the most fascinating and accurate analogy ever. If you had a choice, would you be France or the US? But still, you all are just as responsible for creating and maintaining the double standard as we are. Here's another analogy. A hunter gets credit every time he bags a deer. He bags 6 deer a year, he's an f-ing stud hunter. None of those deer get credit for taking a bullet, rolling over, and dying. And no one considers it a good hunt if the deer walks up to the truck, hauls itself up the tree with a rope, and drops dead. You want to break the double standard, BECOME THE HUNTERS instead of the hunted. No one will EVER get respect for being easy game.

Because women have standards, or should. I don't think it should be very challenging for any half decent looking woman to get laid six times a year. Men have to do a much better sell job or have a good ability to seperate the weak ones from the herd.

On top of that, it's a matter of penetrating versus being penetrated. It is much more glorious to have invaded six countries and expanded your empire then it is to have been overrun six times.

See above question. Other than that I would tend to agree that this is indeed the general perception and indeed a double standard. I personally don't agree with it, but I have often wondered if that makes me 'broken' somehow. Anyways, through time I think the playing field has evened out quite a bit more than most people would realize. Unfortunately, instead of women rubbing off on men to 'do the right thing' and be less slutty, it seems men rubbed off on women making them more willing to take a 'well men can be dogs why can't I' mentality. Whether you hike your leg on the fire hydrant, or squat next to the nearest tree, a dog is a dog in my book.

Because men don't like being beat by women at anything, especially at sex.

X O X O X O X O

4) Why is it that putting the seat and lid down on the toilet is so friggin impossible? All I'm asking is that you leave it as you found it. I gave up on asking you to actually aim for the bowl, but please, put the seat and lid down!

Here we go. You want fair? You only have to put the seat down to go. So I should only have to pick the seat up to go. Problem solved.

Oh, yeah, and forget the seat cover. It was needed back when water was harder to get, and to save it, you had to leave the #1 in there for a few times before flushing. That situation doesn't exist anymore. You flush each time and have clean water and no smell. You want a pretty little toilet seat cover to match all of your other quaint little bathroom decorations? Put it on backwards and leave the seat up. It will be more comfortable to lean against that way anyway.

I don't have a problem with this so I tend to agree. If you want me to make an argument then I would argue that it shouldn't be that hard to look before you sit. I look before I sit on any seat, toilet or not.

I did a post on this very subject a long time ago. Rather than answer the whole thing again I will just point you here to read it. My opinion on the matter has not changed one bit since then. In fact, in your question you kind of make one of my points for me. As you said
"All I'm asking is that you leave it as you found it."

Good for the goose, good for the gander. By that logic shouldn't YOU be doing the same thing? Shouldn't YOU be leaving it in an upright position?

If anything I feel even more strongly about it. For the record, I still DO put the seat down but only for reasons of 'if it is THAT big a hassle to you, and no skin off my nose to do so' I might as well do so. That said, I still won't pretend to understand it. If you have ever sat your ass in a toilet once it was a mistake. If however, you have done so more than once, I won't say you are an idiot but I WILL say you DEFINITELY had a moment of stupidity. End of story.

Because it a phallic symbol of our virility. We leave it up as a visual reminder that we are always ready for sex.

X O X O X O X O

5) Why are fart jokes so predominant in male humor? Is it partly wanting to remain 12 years old? Do you ~have~ to pass it on to your kids?

I could answer this flippantly, but I won't. I was raised in a more uptight atmosphere where it wasn't real funny, etc. It lightened up a little as we were older, but still. I married (my second time) into a family that's laid back about everything, and it's no big deal. Farts are funny. People have too much shit to deal with today to be worried about something minor like that. And not dogging you, but you were probably raised in a situation where "girls don't fart". My ex wife was raised like that. The first time she farted with me around, she busted out with tears when I threatened to go call my brother to congratulate her for being human. Bodily functions are just that, bodily functions. We can choose to ignore them, make light of them, or vainly attempt to suppress them completely as if they didn't exist. Making too big an issue out of things that are natural and happen tends to screw up kids heads more than anything, and cause permanent neurosis'.

Once again, I'm not real big on this either. Except that farts make funny sounds, but they tend to have a bad smell and I am not into that.

Have you ever fallen for a joke? No matter how bad, inappropriate, or even dangerous the joke may have been what is the VERY first thing you do? You go and pull that joke on someone else of course so you won't be the only victim. As for the 'passing it on to your kids' part,,,,,pun intended? If not it very well should have been.

Because a steady diet of boob and penis jokes gets old, even for us. As to 'must we pass it on to our kids.' Yes.

X O X O X O X O

6) He rarely asks me to come down to his house. If I don't come down, though, he complains and gets all put out. If he wants me around, why doesn't he just ask?

You must be looking for that written invitation. You're his girlfriend, not a boss, coworker, or male friend. The girlfriend gets the open door policy. Some male friends might, too. But definitely you. He has to invite a boss or coworker and probably some of his friends. If you have an open door policy, why should he repetitively invite you? You have a permanent invite. I'd worry more about it if he started making you call before you came over or only invited you when he wanted you there. Right now, other than being efficient and not wasting time on a lot of bullshit, he's also subconsciously saying that you can come over any time without notice, and he's not worried about it because he has nothing to hide. That's his hidden message, and he probably gets annoyed because your aren't reading the message.

Guys get tired of doing all the pursuing. If you've been invited to the house more than once, then there is probably a standing invitation until indicated otherwise.

Good question. The cynic and smart ass in me wants to answer "call it getting in touch with his feminine side'. Another part of me wonders, If he asks you to come down to his house are you going to hear "lets get together and have sex" and then bash him about the head repeatedly with 'all you ever want is sex' comments? In all seriousness, he is probably just second guessing himself at times. Wondering if asking you to come down will be taken the wrong way or perhaps worrying that you will get a 'he never wants to go out and do anything' idea in your head. Sounds like communication would be a good idea here.

Because he's a dick. (see how I manage to get a sexual reference into every answer)

X O X O X O X O

7) Why does he consider rinsing dishes and leaving them on the counter "cleaning the kitchen"?

Is his normal chore doing the dishes? If not, then he probably a) needs a place to put more dirty dishes, and the sink was full, or b) you've probably griped at one time or another when he put a dish or pan away in the wrong place. You KNOW how you all can be about YOUR kitchens. He's probably trying to help out without risking the Wrath of Misplacement. Catch him on a good day, show him where everything goes in general, and then make sure not to rag when he misplaces something. He probably won't leave them on the counter again.

Because it is. If it is evident that there are chores that need to get done we just go ahead and do them, and if he has to remind you that there are dishes in the sink then he feels like a total jerk. Plus, that's how we wash our hands.

a number of possible answers to this one:

1)It's not?
2)If you are asking him to do so in the middle of a football game that counts as cleaning the kitchen.
3)If he DOES clean the kitchen do you go behind him every single time and 'do it right' in your mind? Be honest. If so and he knows you are never going to be happy with the way he does it anyways, he probably gave up doing it to your standards a long time ago. His fault, or your fault? Who knows, but likely a combination of the two.

4)The same reason you think changing the oil in the car is only necessary AFTER the oil pressure light comes on.

Because, as in sex, we don't know how to properly finish the job we started.

X O X O X O X O

8) Why is it men get so offended if I insist I can do something myself? Is it that they don't get the idea of a woman that won't break or something?

There are some things that "guys" should do. You may feel free and advanced enough to do them yourself. Doesn't mean we've broken our own stereotypical chains. To paraphrase Heinlein , why be equal when you get all sorts of privileges in NOT being equal? Come on! We're willing to open a door, take out the trash, do the heavy lifting, etc. Why not let us do it? It makes us feel useful. It makes us feel needed. It makes us feel manly. It gives us, in our own minds, a reason for you now to pamper us in different ways. >>Evil Grin<<

If you are trying to prove something, then you're only proving it to yourself, because typically, we're not even listening and we've definitely not caught the subtle hints.

Because you tell us that a hundred times and then we have to come in and clean up the mess, it is much easier just to do it from the beginning. Also, because we get told so often that we don't do anything for you, so when we offer and you turn us down, we feel like we can't win.

I am guilty of this a lot myself. Or at least accused of it at times. Do I think you CAN do it? Of course. However, often I don't think you should HAVE to do it. Can you carry the 40 pound bag of groceries to your car? Of course! Should you HAVE to? The gentleman in my head screams NO so I offer to do so for you and damned the feminist evil glare you give me for doing so. Can you open your own car door? Of course, but again the gentleman in my head insists I do so for you. Call me old fashioned if you like, I take it as a compliment. People say chivalry is dead. I don't agree but it DOES seem to be dying.

Because we fear that once you do something yourself you will discover you can do something else yourself (i.e., sex)

X O X O X O X O

The Questions for the Fem Panel

2007-02-23T08:11:00.000-06:00

Here they are, ladies. Honest answers, now.

Preference - little foreplay with long period of intercourse, or foreplay to orgasm with shorter period of intercourse following?

Unless you actually like to fight, why is it that you all will keep doing a thing again and again, knowing that it has provoked a fight every single time in the past, and therefore knowing full well that it's going to cause a fight again?

Most of you seem to want to go out with nice guys. Why do you then so often end up with the A$$holes? And when you find a nice one, you end up taking advantage and taking them for granted because they're not A$$holes and you know you can get away with it. What is up with that?

Why can't yall just say what you mean? For example:
me: whats wrong?
her: A)nothing, B)I don't want to talk about it
me: okay.
(a week, two, or 12 passes)
during a totally completely unrelated minor argument....
her: "well you COULD have found out what was bothering me that time 6 weeks ago but you took my 'nothing' and 'I don't want to talk about it' as meaning nothing and I don't want to talk about it. Now you must die you insensitive prick!"

When something is clearly bothering us, and you ask what is wrong, and we tell you "I don't wanna talk about it. It isn't you. " then why do you all hear "I wanna tell you all about it. It must be all about you. Now ask me a million questions and REALLY get me pissed off."

How do we open the subject of a threesome without getting killed? Guys all dig this scene. You all will never bring it up even if you're curious and/or interested. So how do we do it respectfully without dodging shoes, coke bottles, and the family cat?

My wife will not let me go to a Strip Club unless she goes. Then she’ll help pick the girls for the table dances, have a couples table dance, and even help the dancer with the “arousing” bits. Why is that? Is it a control thing, or does she just not trust me alone?

My girlfriend asks me what I want for dinner. I tell her anything will be fun, whatever she feels like cooking. Then, whatever she cooks, I’ll happily eat. Yet this annoys her, why?

Men are more visually stimulated than women. If we’re at a mall, I’ll see a hot chick and look. Its my girlfriend I’m going home to, it’s my girlfriend that I’m holding hands with at the time, it’s a natural reaction, so WHY does that piss her off so bad? Is SHE insecure?

Night of the Living Dead I

2007-02-22T08:46:00.000-06:00

Fade in: Dark rainy night, a couple driving home, woman at the wheel. Two children are sound asleep in the middle seat. The back of the SUV full with two bowling bags, several coats, a blanket. The man presses two fingers to his right temple, a pained look on his face.

“What’s the matter now?” she asks, glancing over at him with a cross expression on her face.

“You are sucking the life out of me, Tia. Does that classify as something being wrong?” He shakes his head, peering intently at something beyond the rain streaked windows. His hopes and dreams moving slowly away over the horizon, perhaps. He’s been drinking. It’s bowling night. They are one and the same. Drink on bowling night, or bowl on drinking night. The line between the two blurs. “This isn’t enough. I want more out of life. I can’t be so apathetic about life that I shuffle through each day like some mummy with a bad bandage job. I can’t just sit back and be content with where we’re at, what we’re doing, who we are right now.”

Her only answer is a deep sigh. Christ, she thinks, He’s getting some now, and now that’s not even enough. What the fuck else does he want now? I’ve got my own problems. I take care of the kids practically without his help. I may as well be a single mom. How am I supposed to do anything BUT muddle through my life. It’s get up, make the kids breakfast, take them to daycare, off to work, pick them up, feed them dinner, and he might help put them to bed. Then I finally get to eat, watch TV for an hour, and off to bed to do it all again. Looking forward to the weekend so I can do another eight loads of laundry. And I’m supposed to have something left for him? Who the fuck is he kidding, the asshole. She says nothing. She always says nothing. It is pointless. He’ll try and listen. He’s the one that always wants to talk things through. Try to make things better. Eight years later and he still thinks talking will change things. She knows better. The last person she tried to open up to – well, there’s just uglier things than physical abuse, sometimes. He always wants to get a promise from her, that she’ll change something. He won’t say what, won’t tell her what he wants her to commit to. He keeps telling her – Commit to something. Anything. No more empty promises. Pick something and commit to it. So we can set some goals. Reach them item by item. Who the fuck are you kidding, asshole? You want me to commit to something so you can hang it over my head when I don’t do it. Something else to slap me in the face with. You’ll never get a commitment from me, you shit. Because If I commit once, and do it, then it will be another, and another, and another. You say it will make things better with us. I know better. I’ve been there. The last guy said the same thing. I nearly committed myself to a mental hospital. You could be him. I don’t care if we’re married. You could be him. I won’t go through that again. Besides, you don’t have the fucking balls to do anything about it anyway. What are you going to do? Leave me? I’ve got the kids. You’ll never leave. Why should anything change. I’m as content as I’m going to be. Why work to make it better for you, when you won’t appreciate it, and you won’t leave me if I don’t do anything about it. Oh, you’ll threaten it. So did he. It worked for him. It won’t work for you. I’ve got you by the balls. I don’t have to talk to you, I don’t have to open myself to you to be hurt again. And if you do ever get the balls to leave me, I’ll have the kids, I’ll be a single mom, which I might as well be anyway, and we couldn’t be any worse off for the money either way.

To Be Continued

Women Are From Venus II

2007-02-20T16:40:00.000-06:00

Gentlemen. The Gauntlet has been thrown. I just received an email from a member of the Fems panel. To whit - "I thought this was supposed to be a mutual thing. This is crap. We're going to give you all these great questions, and you're going to leave us with nothing to answer. Somehow, we'll get the blame. Get your shit together, Michael"
Nuff said.
Gimme some ammo, guys.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

2007-02-19T15:14:00.000-06:00

Ladies, please grab your most somber black dress. And the hat with the little black veil. Men, your black tuxedoes, please.

I turned forty one yesterday. I’ll be climbing into the grave today. My birthday passed with nary a ripple on the surface of the pond. Like it didn’t happen. Like I didn’t even exist.

I got a happy birthday, honey from the Sigo because we went to bed after midnight on Saturday night. Along about 2 in the afternoon on Sunday, I finally had to say something to the Sigo so she could have my two kids (5yrs, 3yrs) say happy birthday to Poppa. My mom called. My in laws? – They have a custom, whenever anyone in the clan has a birthday, that it’s a race to wish the person a happy birthday. They’ll wake you up at 5 am. They’ll cheat and call back after midnight. Its fun. It makes birthdays a big deal. This is my adopted family. The people that I’d choose to hang out with over my own family. I got a text message and a phone call. The Sigo got defensive. So be it. I had to shut myself in the bedroom twice yesterday so I didn’t blow up in anger and frustration. We went to bed last night. The Sigo said sorry that she’d done so lousy for my birthday this year. I chose to keep my mouth shut. Lousy doesn’t approach the extent of the situation. I got an “apology” BJ before I went to sleep. Yeah, that’ll cover it, too. Sure. Right. It isn’t important enough to dress sexy or something and pretend we still have some fire there once a year. No, not her.

So I’m dressing in my formals. I’m checking the obituaries this morning just in case I’m dead and no one had the common courtesy to notify me. In that I’m usually the last one to know, this would not be too much of a surprise.

As we grow up, we rarely imagine ourselves as moving through life without making a difference to anyone or anything. Slipping in to death, our miserable excuse for life over, sliding beneath the water without a single ripple. Everyone wants to believe that their lives are, if not important, then at the very least meaningful to some extent. But what do you do when it’s happening, and you don’t know a way to change it?

It’s going to be a bad one when you tell your Sigo out loud “I’m an emotional train wreck today” and she acts like you didn’t say a thing. And yet, I tell that to a couple of my closer “friends” online here in the old blogosphere, and they’re immediately concerned, what’s causing it, you okay, what can I do. I’m thinking that maybe I should have emailed here. That way she could have a response without any major effort.

The last time she got this apathetic, so flaming disregarding of us as a couple, and me, I ended up finding the companionship, caring, passion, and flame of life somewhere else. But she’s winning. Slowly but surely, she’s dragging me into the vortex of apathy. It’s happening already. I’m losing my hopes, my dreams, and the spark of life I used to have. I’ll be a fucking zombie soon. We’ll have a perfect marriage then. Because neither of us will give enough of a shit about anything to actually fight over something. Don’t bother listening for the sound of my passing. When the bell tolls, it will be ringing for someone else. I’ll already be gone.

Michael

Women Are From Venus

2007-02-15T11:35:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, Roadchick and Michael from the ER were conducting one of their standard email "conversations". These conversations cover a lot of different topics, but one thing we've discovered at the ER is that the Chick has some good insights in to translating what a fem says vs. what she means. Its like having a shortcut to the Women's Handbook.

This sparked an idea from 'chick. (She's in the creative department, I'm in Production and Marketing)

Gents, this is your chance to lay it all out.

'Chick is going to select a couple of other fems to assist her in answering your questions in a "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" type of way. Then, 'chick has already extended an invitation for the fems to ask questions and Michael and a select few rational gentlemen (I use that term loosely) will answer their questions.

Any question is fair game - relationships, friendship, sex, gift-giving - whatever you've always wondered but never had anyone to ask.

Feel free to leave your questions in Comments -or- you can email the ER at the cardiac.fantasies(at)gmail.com - If you want to remain anonymous, just say the word and we might not mention names, though if it is hugely embarrassing, I can't make promises. No, anonymity will be maintained at the request of the questioner.

The deadline for questions is Friday, February 23rd and the answers will be posted shortly after that.

Have at it, guys. The answers will not be the typical humor filled tongue in cheek stuff we normally get. The fems have promised to do their best to provide real answers, if somewhat amusing ones.

Date a Superhero

2007-02-15T11:29:00.000-06:00

Courtesy of Gyuss

The Flowers That Sank A Thousand Ships

2007-02-15T08:58:00.000-06:00

This is them. These are the culprits. They are at least accessories before, during, and after the fact. The delivery person is the one that needs to be drawn and quartered. This lovely package was delivered to the SIGO’s office approximately one hour - AFTER she left for the day. It would be the first time in years that either of us has done anything for the other for Valentines. It was simply not a big deal, for all of us. Most of our memorable things – meeting, her moving across country to be with me, the proposal, the “first time”, etc. all happened in the Months of November/December, and we started talking and getting to know each other online.

I am here to tout the fact that, yes, despite our problems, we’ve been married for closing on eight years now and we met online. It wasn’t a personal service, or dating site, or such. Nine years ago, you could actually meet some real people in the “Barrooms” of the AOL chat rooms. The SIGO has, without a doubt, some of the greatest traits that any guy could want. She cooks, by choice. While she won’t sit down and watch but a few specific games, she can watch football, understand it, knows the rules, and will pull the kids upstairs when I finally get to watch an NFL game. Go out after work with the guys? I don’t ask often as its something I don’t really get in to, but she’s always adjusted her schedule to accommodate it on short notice and never once said no. Strip Clubs? No problem, as long as she gets to go to. We’ll trade lap dances. She gets to pick the ones I get. She knows my tastes. And while she’s not hardcore into it, she’ll enjoy a good lapdance as much as any guy. And the fems always seem to give the fems better ones. Here’s the bonus: There’s no hands off policy for the female customers. The Sigo takes advantage of this. And makes sure I have a good view. Anyhoo, she’ll sit down and play video games. We used to have Saturday PGP. Pizza, games, and Pussy. Every Saturday we’d grab a pizza, play on the playstation or the gamecube until 12 or 1 in the morning, and then head up to take care of business. OK, bad thing. She’s like a hoover vacuum when it comes to grabbing treasure in the video games. The crap don’t hit the ground. You can bitch all day about it. She doesn’t care. So I’ve stated this before: Online, at least the way it was a few years ago, is a good place to meet a mate. Lifetime material. Because you have to base mostly on actual conversation, rather than looks or material things.

She doesn’t like flowers as gifts. I never have to worry about that stuff. She’d rather have a new tech gadget. I lost my train of thought miles back, but watch me bring it home. Her very words are – Flowers die. So VD has never been a big day for us. I decided to try and make it something special this year. By now, the Blogosphere knows what happened. The card read – Roses die, but our love only grows. Michael. Try giving that message over the phone. The first two words brought a gasp of horror from the flower lady. The closing made her say – now that’s really nice. She took my order. She promised on the phone yesterday morning that they’d be there.They weren’t. Her flowers sunk my Valentine’s Day Love Boat.

Michael

The Mardi Gras Song (by Road Chick, Ariel, Mist, and Michael)

2007-02-12T06:40:00.000-06:00

Twas the night before Mardi Gras

And all through the 'net

The freaks were all stirring

Not one was in bed

The whips were all hung

By the sawhorse with care

With hopes that freaks

Would soon gather there

The subbies were grouped

And decked out in latex

With hopes for new flogs

And a hot dominatrix

The girls were a'waiting

with painted on lips

to make the boys squirm

and grind their hips

The knees were sturdy

the garters snapped right

'cause the girls knew

there'd be many bj's tonight

I couldn't decide on the right flog

to go with my shoes

I need matching knee pads

I don't want to bruise

The Handcuffs were trimmed

With red satin sashes,

The subs were all kneeling

Awaiting their lashes

The sex swings were hung

From the Ceilings with Care

In hopes that their Trannies

Soon would be there

The lotions were scattered

'cross the floor with abandon

Lime Lemon and Cherry,

Orange Musk all at random

Credits to Road Chick for starting this psychobabble freakfest song in the first place.

Building Up The Walls

2007-02-09T16:59:00.000-06:00

One of the hardest things in the world is to pace back and forth in a cage you built, opened, and locked yourself into, all by yourself. Humans really don’t deal well when they cannot blame a bad situation on someone else. Those afflicted with Depression can complicate this even further. They can see the consequences of their actions well in advance, and understand how bad it could possibly be, and still not be able to summon enough energy on a bad day to give a flying f**k at a rolling donut about what they are fixing to do to themselves.

But everyone builds their own cages. Seems like we can’t avoid it. Is it part of our nature? Are we that dependent upon boundaries that we will place them on ourselves in order to be secure?

For you weekend blog warriors – Tell us about your self imposed cages. What boundaries have you placed on yourself?

Michael

Sex and a Fortune Cookie

2007-02-05T17:22:00.000-06:00

For those that have been living vicariously through me – I have some bad news. Things have been going so well of late that the Beast is in hiding – thus my true muse is gone – thus I have nothing to bitch about and no motivation to create. It’s a sharp razor to balance on, on occasion.

I’ll toss in a fortune cookie, as I finally have one so fitting that I MUST share.

“You have a slow and unhurried natural rhythm” and after adding the mandatory “in bed,” we now have a piece of awesome advertising for the skill in question – You have a slow and unhurried natural rhythm in bed. So yes, ladies, that’s what I call Great Marketing. I’ll be taking reservations at the side door after finishing this post.

Which brings me to one topic that I can always talk about. Sex. And, in that I have been an oh so good boy since I started this blog, and haven’t gotten really racy or out of line, I feel the burden of variety pushing me to switch things up a little – and hone that razor just a little more.

So, post whatever answers you are comfortable with in the comments, and consider this sentence a disclaimer that adult erotic material may follow, and please wait for the next post if that is something that bothers you. For those of you that intend to post – You may get as in depth and as in detail as you wish. This is one question that we want hard answers on, and one that I find hard to get offended over, period. Be yourself. Answer as detailed as possible.

Favorite position, favorite speed, best move you’ve done, best move done to you, most romantic act, most freaky act, most memorable, most forgettable, most embarrassing, most exhibitionist, wildest location, fantasy you haven’t had fulfilled, fantasy you have had fulfilled, oral, anal, missionary, or any other similar topic you wish to throw in. And remember, these comments will only be as interesting and conversation provoking as you make them. Oh yes, and guys, keep the inflated measurements and Herculean exploits to a minimum. Our rep is bad enough as it is. And ladies, while I won’t delete it, I would prefer this didn’t open a gate for male bashing, so easy on the hair grabbing and nail slashing, please.

I’ll post some of my answers in comments tomorrow. Out of time now. Thanks in advance for your responses.

Michael

Super Bowl Notes

2007-02-05T07:39:00.001-06:00

I was rooting for the Bears, but not to the point of anxiety. Is it me, or are the Superbowls getting more boring every year for the last three years or so? That missed extra point cost me $400. FUVinateri. This is the first year that I can say that the commercials were as boring as the game. Definitely not up to the normal standards. I actually watched the halftime show for the first time in forever. Not because I like Prince, but more for the reason that people watch Nascar - like waiting for a trainwreck. I had this macabre desire to see someone light up like a floodlight when all that rain electrocuted someone. It was a Michael Jackson Hair Fire waiting to happen. I don't know if it's accurate, but I was told that the odds placed on Hester running the first kick back were 1200 to one. A hundred dollar bet would have gotten you a great down payment on a new house. The over and under on Billy Joel and the length of the National Anthem was 1 min, 44 sec. Yes, people make these bets. He must not like the rain. The anthem ended at 1 min 30 sec. Now Peyton has his ring. Can we stop hearing about it now?

This may rub some folks wrong, but have you ever seen Corporate America steal so much marketing face time over the fact that both coaches were black? I was absolutely disgusted about the three ring circus they made out of that. The commercials and commentary that wouldn’t let the subject go did more than anything to demean and diminish the actual accomplishments. Those two coaches deserved to be there. Dungy probably should have been to the Big One far earlier than this. What gives the media and corporate America the right to usurp those accomplishments and exploit the situation as a money making feel good opportunity. Sick, very sick. Dungy himself stated that while he and Lovey Smith were the first coaches to do it, that they were by far not the first ones capable of it. So the Superbowl is over. We have a full year to fill with hopes that it might actually be an interesting game next year. Or at least the commercials.

Michael

Fetish for ????

2007-02-02T16:53:00.000-06:00

We all know her. She's in our blogoosphere. She makes the rounds and makes comments every time she can. She has a fetish. She's totally entranced. So this one is for you - speak up if you dare.

Why Do Mean Like BJ's?

100,000 Men were surveyed. The breakout follows. Results are +/- 5%
12% of men really enjoy the feeling
8 % of men enjoy the sense of domination more.
but 80% of all men................
Are just happy to shut her the hell up.

Ah, the feel and sound of silence.

Michael

Making the Superbowl Moment Right - A Guide for Fems

2007-02-01T17:02:00.000-06:00

Ladies,
You're always asking for a handbook on how to understand and act towards men with their little idiosyncrasies. Well here's a list, pulled straight out of the How to Handle Men handbook. Read it, follow it, and he'll absolutely adore you for the next full year.

1) He knows you're loyal. Be the perfect Superbowl Hostess - tight shorts, football top with halter beneath, or nothing underneath- is acceptable. He WANTS his buddies to be jealous of the fact that his wife can watch the Superbowl with the best of them, and looks f-ing hot doing it. That gives him bonus points with his buddies.

2) If you don’t do it for the rest of the year, keep him, and maybe even his buds, topped off with beer. It doesn’t mean you’re inferior, it doesn’t mean you’re his servant or slave, it merely makes his buddies go green with envy because they NEVER get that at their house.

3) If you haven’t had football knowledge prior to this, and you can’t do a little research on your own, then ASK him to explain the basics to you, because you want to look good for him in front of his friends. If you retain the info, great. It might even make the game more enjoyable for you. If you can’t, then you can’t. DON’T ask him what just happened during the game, or why they threw the yellow flag, or the red flag, or why they kick two different ways. Sit, watch. DON’T ask. If his buddies get stupid and try to test you – turn it back on them and let the flaming begin.

4) Contrary to popular opinion – guys like fems with a little sass. Talk some shit to his friends. Give them better than they give you. Even talk a little trash to your man. Once again, he gets points – cause his fem ain’t stupid like all of their girls.

5) Pick the team you want to root for. It doesn’t matter how – pick the uniform you like best, or the helmet color. If it’s your man’s team, then watch his reactions during the game. When he gets happy about a play, cheer like a madwoman. It it’s not your man’s team, then watch his reactions during the game. When he acts glum about a play, cheer like a madwoman. Done discreetly, his friends can only respect the fact that you know enough to know when to cheer and talk smack. More points

6) Sit on your man’s lap in your skimpy little football attire, and flirt with his buds, distracting them from the game. He knows what you’re doing but you’re with him, and its amusing to him to see his friends reactions. BUT NOTE – other than the lap thing – PDA’s are not allowed unless it’s a 30 second timeout or it’s halftime. Nobody wants to miss the Superbowl Commercials. It’s the only thing that keeps everyone going when the game is sloooooooooooooooooooow.

Okay, you’ve done all of these things. The Party was a success. He gained so many points with his Pals that he’s an absolute god in their eyes. And it was all you. You know it, he knows it. You’ve now got the next 365 days to extract whatever payment you like for all those points YOU gave him. Its gotta be worth at least THREE pairs of expensive shoes – and a nice leather Team jacket to keep you warm for the rest of the cold season.

Enjoy your party. Be Safe. Don’t Drink and Drive. A twenty dollar taxi fare is worth far more than the thousands you’ll pay if you get caught. And it’s worth the rest of your life if you avoid killing someone by doing it.

Happy Superbowl! Go Chicago!

Michael

Displacement - The Q Factor

2007-02-01T07:47:00.000-06:00

Finally getting to Q’s question – sorry about the delay, bud. The question was, if I was sent back to the middle ages, what would be the first invention that I made . Unlike the others, I am answering this on more of a serious level. I’m also twisting the question somewhat, to read what technology would you first start, based on the tech level back then.

On the surface, this should be an easy question. But when you consider the actual technology level back then, it becomes just a bit harder. You can’t really invent the lightbulb, simply because they did not have the capability to create a working glass bulb that would hold a semi vacuum. So that’s down the tubes. Same with a modern day weapon to revolutionize warfare. Alloys alone would screw you on that. Running water and a flushable toilet – within the realm of possibility. You can do a lot with wood and pottery. It may be a little leaky at the flush point, but its possible. You just need a score of peasants to keep running water buckets from the well to the water storage at the top of the castle. Or a steep area of river that you could run an aqueduct from. The Romans already had aqueducts anyway, so the only thing you’d be recreating is a toilet.

As my final choice, I’d have to say that I would have to rediscover antibiotics – penicillin. It takes a dish and something to feed the fungus and mold. Even considering the unsanitary conditions, I’m quite sure I could set up something close to a low tech lab. Plenty of peasants to test it on, too. So there’s your answer, Q. Nothing exciting to write home about but I tried to give it a little thought. Thanks for the idea. Only, if we’re gonna do this temporal displacement, make sure you drop me AFTER the Black Death took its course.

Michael

SAW IV

2007-01-30T17:20:00.000-06:00

A single red light bulb washed the room with a sickly glow. It was impossible to tell the color of the featureless walls. They were hard, textured. My head ached, apparently from leaning back against one of those walls. I groggily noted that I was nude. My ass ached too, from the cold floor. I could hardly feel it. I’m having trouble focusing. It feels as if I’m having double vision, but it’s hard to tell with the washed out quality of the light. I squeeze my eyelids together in an attempt to clear my head, to focus on something. My body feels sluggish, drugged. I force them open, again. Peer between my legs. There’s a note on the floor. It seems to be written in red ink, the difference in the paper and the writing barely noticeable. I concentrate. Put my hand over it for some shade. I can see it better, now.

You will die here. The only way to save yourself is to remove two of the following six items from your body.

Ears/Eardrums

Eyes

Tongue

Hands

Feet

Genitals –you have 30 seconds to choose, and five minutes to finish.

I lay my head back in shock, and notice for the first time that hanging on the wall above my head are an ice pick, a razor blade, and a hand axe.

I can feel the seconds ticking away. Somehow, I know this note is truth. What order, what order? I reach up, grabbing the ice pick. A tear rolls down my face. I jam it in, swirling it around and scrambling the area. A million nails are pounding in to my head, so I switch hands, repeat the action on the other side. I’m screaming, hysterical, and still working the pick around. Quickly, before I lose too much blood, and my nerve, I reach and grab the axe with a bloody hand. The blood looks black in this light. I try to get a good grip, but blood flows down my face, and it’s so hard to grasp it. I bring it down with a resounding bang. Sparks flash as it cleaves completely through. The pain is too much. Too much. I feel consciousness flowing like the blood from my body. My last thought is that I didn’t get the other one. I’m a dead man.

Awareness snuck back. I breathed the smell of clean. The smell of hospital. My eyes open almost involuntarily. There is a deadness around me – ah, no sound. And worse – I can still feel my left foot.

So thanks to Susan for that one. Q, yours is next.

Michael

Down With The Tax Man

2007-01-29T17:18:00.000-06:00

Mission Briefing: The IRS arrived at Subject’s house and entered the premises. After unrolling the 10’ long scroll listing all tax violations, delinquencies, moral turpitude, and sexual deviance of Subject, they proceeded to strip the place. They took the furniture. They took the books. They took the electronics. They took the dishes AND the food. After taking one last look through the place, one intuitive agent located the hidden panel in the closet. He called HQ and told them the mission was completed. He called UHaul and had them drop off a small trailer. He proceeded to open the panel, and empty the hidden study of every scrap of leather, handcuffs, magazines, home video, and DVD’s. He proceeded to fill that trailer. He hooked that Uhaul to his government vehicle and prepared to head home. As he walked out the door with the last of the Playboy first editions, five $100 bills fell from the August Issue, swirled in the wind, and blew back into the garage.

Your Mission:

The Subject retains Clothes (damn it, if they had taken them, I could write them off at tax time next year and get a new wardrobe!), his family (I offered to pay if he’d take my mother in that van), his job (what luck – I don’t even get six weeks vacation on unemployment, but I do get to ride the effing bus to work now that the car is gone), and the $500.00.

The Challenge: What do you replace first?

The Answer: Clearly, clearly, you MUST replace the Porn first and foremost. The Sigo and family will either put up with the temporary setback or leave, and there won’t be much to do to stop them. The electronics are no good without power to run them, or to charge their batteries. That money won’t go far towards keeping the power on. The furniture – sorry folks, but why in the hell would you need a couch to lie on if you can’t watch TV. Who needs a desk if you can’t have the computer on it. Who needs a bed when you aren’t getting laid? Ha ha ha ha ha. Yeah. Dishes are highly overrated. If you replace the food, then you have to replace the dishes, then you have to pay to keep the water on in order to wash the dishes, then you have to buy the furniture to keep the dishes in, and then on top of that, you have to buy more furniture to sit and eat on from the dishes. I’m tellin’ ya. DON’T Ever replace the dishes first. It’s a vicious cycle leading only to misery, debt, and tax fraud.

Summary: Thanks for the Idea, BD. But I think it was a rhetorical question. There is only one possible answer. I can’t believe that I let you dupe me into actually exercising brain cells on that. Too much like work. I should have just led off and let the little head do the thinking. So you got me. Here’s the ten spot I owe ya.

Michael

Truth or Dare?

2007-01-26T17:02:00.000-06:00

Since everyone in our local blogosphere seems to be undergoing some kind of writers block, lately, I’m going to have to resort to the Road Chick / Fringes patented “Buy a Subject” from the readers. So, at your convenience, in the comments, please list anything you’re interested in reading my bit on. This narrowly limits the subjects to sex, flogs, depression, and stomach flu, if you want real answers, but I am more than happy to take a stab about anything else anyone is actually interested in.

Being that it has been that kind of week, though, It’d probably be in your best interest to ask only what you want to actually have answered, as I’m very liable to develop diarrhea of the mouth in addition to the points South area that has been worked to death this week. Loaded questions are legal, as well as those intended to throw me under the bus about some of our regulars, or in front of them, so to speak. A Blogosphere Truth or Dare, so to speak. Although we’re saving the Dares until at least 3 of us are partying together (any combo acceptable). Unless someone wants to start Dares with photo proof, and then I’ll go for it as long as everyone plays by the rules, Star Chamber Honor Code in effect. And if anyone sees Gyuss or Q on their blog, invite them over to play too. They are just crazy enough to make this interesting.

Truth or Dare?

Michael

Deathbed

2007-01-22T17:25:00.000-06:00

Have you ever seen a ghoul come crawling out of bed, skin flaking away, traces of drool flying this way and that, unable to stand, barely able to crawl, almost belly crawling like a snake towards the Great Porcelain Idol? Yes indeed, that was me this weekend. I truly thank my loving three year old daughter for passing on the kind of debilitating stomach flu that leaves a kid lifeless like a wet noodle and blows past a so called flu shot like a junkie snorting a line of coke through a rolled dollar bill, taking down both Sigo and myself within hours of each other. Then, after playing all morning without a care in the world, my five year old son goes from full of energy to another lifeless noodle in the space of only half an hour. This stuff was incredible. If onset hadn’t happened on three separate days, I would have admitted all of us for food poisoning. Absolutely insane. Screaming from both ends, the kids couldn’t take but about a dropper full of pedialite without losing it all. So I spent Friday evening to Sunday morning either on my back near the bathroom, or downstairs when it was my turn to crawl down there and watch the kids. So I’m behind on posting. My stats show it. Everyone has their bloglines or their livebookmarks set these days, so most people don’t even show up unless a new one pops up or they’ve commented on an old one. So be it, I can’t care right now. Not in me. This physical set back was not good timing in conjunction with other things going on. My one concern right now is getting back home, crawling into recliner, and watching season opener of Heroes and DVR of 24. I’ll be back eventually. I haven’t dropped off face of earth yet. I just feel that way. Or wish I had.

Michael

Photo Credit - "Silent Hill" Konami

New Year's Humor Break 16JAN2007

2007-01-16T09:00:00.000-06:00

A WEEK AT THE GYM: ONE MAN'S STORY

If you read this without laughing out loud, there is something wrong with you. This is dedicated to everyone who ever attempted to get into a regular workout routine.

Dear Diary,

For my sixty-fifth birthday this year, my wife (the dear) purchased a week of personal training at the local health club for me. Although I am still in great shape since playing on my college football team 45 years ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try.

I called the club and made my reservations with a personal trainer named Belinda, who identified herself as a 26-year-old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swim wear. My wife seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started! The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress . . .

MONDAY

Started my day at 6:00 a.m.

Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Belinda waiting for me. She is something of a Greek goddess -- with blond hair, dancing eyes and a dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!! Belinda gave me a tour and showed me the machines.

She took my pulse after five minutes on the treadmill. She was alarmed that my pulse was so fast, but I attribute it to standing next to her in her Lycra aerobic outfit. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which she conducted her aerobics class after my workout today. Very inspiring.

Belinda was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, all though my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time she was around. This is going to be a FANTASTIC week!!

TUESDAY

I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door. Belinda made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air then she put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile. Belinda's rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT!!

It's a whole new life for me.

WEDNESDAY

The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying on the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to steer or stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot. Belinda was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered other Club members.

Her voice is a little too perky for early in the morning and when she scolds, She gets this nasally whine that is VERY annoying. My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Belinda put me on the stair monster. Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Belinda told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life.

She said some other shit too.

THURSDAY

Belinda was waiting for me with her vampire-like teeth exposed as her thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl. I couldn't help being a half an hour late, it took me that long to tie my shoes. Belinda took me to work out with dumbbells. When she was not looking, I ran and hid in the men's room.

She sent Lars to find me. Then, as punishment,

she put me on the rowing machine -- which I sank.

FRIDAY

I hate that bitch Belinda more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic little

cheerleader. If there was a part of my body I could move without

unbearable pain, I would beat her with it. Belinda wanted me to work on my triceps. I don't have any triceps! And if you don't want dents

In the floor, don't hand me the darn barbells or anything that weighs more

than a sandwich. The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and

nutrition teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?

SATURDAY

Belinda left a message on my answering machine in her grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing her made me want to smash the machine with my planner. However, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the Weather Channel.

SUNDAY

I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank GOD that this week is over. I will also pray that next year my wife will choose a gift for me that is fun -- like a root canal or a vasectomy.

Severe Weather and Traffic Warning

2007-01-16T07:27:00.000-06:00

My sympathies go out to all of you that were or may be affected by this wicked storm that is ravishing the country right now. Being me, however, I could manage to find some humor in a rotten corpse. So here’s some news flashes for those of you that that live above the 30^th Parallel north of Houston, TX.

The various school districts just north of Houston made the decision last night to close schools this morning in order to avoid the projected ice storm that DIDN”T happen. Streets throughout Houston and to the north are clear and dry this morning, though it’s bite ass cold for those of us that are used to 45 – 50 degrees being very cold here. This was all done, I would suspect, to avoid traffic snarls, and to keep our children as safe as possible in the event that the dangerous conditions actually occurred.

Has any single person of responsibility in this matter bothered to drive through morning rush hour traffic around here? If we’re trying to keep the kids safe, they’ll have to be home schooled, as allowing them to enter a vehicle that intends to brave this traffic is like handing them a pistol with which to play Russian Roulette. Which brings me to the other point – Traffic is bad everywhere, an all major cities and even some minor ones. No one sixty or seventy years ago ever planned on the population that is driving on our highways and byways. Now you can’t fix it with other than frequent and dollar consuming Imminent Domain property grabs. So we’re all in the same boat. So here are my issues of the day – and I hope that SOMEONE out there feels the same.

1. A new driving test needs to be instituted – new drivers and, starting at age 40, drivers who wish to renew their license must be able to demonstrate, on a heavy traffic road, the ability to drive with the flow of traffic, no matter how fast that traffic is going. If that means Grandma doesn’t get a license anymore because she’s more of a hazard to commuters around her with her slow ass driving, then she needs to find alternate transportation.

2. Cops should concentrate more on those blocking the flow of traffic than on those exceeding the speed limits. And stay the hell out of the fast lane if you intend to drive the speed limit. Here’s your first clue, dumb ass. When you are in Rush hour traffic, in the left or fastest lane, and there are 300 plus yards of empty road in front of you, and very irritated looking drivers keep passing you on the right, NEWS FLASH! You are the effing traffic jamb! Get the hell out of the way, you stupid f**k!

3. More road rage is caused by those hypocritical “defensive drivers” who delight in following every speed limit to the tenth of a mile an hour than was EVER caused by speeders. You pride yourself on your driving, yet you are causing more road rage and accidents around you from frustrated motorists trying desperately to get around you than if you stood on your hood in the middle of downtown and started flipping the bird to everyone. Get an effing clue.

4. Keep pulling out in front of me and moseying along at 30 miles under the speed I am driving as I approach you. Some day I’m not going to screech on my brakes to cover your ignorance. Some day I’m just going to tap my brakes and put my entire front end through your side wall. Everyone behind me will see the brake lights. They will not see my other foot on the gas, accelerating. I will effing maim you in the process if I don’t crush you outright. It’s called natural selection. Retarded idiots like you will never learn. Natural selection will weed you out. Your bullshit will get you killed. With any luck before you can further damage the human race by having offspring.

5. If you do something to endanger my children while they are in the car, do not be surprised when I get out at the next light and put a .45 round through your left temple. I am merely doing a service to the community by keeping their children safe, too.

6. While you are merging into one lane, or entering the freeway, and there is space behind me, do not attempt to speed up and cut in front of me. I will not swerve. I will not slow down to let you in. I will speed up enough to eliminate that option. I will not move over simply because you are in an SOV and think you can inch over a bit at a time and that I will finally give way. In a merge situation, I will let one vehicle merge in front of me, like it is supposed to happen. I will look on in complete mirth and satisfaction while you hit the traffic barrier or go over the edge into the river. Such rudeness deserves only one answer – and that is to put a stop to it at every opportunity. If you die in the process, then natural selection has succeeded once again, and the roads are on their way to being more safe.

7. For those of you out there that are constantly guilty of the above transgressions – you should be shot on site, period. It makes the roads safer, eases the environmental burden, and does self handling on population control. The only deterrent to increasing rudeness and stupidity in drivers is instant and unequivocal justice at the business end of a large caliber firearm. So keep f**king with me, a$$holes. Some day I will snap, and the day that I do, I guarantee the following morning that the streets of our city will be ten to twenty non-driving parasites safer.

Michael

Winter's Chill

2007-01-13T00:29:00.000-06:00

Here Now, for your Reading Pleasure - Susan from Random Thoughts

My breath seemed to cling and hang in the air. What is normally clear takes on the color of the snow that’s stuck to my long hair. I was far away, though, very far away somewhere warm and happy. At that place I’m standing, the breeze caressing my lightly tanned skin as the sun blazes down on me. I lift my face towards it, feeling the healing rays kiss my skin. I smile.

I’ve faded so far into this fantasy that the harsh smack to my face barely stings. It’s the second strike that leaves the real mark, knocking me to the ground. I try to push myself back up when I feel the foot slam into my stomach. A sound escaped my throat that I didn’t even recognize. Did that come from me? Was it a scream or protest? A word of some sort that didn’t truly develop before the next assault on my body begins? The first couple of kicks come from him with no words or expression. I try to roll away, try to get up but I’m repeatedly pushed down and the kicks continue. For one moment, the kicks stop as I rest my face against the ground. Oddly, it isn’t as cold as I expected. For the snow to be piling up I expected the ground to be icy to touch. Instead, it has a sort of warmth to it. A comforting warmth. I wish upon wish I could just sink into its arms and make the pain stop.

“Whose is it? Don’t you dare say mine, you bitch. I’ve know you’ve been screwing around on me for months.”

My mouth barely opens before a foot slams into it. I heard a crack. It echoed. Was that the sound of my neck snapping? My jaw breaking? I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and pull my knees to my chest, trying to protect the life I’d told him a few moments before had just begun to exist inside me. I remembered smiling, gushing with excitement about the family we were about to start. I had expected him, the man who said he loved me more than anything, the one who had called me his angel and made plans for us to be a family, to embrace me and run around telling everyone the news. I hadn’t expected this…the next kick landed across the left side of my head, more a stomp than a kick. The darkness rushed up around me and I welcomed it.

My eyes opened slowly. I was in bed. His arms were wrapped around me. It had been 3 months since I’d told him the news. Things had simmered down until tonight when I’d woke to him beating me with a wooden coat hanger until it broke, then his steel toe boot. The pain was so horrible I tasted bile in my mouth immediately. I fought back against him, nails digging at his eyes and flesh, screaming no but my screams fell on deaf ears. Now, though, the pain was worse. So much worse. I could barely move, let alone walk to the bathroom. God why did it feel like the insides were being ripped out of me? I started throwing up, I didn’t even notice him standing there, pointing out the pool that was seeping from me. “Good riddance” he mumbled as he left me there. Alone. On the cold floor. Bleeding.

I woke up, a scream ripping across the lips. Both of the cats went running from the room as I jumped out of bed, arms wrapped tightly around my stomach. The pain was back, though only a memory of it. I ran to the bathroom, throwing up until my body shook from weakness. After a few moments I managed to drag myself to my feet. It was cold in the house, I could see my breath. The tears rolling down my cheeks were warm and I stared at myself in the mirror. My arms still stayed wrapped around my midsection protectively. As the tears became a sob, I let my arms drop and stared at my flat stomach. The cold of the house crept inside me, causing the tears to stop and coaxing me back into my bed.

I was far away, though, very far away somewhere warm and happy. At that place I’m standing, the breeze caressing my lightly tanned skin as the sun blazes down on me. I lift my face towards it, feeling the healing rays kiss my skin. I smile.

Susan

ps. Thanks for the opportunity to guest blog, Michael.

Have a Bice Day

2007-01-12T00:01:00.000-06:00

First I would like to thank Michael for allowing me to guest post today here at Cardiac Fantasies™. I consider it an honor to be asked and this is a extra special day seeing as how this is my first ever guest post anywhere.

I am a relatively new voice on the blogging horizon as my site has only been in operation for just a little over a month. I write satire and social criticism. Which is a nice way of saying I ridicule everything. This post is no exception.

There is so much going on in the world that is ridicule-worthy that it's really hard to know where to begin. It has become too easy as most stories already seem like punch lines just waiting for the joke to be written. Here are just a few to ponder.

There's the story of the short reign of Warsaw's new archbishop Stanislaw Wielgus who was revealed as a cold-war spy for the Polish secret police. The Vatican issued this brief press release in response, "Hey! At least he wasn't a pedophile!"

A little over three years post-invasion President Bush is wrapping up his planning stage for his new strategy in Iraq. Rumor has it this strategy could possibly involve a new American military tactic called 'winning'. However, this could just be political buzz.

Britney Spears admitted on her website that she has been far from perfect but tells fans that she looks forward to coming back this year bigger and better than ever. However, her underwear would neither confirm nor deny it's plans for a comeback.

And last, but certainly not least, is the story of the Atlanta woman, Debbie Bingham, who was visiting family in St. Petersburg, FL, on New Years Eve when a bullet that had been shot into the air came down and struck her in the left shoulder.

The bullet lodged in the bra strap and was cut out by doctors. Ms. Bingham received five stitches. No word on whether the bra survived. So the next time you're heading out ladies remember your bra does more than lift and support... it protects!

-Bice-

OTHERLAND

2007-01-11T17:26:00.000-06:00

OTHERLAND – otherwise known as IRL, in real life, etc. etc. ad nauseum. Otherland is a funny place, with its own rules. Unlike the real world here in the Innernets, 0therland is a place of pain and suffering, with the occasional happy high so you can tell the difference. In Otherland, your looks, your income, the dollar value of your wardrobe, and any other materialistic thing that you can think of is suddenly more important than your personality, your sense of humor, and your ability to express yourself through words. I firmly believe that meeting a Sigo on the internet has a much better chance of lasting awhile, if you are getting to know them there. It takes most of the materialistic things out. It takes looks out of the equation, if you do it right. Why not get to know someone here? We all put up faces, whether in Otherland or here in the real world online. Yes, you know that the real world is here online. You wouldn’t spend so much time here if you didn’t. The unfortunate fact of life in Otherland is that, these days, you are basically putting your life on the line when you start seeing someone, as it only takes one date to become the prize target of the latest whack job or serial killer. Online, you can take as long as you need to get to know them, or to at least catch them out in the inconsistencies of a real fake. You also have an intermediate step, the phone. After you get to know them online, you can take your time getting to know them better on the phone, allowing you to further catch out any inconsistencies in their persona. Then finally, if and when, you can actually meet them. So at least you’ve had a couple of different ways to screen beforehand. And if you are looking for something long term, it’s the person you want to get to know, not the skin that wraps them. It’s a much stronger basis for a relationship. Sure, if you are materialistic enough, you might be disappointed in their looks when you finally meet them. In reality, how many couples do you see everyday, the plain jane couples, that are walking around happier and with more healthy relationships than those shallow get togethers based first and foremost on looks? Last, if you are looking to simply get laid, then Otherland is the place for you. But if you want to take that warping issue out of the mix, online here in the real world is the place to do it. It removes that fake front for instant gratification motive from the picture entirely (the exception being those sites that are strictly for meeting folks in your area with similar sexual tastes for exactly that – instant gratification. There are those who will believe completely 180 degrees on this. And please, put your two cents in, so that anyone who doesn’t have a firm opinion will have two explained sides to consider when developing their own ideas about it.

And now, for the other spiel I have to get in here. I was conversing with one of the regular readers and participants. Otherland and this next one are two new buzzwords that I’m coining. And I have to get them in now as she, yes she, is already rushing to the computer to take credit for them. Heh heh heh.

So here’s the other deal. Without knowing it, without planning it, and basically by some random lucky or fated chance, there are about eight or ten of us in this area of blogland that have developed into the Star Chamber. Yes, if something happens here, you can bet that the Star Chamber has planned it, executed it, and cleaned up on the profits and benefits. If you truly have to ask whether you belong to the Star Chamber, you obviously don’t. But if you are observant, and smart, and look around through the blog rings (the fact that you are reading this means there are clues to be found here), then it doesn’t take much to riddle out the members. The are running things here. They are in control. Big Brother and Wise Sister are watching over us all. So never fear, you are protected. But if you mean harm to any of them, they’ll space you out the damn airlock less pressure suit with little thought and less guilt in a heart beat. So there it is. The clues are there. For those that are curious, follow the clues and make your guesses. One of them might even tell you if you are right. And ultimately, one of them might give you the personal invite that will get you in to the Chamber. It’s all up to you.

Michael

Humor Break 10JAN2007

2007-01-10T11:27:00.001-06:00

TO BE 6 AGAIN

A man was sitting on the edge of the bed, observing his wife turning back and forth, looking at herself in the mirror. Since her birthday was not far off, he asked what she'd like to have for her Birthday.
I'd like to be six again, she replied, still looking in the mirror.
On the morning of her Birthday, he arose early, made her a nice big bowl of Lucky Charms, and then took her to Six Flags theme park. What a day ! He put her on every ride in the park; the Death Slide, the Wall of Fear, the Screaming Monster Roller Coaster...everything there was. Five hours Later they staggered out of the theme park. Her head was reeling and her stomach felt upside down. He then took her to a McDonald's where he ordered her a Happy Meal with extra fries and a chocolate shake. Then it was off to a movie, popcorn, a soda pop, and her favorite candy, M&M's. What a fabulous adventure! Finally she wobbled home with her husband and collapsed into bed exhausted.
He leaned over his wife with a big smile and lovingly asked, Well Dear, what was it like being six again ??
Her eyes slowly opened and her expression suddenly changed.

I meant my Dress Size, you dumb ass!!

Ever get that feeling that we just can’t win, even when we DO listen to them? Anyone else caught hell even though you spent a lot of extra time and extra effort doing something for your Sigo that you thought they really wanted? Go Figure.

Luck of the Draw

2007-01-10T09:36:00.001-06:00

There are times in our lives that we find ourselves unreasonably wishing that we could trade places with someone else, or exchange our problems for another set. Like any other thing in life, wishing isn’t going to make it happen, but that fact won’t stop the longing or the desire. In some cases, those with steel and willpower, and the heart to follow through are able to work and to gain that thing that they want so much in life, or out of life. There are far too many instances, however, that trading things away is not physically possible without the aid of technology not invented yet, or an omnipotent being that is actually capable of 1) acknowledging the problem on an individual basis, one person’s problems against that of five plus billion people on this globe and 2) actually cares enough on an individual basis to actually do something about it. Without bashing anyone’s beliefs, let us all for the moment operate under the premise that new technology and omnipotent entities are unavailable at present.

At times in my life, I would trade this anxiety, paranoia, social ineptitude, depression, and chemical imbalance for practically any other illness or disease. I’ve gotten good use out of my legs, and the other items below the waist aren’t getting any play any more, either. So at times, I find myself believing that I would gladly be paralyzed from the waist down than to spend my whole life opening my mouth at all the wrong times only to say the wrong thing, or the thing guaranteed to annoy and offend. I wish that I was crazy enough for them to commit me to an asylum, so I could get away from this, be drugged into complacency and apathy about the world around me to keep me quiet, and shuffled into a little room with crayons and plenty of paper to record what’s left of my thought and shattered brainwaves for posterity. To be finally free of all of the responsibilities that I’m so not cut out for, and that keep dragging me into the dirt at every opportunity. To crawl away, hide, and eventually die in a place safe from all of the internal horrors that this world causes me. Yes, so now I’ve managed to piss off all of the handicapped people in wheelchairs that who will never have the opportunity to walk again, and who now feel that I’ve picked them out as a problem group, and sold them down the River.

But we don’t get to trade, nor do we get to pick out what our problems will be in life. We roll the dice, hope its not snake eyes, and then turn and try to muddle forward and make the best of it.

So it goes. Dream True.

Michael

Fortune Cookie Wednesday

2007-01-10T08:09:00.000-06:00

Please note that there are two more Guest Bloggers lined up. As everyone knows, the Cardiac ER has become the David Letterman Show of the blogosphere, the place to Guest Blog, the Oprah Show for starting your Blog’s fame and fortune. Those Blog agents are beating down the doors to get their clients on the Schedule. Please, everyone. Tell your agents that I have to actually READ a blog before you get an invite. And I don’t have much time for that with the home comp down. Sorry. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.

It’s Fortune Cookie Wednesday. While the Chinese restaurant I haunt twice a week hasn’t come up with any really “wow” fortunes this week, we’re going to make do, because if this thing works out well, we might make it a weekly. So the Fortune Cookie of the day (whose cookie was possibly the most stale piece of petrified propylene glycol and sodium benzoate that I’ve had the dubious pleasure of consuming in a while) states:

Someone with blue eyes admires you. (hey people, this is the material they give me to work with. Wadderya gonna do?)

For starters, I know these things are supposed to be general, but you couldn’t have thrown the sex of the person in there? Now I have to run around looking staring into the eyes of Every passerby and co worker that I see, looking for blue eyes and that little “admiring” twinkle?

Aw, come on now. “Admires”. That’s a good one. Does this individual look up to me as a mentor, do they respect my work (possible), my choice in wardrobe(Ain’t happenin’ folks), or are they flat out creaming their jeans for me? Enquiring minds want to know, damn it all! Well at least they got specific enough with the “you”. At least specific enough that I know that it refers to at least one of my split personalities. I mean, the whole thing relies on chance, right? You eat with 5 people, and “your” fortune cookie is supposed to gravitate into your hand. Pick up the wrong one? Those fortune cookie makers are really good with electronics. If I reach for the wrong one, the little teleporter inside materializes my correct fortune in the cookie I’m reaching for. We aren’t dealing with amateurs, here. But does do they really know which personality is in charge when I open it?

But onward to the best part. The unwritten (you didn’t see me type this) rule of fortune cookie opening is that you must read it aloud and add the words “in bed” to the end of it. “Someone with blue eyes admires you in bed.” Now we’re getting somewhere. We’re cooking with gas. It definitely limits the number of people that I have to stare at, looking for that little twinkle. But wait a sec. I may be getting old, but I can’t remember the last time I was in bed with someone with blue eyes. They must have been admiring me for a long time. Did I miss a good possibility somewhere back down the line? Did I miss the road not taken?

Feel Free to add your last fortune in the comments.

Michael

It's not the fall, its the sudden stop at the bottom......

2007-01-05T17:43:00.000-06:00

First off, Mist has a great post today. Check that one out when you get the chance.

I’ve invited another Guest Blogger. She should probably have been on the list in the first place, but hey, I can’t get everything right or you folks wouldn’t have something to bitch about.

So before we get too far into the New Year, I really must get some input. I made it an established goal to take myself less seriously this year. So does that mean I can’t post serious items? Hmmm, I need a referee judgment here.

There is a method of rappelling that I was taught while serving on the Special Reaction Team in the Military Police (Equivalent to a Civvy SWAT team). The Aussies started the trend, and claimed the title. Going “Aussie” on a rappel was developed as a way to run down very very steep, long hills, face first, rather than facing inward like a normal repel. It’s in essence a long, barely controlled run face first down a mountain. Then there is the “Spider”. This involves starting a traditional rappel and then flipping completely upside down. Once you adjust, you are basically inching downward with one hand free and one hand holding the brake on the line. “Aussie” was never intended for a direct vertical with minimal foot touches. Spider was never meant to be done quickly. It was used as a way to inch down the outside of a building, and peek through the TOP of a window to spot the bad guys. SWAT guys are nuts. SRT guys are more nuts, because they get used a whole lot less, and therefore have to create their own fun.

Here’s where the mix hits the fan. We used to train on an old Jet Engine Testing tower. The bottom of this tower rested over a carved out indentation in a mountain. The tower itself was structural steel, and therefore had no “Flat Faces” to do a normal rappel from. The tower was 60’ tall, the free fall to the ground below that was another 60’, making the whole thing 120’ of adrenaline pumping madness. When you rig your rope around a d-ring, or a figure 8, you can do a double wrap, which increases the friction, gives you more time to react to problems, and a slower, smoother ride. Or you can do a single wrap, which is the least friction and by far the fastest.

The one idea behind the following is this – getting from the roof to an opening in a face of the building and popping the bad guy before he does a hostage. You can spider slowly and do recon, but that’s not what we’re talking here. We’re talking at a point where the situation went bad, no warning, and only an instant entry will save the people you are there to save. Combining Aussie with an instant flip into spider position is the result of experienced troops, trained for a job, and bored to death looking for the rush, since the jobs are few and far between.

We practiced this from the top of the tower. You crawl over the top rail, the leap out into space. This is free fall, now. Like bungee jumping without the slow bounce at the bottom. Mr. Gravity is now in full effect. You start to brake, and immediately you are headed back toward the building, facing the ground. As you stop, your legs hook the rope, and your face pivots directly toward the building, and you end up hanging upside down, facing the building. If you have it down, you can end your fall within a couple of feet of the window, and lower yourself into position in a second and a half. Elapsed time, depending on how far you have to go down, is about 5-6 seconds, during which time you are trying hard to concentrate on the job at hand and not about your life flashing before your eyes. Your blood is boiling, and you feel like your heart is about to explode from the sudden Adrenaline flux.

Does it work? Hell yes. Is it a true abortion of a real rappel? Hell yes. Were there problems while training on that tower? Two examples – the guy who flipped to spider just as his face wrapped itself around the top rail of a floor. Then the guy that was just practicing the Aussie part. Stopping every floor or so to push off. Until he misjudged a push off point. Swung inside the tower. With one leg on either side of a steel column when he hit.

Now THAT’S funny. I don’t care WHO you are!

Michael

PS: This whole non serious thing is sucking the creative juices from my body. And lose that dirty thought, Kristy.

The Email is Slower than Snail Mail at Christmas

2007-01-04T17:22:00.000-06:00

I email posted 24 hours ago. It should be posting to the blog any day now. Post Purgatory, is what we're talking here. It's a conspiracy. They are out there. Intentionally delaying my posts. Gremlins!

Note to Self

2007-01-02T07:51:00.000-06:00

Note to Self – Do not format main disk drive with new operating system prior to finding ALL 5 year old CD’s with the correct drivers on them, especially when going back to Windows 2000 from XP.

Note to Self – Give credit where credit is due. I was reading my prior post. Something about the style looked familiar. Then I figured it out. I hijacked Mist’s writing style. There’s your credit, girlfriend. So no more nasty mail from your lawyers.

Note to Self – The Fringes Law – No matter how many posts you read in a day, Fringes will always write 1 more than you can read. You will Always be behind. Get over it.

New Year, 2007! Far be it from me to tell you what kind of New Year to have, happy or otherwise.

Michael

No Straightjacket Required

2006-12-29T08:22:00.000-06:00

The police stopped by to check on me. They said I was fine. After the medic injected something in my arm. While the cops held me down. He said I’d feel better in a few minutes. After they cleaned the blood and drool from the floor, they packed their gear up and removed the handcuffs and leg irons. That should have turned me on. They handed me a bill for emergency services on the way out the door. Carrying a six pack of my beer. And the eight ball. Why did they take the razor blade and the mirror, too? I put my handcuffs and leg irons back in the Black Room, hanging next to the flog. I was even feeling pretty good, despite the broken teeth. Only then did I find out. Fargin iceholes. They took my last straw. I wonder who called them in the first place.

Prophecy

2006-12-28T16:32:00.000-06:00

This hasn’t been a good afternoon. Sigo’s grandfather died Sunday, so she left on the plane today for the funeral and won’t be back until Sunday night. Work is as dead as it can get, hardly a phone call, and when it is, its usually a simple fix. Normally, I can work with figures and formulae all day long and once I’m involved in it, the day flies by. Not today. I knew something bad was coming when I woke up this morning. After the alarm woke me, I was wide awake, with the gut feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong. I’m still trying to locate the source of the impending alarm. This is not a figment. When I get this gut wrench, there’s usually a major problem following in its footsteps. Self fulfilling prophecy? Usually not – it usually comes from an outside source, not something I do or have done. The Sigo made it to her destination ok, so no plane crash. Always a good thing, that surviving a landing deal. I feel like I’m getting pushed back into a dark corner. Pinned in the blackness, unable to move. Screaming and clawing to get out. Can’t. Won’t. It’s a terrible world out there.

Michael

Closing Out the Year

2006-12-27T16:09:00.000-06:00

This one is a challenge of my own making, and those readers who wish may consider yourself Tagged for same. Just leave a comment saying you accepted and complied. ;)

Five Things I missed this Year

- Snow

- Mountains

- My Dad

- The old Sigo I once knew

- Every Day off Between Christmas and New Years

Five Things I wish I’d missed this Year

- a house full of screaming youngin’s when the migraine is kicking in

- talking to Ex-Sigo for any reason

- back problems

- That Stupid, stupid, stupid, sorry ass deer that I DIDN’T miss

- The Crocodile Guy’s Death. That was a true loss to many.

Five Things I Actually EXPECT to happen Next Year (no wishful thinking, please)

- taxes to go up

- gas to go up about 40%

- a hurricane to hit the Texas Gulf Coast

- The Sigo and I to be history if things don’t change in the next 6 weeks or so

- To get a raise

Five Things I Wish/Resolve to Happen

- Exercise better and more regularly

- The Sigo and I to turn back the clock and figure it all out and fix it

- To get a BIG raise

- To quit smoking, shortly after the $1.00 per pack tax increase – those fucking cigarette Nazi’s

- To continue to post semi regularly to this blog and keep up with the growing number of “Friends and Lovers” blogs, as Fringes would put it.

Theories of Relativity

2006-12-24T08:44:00.000-06:00

I have a confession to make. I am not really sure why I am here. AM I here? Yes, this much I know for sure. Well okay, I am relatively sure at least. Am I glad to be here? Yes, to be asked to be a guest blogger is a bit of an honor. Not exactly, an oscar, an emmy, or a Pulitzer, but it is a start. Why am I here though? Why me? That one is a toughie for which I do have a few potential possibilities to ponder.

Theory A: Michael Has a thing for big bird and Oscar.

You ever watch that show Sesame street when you were growing up? Come on admit it you did….Maybe you are like me errrrrrrrr I mean a friend of mine and still watch it now……Anywhooo,,,,,,,remember that game that had the song playing in it that went "one of these things is not like the others,,,,,can you tell which one it is?"

In that game there would be several objects. For instance, there may be 4 different flower pots filled with tulips, roses, gardenias and the like. Mixed in for good measure you would see one Charlie Brown Christmas tree-esque like stick standing up out of a pot. Children across the nation watching the show could be heard pointing at the screen and screaming in unison, THERE it is! THAT is the thing that is not like the others!

In another version of the game perhaps there would be several shiny new sports cars. Their Engines would be revving, the paint would be gleaming. The chrome would be casting off a sparkly shine as the sunlight bounced off of it. Some where in the middle of all these sports cars would sit a jalopy. An old pickup truck with bald tires, the bumper hanging off, and the words "wash me" carved out of the layers of dirt by some witty young teen. Once again, children across the nation would point and scream 'there it is!' the jalopy doesn't belong!

Hello, I am brilliant donkey. I have followed along in this week of guest blogging just like you have. While doing so I have been trying to figure out what exactly Michael has been up to. So, what am I doing here?

And then it hit me,

Brain: "oh shit!"

Me: "what? You think you got it figured out?"

Brain: "One of these things is not like the others!"

Me: "No we are NOT watching sesame street again, Focus damn you!"

Brain: "Maybe Michael is a fan of the show too!

Me: "What? So what if he is? What the HELL does that have to do with anything?

Brain: "Think about it,,,,,4 guest bloggers, all female. You? You stand up to pee."

4 guest bloggers, all hotties. Then there is you…..in the words of Paul Riser …. "not so much."

4 guest bloggers, all submit great writing. You? Ha! Are you starting to get the picture?"

Me: "ummmm no not really."

Brain: "Okay Forrest, try to follow me here,,,,So he has had a week of fabulous guest bloggers. You have been able to enjoy posts from the likes of Mist, Fringes, Roadchick and KB. What might they all have in common?

Female,,,,,,,check

Hotties,,,,,,check

Great writing…..check….

Me: "okayyyyy, and your point is?"

Brain: "I hate to break it to you but ummmm THAT is why you are here,,,,YOU are the jalopy, YOU are the Charlie brown Christmas tree!"

I was just about to argue with myself on the point when I saw the neighbor kid 3 doors down point and scream "Briliant donkey!, BD doesn't belong!"

Theory #2

Michael is way overworked.

Maybe Michael needs a break,,,,,a vacation,,,,,, he must be tired from the sudden increase in work. Last week from what I can tell he came up with an idea. Sure he wasn't the first to come up with the idea of guest bloggers but to string together a full week of them is best I can tell, a bit unusual. Like I said, it was a good idea in principle. Hell it even got off to a good start.

But any good idea has its road bumps along the way.

Its glitches….

Its flaws……

No matter how much time you spend planning something out whether it be a vacation, your stock portfolio, how to invade another country, eventually something tends to come up that you hadn't considered before. I suspect perhaps this is what happened with Michael. Let us replay shall we?

To start things off He brought in Mist1 who got the ball rolling with a great post. She was like the first guest on Letterman or Leno. Michael's version of Jerry Seinfeld, Larry the cable guy or some other top name comedian. Safe to say she did not disappoint. Follow that up with the likes of Fringes, and Roadchick and KB and….

Site hits take a monstrous leap…..

Comments go wayyyyyy up…..

While all this seemed like a good thing ahead of time, he failed to consider the down side of it. It was a clear cut case of 'the best laid plans of mice and men' if you will.

Clicking 'publish comment" 400 times a day is hard work! He must have looked up carpel tunnel syndrome on web md and read that in some cases it CAN be fatal. With that he asked himself what he needed to do to slow things back down a bit. Rereading Mist's post he saw the answer staring him in the face. A cooler! That is where I come in. Cut to my upcoming commercial:

"Hello, I am Briliant donkey. Having problems with too many people visiting your site, leaving pesky comments that require publishing, and god forbid answering?"

"I can help, using my patented system of jokes no one other than me gets, boring topics, and loads of useless information I can drive your traffic back down to much more manageable numbers. But don't take MY word for it. Consider this testimony from none other than my mother. She writes,

"my son likes to tell people that he only has 3 readers and one of them is me. Truth be told he has 1 reader, I just use an alias from my work computer and the one in the bedroom as well. Give his system a try, let him guest blog on your site and all your troubles with comments, will disappear before you know it."

Theory #3

Perhaps I am here to save the day? To be the hero. To follow the clues that noone else can see. I welcome you to CSI brilliant Donkey!

I suspect that something is amiss in the world of blogland. If you have followed along in this week of guest blogging maybe you caught it too. I strongly suspect that Mist, Road chick, Michael, and even Fringes or KB have been……gulp …..kidnapped and are perhaps being held against their will. Maybe they have even been replaced by imposters or alien life forms! I am not sure what is going on but I know something is.

The first clue, well the first TWO in fact were cleverly disguised in mist's post. Do you see it? In her post she closed by saying:

"Ps: thanks for letting me be here today Michael. I promised that I would keep it clean."

First of all, the real Michael would never ask someone to 'keep it clean.' Second, and perhaps more convincing is that even if he DID, the real Mist would never EVER comply. This to me was a clear, though cleverly disguised message saying 'the real mist and Michael are not responsible for this post.

The next clue can(or could have) been found in the comments made by fringes and Road chick. Some where in there fringes yelled at Roadchick for leaving the liquor cabinet almost empty. Keyword=almost……

No self respecting, self proclaimed, redneck chick EYE know would have left a single DROP of liquor or beer in the cabinet unless they were forced to leave quickly…….and at gunpoint.

Finally, Fringes talks of pretty much 'the ultimate woman' one who doesn't nag about silly things like socks left on the floor. One that doesn't get upset when you come home late from 'work' with the smell of liquor on your breath. KB, finished things up by talking of a place that doesn't really exist. A gap……..or a void of some kind. Aha! "avoid"! Now I ask you….How much more clearly could they have said

"this is a dream"

"this is NOT reality, stay away,,,,,,send help

Something is awry in blogland. Hang in there You all(that's 'yall' to you Chick) . I have called 911 and as soon as they quit hanging up on me help will be on the way!

Thanks for the invite, Michael and the killer marquee as well. It was fun, and an honor all at the same time. I would apologize for the length of the post but A) you know I am ALWAYS wordy B)remember I get paid by the word and C)The only way I am capable of NOT posting wordy posts on MY site is to do them on someone else's.

Have a great Xmas dude and thanks again for the invite.

Technical Difficulties

2006-12-23T17:11:00.000-06:00

BD's Post will be posted tonight for tomorrows reading. Relatives are here for weekend, but if we get time, Sigo may actually submit a post, despite the fact that she never reads the blog and doesn't even know the name or site address. I just told her - need you to guest blog. You can talk all the trash you want about me, and everyone will absolutely love it. For some reason, her eyes brightened, her face got flushed, she started breathing heavy, groaned a little, squeezed her thighs together repeatedly, and said - "No problem, Dear"

Raising Wyoming

2006-12-22T07:13:00.000-06:00

I'd like to start this wonderful guest blogging of mine with a simple statement.

Wyoming does not exist.

Now, I know many of you out there must be wondering if I took my meds today. Yes, actually I did. But it still doesn't change the fact that Wyoming doesn't exist. Who the hell do you know from Wyoming? Have you ever actually seen a Wyoming license plate? Hell, whens the last time you heard something about Wyoming? NEVER!! Because it simply is not there. Its a myth, kind of like Big Foot or Area 51, except not real. Not to mention its an almost a perfect rectangle. What state is symmetrical? Only Wyoming. That place is only a figment of the government's imagination.

Its actually a goal of a mine and a friends to prove this one day. We'll take a massive road trip around the country and document it all on video. One of our goals for this trip is to leave some illegal immigrants in Wyoming and see if we get a black hole effect from it. That, and steal a Mountie's hat some how. This trip is to be called "Through Darkest America: With Bong and Roach clip." Anyone who's read Stephen King's Desperation will get that joke. If you haven't read it, then that's probably for the best. Old school Stephen King can be psychologically damaging in the wrong hands anyways.

On a totally random side note: Did you know that in post-Katrina Mississippi, to get an apartment you must make 3 times the amount of the rent? I just found that out. How fucked up is that? I make roughly 1600 a month, and 3 times the rent is 1575. Whooo, I squeaked by on that one. If I don't get this apartment, I'm going off my meds and killing that creepy apt. manger. She had a goatee. It was massively creepy. I'm not sure I want to live in a place run by the bearded goat woman.

But on the plus side, I'll be back into my own place, creepy landlady or not. I don't care if I have to sleep on the floor with a blanket and pillow. I don't care if I have to eat ramen for the next year. Hell, I don't even care if I have bugs.

I'll just ask Mist for The Cleaner's number. Maybe he'll take extra to bite my Ex.

-KB-

Divorce - Redneck Style

2006-12-21T07:16:00.000-06:00

Please note that the late publishing hour is the fault of the management (and the overlong bowling party), not the Guest Host - - -

Hee.

The 'chick, as a guest blogger. It's kind of like house-sitting, y'all. You get to poke around, open closets, see what's hidden under the mattress, watch cable, reprogram the Tivo, AND eat all the cookies. And the owner? Can't say a damn word about it. Not one word - after all, YOU were Left In Charge.

Gypsies in the Palace, y'all.

Anyway, that is not what the 'chick came here to tell you. What the 'chick came here to tell you is this:

SHE HAS BEEN DIVORCED FROM THE NOW-FORMER-MR.-ROADCHICK FOR EXACTLY SIX YEARS - TODAY. (And it's his birthday - how's that for a great big karmic kick in the ass???)

This is the story of going to court.

It took about six months to get to court because the ex had left the state and had to be contacted by mail and be given time to respond by using smoke signals that had to be relayed down the mountain by friendly Indians.

Anyway court day finally came and the 'chick went to court wearing her about-to-be-a-free-woman best although she did make a concession to the Seriousness of the occasion and wear panties. Friendage went with the 'chick and the two huddled toward the back of the courtroom and waited for the 'chick's name to be called.

After about 36 hours, it was the 'chick's turn and she went up to the witness stand, was sworn in, and took a seat. (As it turns out, the front of the witness stand was solid wood so the panties really weren't necessary.)

Her lawyer instructed her to tell the judge (HizzHonor) why she wished to be divorced.

And so, she did, and this is what she said:

YourHonor, about six months ago, the soon-to-be-former-Mr.-Roadchic

k informed the 'chick that he had Fallen In Love and was Leaving to be with The One He Loved. The 'chick, ever curious, inquired as to whether she knew the Lovely Lady. The soon-to-be-former-Mr.-Roadchick said that no, we were not acquainted because he had met her Online, on the Innernets. She was his Online Lover. He also informed the 'chick that the first time they would actually meet was when he picked her up at the airport, in his U-Haul, to drive back to her home in the Northern States.

YourHonor, the 'chick was somewhat stunned by this news, but not really. And she was not heartbroken by this news because, really, there is a limit to what one 'chick should have to put up with during the course of a 12 year marriage.

HizzHonor broke in here to ask some questions - where was he now, had he been back, what about Rockboy?

The 'chick answered all of his questions and then - THEN - the meaning of living in a small town was driven home forever.

A lawyer, sitting off to the side, who had nothing to do with the case at all, said:

GAL! I know you! Your ol' man used to work up at the city, didn't he? Lawd, chile, that story went round like a fire in a hay barn. It was all we tawked about for weeks!

The 'chick was shocked.
The 'chick's lawyer was shocked.
HizzHonor was most definitely shocked and instructed to lawyer to hush up his mouth right now since it wadn't none of his bidness, now was it.

But, there were giggles in the courtroom that day. Giggles from all the other soon-to-be-divorced, thankful that there was a story, worse than theirs, with comedic three-part harmony that could be related to friends and relatives that were unable to attend, due to their own bond hearings.

HizzHonor, perhaps in sympathy, perhaps because the ex didn't bother to make the trip in for court, awarded in the 'chick's favor.

The divorce was granted.

It was the best gift she had ever given herself on his birthday.

Now, Patient Reader, some of you may be wondering if the now-former-Mr.-Roadchick is still with his Innernets lover. The answer is NO. They broke up around Halloween (weeks before the court date) and the 'chick received an email telling her that he was sorry, he made a mistake, ready to come home now, etc.

The 'chick, with the milk of human kindness flowing freely through her veins replied:

So sorry that it didn't work out for you. Just remember, your parents are always there for you.

And that concludes the 'chick's guest entry. Michael, thanks for the chance to snoop through your drawers and use up all your Sharpie markers for this post. And next time? Leave the key to the liquor cabinet and the 'chick won't have to break the lock.

Fighting for Your Man

2006-12-20T00:02:00.000-06:00

Let me admit something big here in my guest post that I hope will not come back to haunt me in my own space: I have yet to be in a stable long-term relationship. Yes, I have two kids, but flies can have offspring and flies have never seen one episode of Dr. Phil. So the biological ability to have children means nothing in the long run of long-term stuff. They are, I suppose, my longest relationships next to the 38-year on-off relationship I've been having with my parents.

I think the main reason I don't stay in relationships very long is because I have no desire to kick butt or get my butt kicked over whose turn is it to fill the cars with gas. I'm not fighting over who lost the ATM card. I have no beef with socks on the floor. My nonchalance is very often mistaken for a distant, noncaring attitude. It's not that I don't care, I'm only confused why these things are mistaken for such a big effing deal and why you would think I don't love you just because I didn't yell at you for coming home from the office at 3 a.m. You said you had to work late, I believed you, I ordered a pizza, watched two movies and went to bed at midnight.

You weren't shot at with any caliber gun and your clothes were still in the closet (or on the floor of the bathroom, if that's your preferred storage location) when you tiptoed in the door after seven or eight cocktails. It was bidness, you proclaimed in harmony with my light snoring, challenging me to say anything different. I shifted slightly in my sleep, asked only that you brush your teeth before passing out in the bed next to me.

When I awoke, you were gone. Closet empty, bathroom floor wet and bacteria-filled. You were crushed that I cared not enough to accuse you of hanging out with the office slut. You thought I thought you weren't attractive enough for the office slut and you were insulted. Once again, I've ruined a relationship by never raising my voice.

Calling my sister, I don't even ask her what's wrong with me. I know what she's going to say. She'll quote the Bible then tell me I'm sleeping with the wrong kind of man. Neither of us has any idea of the kind of man I should be sleeping with, but so far, I'm zero for one hundred on my other choices.

I think next time I shall try wearing a watch. So I can keep track of time more diligently. When you are one minute late, I shall let you know that immediately and in a very loud voice. Men seem to like that. When you come home drunk and missing your underwear, I perhaps will yell things like: Do you think I'm stupid?

The neighbors will tell the police as you are placed in the back of the cruiser ("Watch your head, sir.") that you and I fight constantly. That I provoke you into hitting me. That you hit me in front of my kids. I will kiss you goodbye and promise to bail you out in an hour. You tell me to leave you in jail because the bail money is rent money. I tearfully (tears are good, right? Tears are emotional) ask the officer to release you to me. That you didn't mean it. It's just that, last time around, you thought I didn't care about you because I didn't yell enough and accuse you of lying to me enough, so I was giving us another try tonight and who knew the police would respond so quickly to one little 9-1-1 call? How did they get past the guards? This is, you know, a gated community.

From your cell, you use your one phone call to ask me to marry you. I scream into my cell phone, "That's more like it, motherfucker!"

My throat is sore from all this yelling and I think I'm showing signs of having had a small stroke. But if this is what it takes to get and finally keep a man around, no more calm and mellow and seeking a peaceful center for me. Bring it on, man. Bring. It. On.

Fringes

The Cleaner

2006-12-19T00:05:00.000-06:00

Last month, I guest posted at Fringes blog about the ant that was living in my shower. Everyone knows that ants have a sophisticated communication system and are avid bloggers. Almost immediately, the ant in my shower, was joined by his friends.

I decided to give that whole "Do No Harm" policy up.

I stood on the edge of my tub and attempted to smash the ant and his buddies. Of course, I slipped and was nearly knocked out. As huge fans of slapstick, the ants rejoiced. I reconsidered the "Do No Harm" policy.

I shower on an as-needed basis (perhaps that should read a$$-needed basis). I broadened the definition of as-needed to avoid any more unpleasant experiences with ants and my slippery tub. In the time between showers, I created an elaborate plan to rid my shower of ants. I ruled out Raid as I also have a "No Inhalants" policy (do you know how hard it is to get a gold spray paint ring off delicate facial skin?). I needed professional help with the ant invasion. I enlisted the services of a spider. We negotiated a fee and contracts were signed.

He came silently in the night and built a web in the corner of my shower. Within 24 hours, ant carcasses littered the floor of the tub.

Ants are not that bright. When they see ant carcasses, they move in to investigate. This is why I am higher on the food chain. When I see a street littered with human bodies, I run the other way. Then I call my ex-boyfriend's Parole Officer to see if he's been making his appointments.

The spider worked quickly. He was a cruel, yet efficient killer. After slaughtering much of the colony, he captured a final ant. He wrapped it in silk and whispered something in it's ear-like orifice. I don't know what he said to it; it was between The Cleaner and the ant. He set the ant free. It disappeared through a tiny crack.

The spider took down his web. "Incinerate this," he directed me. "You won't be having ant problems anymore." And then he was gone.

I have showered three times since he left. Once, I even used soap.

--
Mist 1

PS: Thanks for letting me be here today, Michael. I promised that I would keep it clean.

A Gift to All of You

2006-12-18T10:19:00.000-06:00

Here at the Cardiac ER, we’re always trying to find something new and exciting to entertain our readers. We (that is, my and all of my multiple personalities). So this Christmas Season, we give you the gift of our current must read Bloggers as Guest Hosts here at the ER for GUEST BLOGGER WEEK. Starting on the 19^th of December and going through the 22^nd, Mist1, Fringes, Road Chick, KB (Strange Occurrences), and BD of Briliant Donkey will be hosting one main post a day each day. If you don’t follow these blogs, you seriously need to take a little look for yourself. There are links to each one in the blog roll at right. Each one has a different style, a different interpretation on life, and a widely different sense of humor to share with you. It is our Holiday Gift to all of you. Please enjoy.

19DEC2006 – THE MIST1

20DEC2006 – FRINGES

21DEC2006 – THE ‘Chick

22DEC2006 – KB

23DEC2006 – BRILIANT DONKEY

Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah to all of you. I’ll be throwing my comments in , but for the most part, I give you these intriguing writers to brighten your Holidays.

N.M.H.C.W

2006-12-14T08:27:00.000-06:00

This week Is National Mental Health Care week.

You can do your part By remembering to contact at least one unstable person to show you care.

Well, my job is done!

Humor Break 13DEC2006

2006-12-13T09:35:00.000-06:00

TEN THINGS TO PONDER FOR 2007...

#10 Life is sexually transmitted.

#9 Good health is merely the slowest rate at which one can die

#8 Men have two emotions: Hungry and Horny. If you see him without an erection, make him a sandwich.

#7 Give a person a fish and you feed them for a day; teach a person to use the internet and they won't bother you for weeks.

#6 Some people are like a slinky... not really good for anything, but you still can't help but smile when you shove them down the stairs.

#5 Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in the hospital dying of nothing

#4 All of us could take a lesson from the weather. It pays no attention to criticism.

#3 Why does a slight tax increase cost you two hundred dollars, and a substantial tax cut saves you thirty cents???

#2 In the 60's, people took LSD to make the world weird. Now the world is weird and people take Prozac to make it normal.

AND THE NUMBER ONE THOUGHT FOR 2007... We know exactly where one cow with mad-cow-disease is located among the millions and millions of cows in America, but we haven't a clue as to where thousands of Illegal immigrants and Terrorists are located. Maybe we should put the Department of Agriculture in charge of immigration.

Lost in Purgatory

2006-12-13T07:31:00.000-06:00

I just got another two email posts lost in Purgatory. They’ll probably be winging down to Cardiac Hell in the next week, looking all out of place for the timing. Nuts and Bolts! It picks the most bizarre times to bail out. At any rate, the most important part of one of the posts is challenging my reader from Victoria, Melbourne, Australia to take the 6 Weird Things challenge, posting them on my site if they do not have their own blog. We’d really like to hear 6 weird Aussie things, because what we consider weird may be par for the course there, and vice versa. This is the closest thing you’ll get to a written invitation, because I absolutely, will not beg. Ok, I’m begging. Love to hear from you.

Michael

Enquiring Minds Want To Know

2006-12-12T17:23:00.000-06:00

Now that I’ve finally caught up on my Weirdness task, here’s a subject that we can ALL jump on the bandwagon about, emotions stirring, anger flaring, the huge gulf between men and women opening like a huge chasm between us (or maybe we’ll find out that its just a crack in an ant hill, but somehow, I just don’t see that happening.) Ready Set GO!

Gooooooood Evening, Ladies and Gentlemen!

Please arm yourselves from the tables in the aisle, and step forward into thissa here cage. Everyone squeeze in now. Freddie, be a good man and lock that door, now.

Thissa here’s the rules, people.

We want to know, as accurately and pinpointed as possible, where you draw the line in a, yessss, lets call it a long term relationship, not a one or two date dealybob.

So again, we want to know, down to the very head of a pin, where you yourself draw the line on CHEATING on your selected other.

We want the physical addressed (touching, holding hands, kiss on the cheek, kissing, throwing in some tongue with that there kissing, heavy petting, heavy petting to orgasm (with or without removal of clothes), oral, or all the way)

We want the emotional addressed, to (does looking in appreciation count, looking in lust, thinking lustful thoughts, fantasizing elsewhere, the intent, etc.)

And finally, we want those damn Gray areas covered in depth (Emailing (and to what extent), cyber flirting, cyber sex, cyber emotional attachment???, INTENT (yes, again, because this here Ringmaster feels that intent has a great deal to do with establishing the line), hiding actions, covering up, etc.

Thank you, Ladies and Gents. At the sound of the bell, all other rules are off, and we want to see BLOOD in thissa here cage!

DING DING DING

I’ll give my answer in two parts, because it is necessary to distinguish between my completely internalized definition, and what I’m willing to acknowledge for the sake of avoiding complete psychotic separation from society. My inner standpoint is that emotional involvement is the final determiner of whether you are cheating. Release for the sake of release with no emotional involvement, be it something you pay for (no, I haven’t yet, would only do it with a high price Escort, and I ain’t got that kind of money), a friend with fringe benefits that also has no emotional involvement, etc. I know what you’re thinking. That means you could do almost anything, in fact, anything, if there was no emotional tie involved. Yep, you’re right. But she could too. Problem is, most fems can’t, so that severely limits those options anyway. You’re thinking, “This guy either isn’t serious, or he really is undergoing a psychotic detachment from society”. My answer to that is the same as it always has been. You all like the rollercoaster, even if you’re living it vicariously through me. If you didn’t, Lord knows you wouldn’t be reading still, cause you’re sure not hanging around for the quality of my writing, and damn well not for the quantity. So that’s my true feelings on the matter.

I’ll now give my thoughts on where I stand as it pertains to practical, practicable reality. Emotional involvement as in anything other than a close platonic friend, online or otherwise, automatically counts as the big C. Cyber flirting, Cyber Sex, Online chat don’t count (No emotional involvement hereafter referred to as EI). Touching – depends on intent. Kissing denotes EI, so it counts. Anything above that – depends on the knowledge AND consent of the Sigo. If the Sigo treats me to a night at the Strip Bar (not an unknown occurrence) then NOTHING that goes on there counts, because of Knowledge and consent. Looking, ogling, flirting, lusting, fantasizing, porn – don’t count. Those don’t qualify as acts of intent. The Sigo knows I flirt, and she knows that I am almost exclusively visually stimulated, that’s all it takes, so none of those act as intent, they typically meet the Knowledge test, and finally, above all, any fantasizing I do about anyone, past present, or fantasized future doesn’t include EI, its PURELY sexual at that point. Covering up or hiding. There’s fems that I correspond with. More fems than males, to be honest, via email, for the most part. I have an email that she doesn’t know about. Without a single exception, the fems that I correspond with, there’s no EI. They are online friends or sometimes very good friends. Because of the specific nature of the Sigo’s jealousy triggers, however, I don’t broadcast the fact, I don’t discuss it with her, and I wouldn’t acknowledge the existence of the other account for her to peruse every conversation, because when it comes down to it, I’m not going to screen my interactions with people that I talk to just because she might see it and get pissed off. Is that cheating, no. But I don’t have anyone IRL that I can spill my guts to. So it happens with net friends. And I wouldn’t give her a tape of a conversation blowing off steam at her to an IRL friend, any more than I’d voluntarily give her copies of online conversations where the same happens. I talk to online friends about a lot of things, including plans I’m implementing and actions I’m considering. Even if those led to cheating, they in themselves are not, because it isn’t the “target” I’m talking to, but just to friends. But this entry is long enough. I’ve honed the knives, and placed my neck in the cage. Come on, let’s hear some shots one way or another. You might actually score a blow and convince myself or another reader differently.

Thanks to Yahoo for their trigger for this entry. Let’s hear from the peanut gallery now. Come on!

Michael

Update to 6 Weird Things - Tagging

2006-12-12T16:33:00.000-06:00

I regrettably, unforgivably erred in leaving out my other Australian regular. So please, will Mr. or Mrs. Victoria, Melbourne, Australia, please come on down, you are the next contestant on You’ve been tagged. And a brief reminder of the rules – You can post the Six Weird Things about You in my comments, if you do not have a blog. But you have to respond, one way or another. Don’t be shy, you’ve been hiding too long. Come on out into the light. I don’t keep it bright, you’ll be okay. LMAO. But seriously, those of us in the States would be VERY interested in hearing 6 things about you that a fellow Australian would find weird, because 6 normal things about you might sound weird to us.

Michael

6 Weird Things

2006-12-12T12:25:00.000-06:00

Tagged again. Glad it gives me some subject matter, at least. Things have been far too out of whack this past two weeks, on so many different levels, to try and organize my thoughts enough to post.

So here you go BD, better late than never…….

SIX WEIRD THINGS ABOUT ME

1) Quite the opposite of BD, I like my food organized. Call it Anal Retentive, since we’ve already determined that that is one of the diseases that I have a lifetime subscription to. Everything is always separate on my plate. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll clean up the mashed potatoes with what’s left of the Turkey on Thanksgiving, but not too much else. I eat mixed candy by color. Skittles, Mike and Ike’s, and yes, even M&M’s. What, they are all made of plain chocolate? That isn’t the point. They have to be separated by color. And eaten one full color at a time. I once tossed a girlfriend out of my house, because she thought she’d be cute, and toss some hot tamales in my big bowl of Mike and Ike’s. She didn’t come back over until she had a full new big bag to replace the bowl that I tossed in the trash can.

2) Much like Road Chick, don’t mess with my organized, anal retentive morning schedule. I get to the office, start one pot of coffee, make my expresso and start that, then make the second pot. As the second pot is going, I smoke a cigarette. Interrupt anywhere in that cycle, and you do so at your own risk. Want me pissy all day? Just go ahead and call me in to a morning meeting before that happens. Its on YOUR head.

3) As those of you who have remotely followed the Cardiac ER will know, I am a 40 year old sex crazed, deviant, pervert (in the best light of each, of course). Haven’t found a fem who could keep up with my drive, yet. The Sigo managed, barely, for a year and a half. Then fell to the side of the road, exhausted, beaten, demolished. Yes, you know these facts, but I’m not THAT weird, so I have to use every little one I can think of.

4) I don’t know if its that weird, but someone will think it so. I’m capable of complete and total concentration, to the exclusion of the outside world. We’re talking total here. If I get involved in something, you practically have to slap me to bring me out of it. It’s good and bad. If I’m in to it, then I can get a whole lot accomplished in a short time. The bad is that, I tend to get insanely irritated from one moment to the next if you manage to break through that barrier. It’s also bad because my kids don’t understand that, and think that I am ignoring them at times. They’ll understand soon. My five year old son is already doing it with TV and with drawing.

5) It drives me nuts to have my feet covered when I sleep. It has to be below 40 degrees Fahrenheit before I’ll cover my feet, for the most part.

6) I drive everyone else nuts when they drive with me. Whatever speed I determine I am going to go, I keep it right there. To me, it just means constant adjustments on the accelerator. Since I know what I am doing and expecting it, I don’t even notice it anymore. Meanwhile, everyone else in the car is getting whiplash, because without some warning, to them it is just like a rough start when you pop the clutch in first, forward, back, start, stop. Hate it for them.

So there it is, my 6 freaks. Part of this meme is to pass it on to six others, and then notify them on their blog that they have been tagged. I’m in a limited circle of bloggers, so BD listed most of those that I would have listed. But I have a couple – so if you are listed, consider yourself tagged.

Debra from Barmaid Blog – Deb, if you want to do this, you can post in the comments here as your site is also a meme free zone.

KB – Did you really think that I would leave you out in the cold on this one?

My Regular from Perth, Australia. You KNOW who you are. You can’t ghost any more. You can post them in comments here, if you’d prefer. You just can’t hide any longer. LMAO ;)