Thursday, December 28, 2006

Season of Angels

Angel by Svenstorm on flickr
I could not find the infamous invisible flying plant in Australia. But I found a pub that served beer, bangers and mash, and kangaroo meat. And I found a Catholic Church with a huge stone Angel. All I could think of was how Divine she looked, and how ironic it would be if she fell on me and killed me—“Man killed by an Angel”

So that gave me an idea for a new mission—to search for a real Angel.

So I’m leaving for Singapore tomorrow to sin. I figure that ought to attract an Angel or two—you know, to try to save me from sin.

If I don't catch an Angel in two weeks, then I’m going to Paris to sin. If still no Angel, then I’m off to Rome and the Vatican (there’s gotta be Angels around there.) If still no Angel, I'll go chill in Ireland and settle for a Leprechaun. I won’t be back until April next year, so I’ll let everyone know what happens when I get back.

Have a nice New Year!

Friday, September 22, 2006

From Vince, to Lucy

A Model of "Lucy," the celebrated skeletal remains of a female hominid who lived 3.2 million years ago...

Hominid, Cradle of Humankind by flowcomm on flickr
He approaches her from behind, he is close. She is napping, curled up in the fetal position, resting her wary muscles. But she senses him, and with one quick extension of her powerful arm, she shoves him back at least five feet and he retreats. She does not want him on top of her right now.

She opens her eyes. Her babies are snuggled under a bush in front of her. She is thirsty and the sound of the stream calls to her. The stream; it could be dangerous there, and as she walks towards it, her alertness sharpens. After-all, everything drinks from that stream. And a great deal of them could run much faster than she, and they are bigger, and they may want to eat her.

Oh, the water feels good. She looks back at her babies. Mam, the eldest of the females, is sitting next to them now. And there is Luk, watching her with one thing on his mind.

The past or future is not in her vocabulary. Neither is money, or time, or worry, or love. But she has the feeling of love with her family. And she has a similar feeling of love with the water that makes love to her body, the sky that tells her when to sleep, and the land with its endless wonders, and the berries she only knows as ‘Suk’--her favorite.

She leads a lonely life, but is too busy living to know it--a lonely life, because she is the only one inside her mind. Everything else is outside. She likes it when Mam scratches her back.

All that she wants is another baby. She walks up to Luk, turns her back, and makes her pose. All that she wants is another baby…

Editor's note:
Hi Blogland visitors (if anyone’s still out there)--hope you are all doing well!!! I've been away from Blogland on various extra-curricular excursions. I'm taking a journey next week to Australia again for 40 days and 40 nights. Then I'm back here sometime in November.

As some of you know (April 13th post) my last expedition to Australia to catch the first invisible butterfly (Belenois Invisibilis) failed miserably.

This time, I’m going after something a little less elusive. A plant! I’m tentatively calling this plant the Arundiganth Amamilis. But it’s currently an undiscovered new species, and still just a rumor, but my sources and instinct tells me it’s out there in the Northern Territory—and I’m going to catch one. I say catch, because according to my contacts, this plant can apparently uproot itself and blow with the wind.
With shallow roots, it grows on other plants length-wise (flat, not tall.) It’s transparent, and virtually invisible. It can easily be mistaken for a slug trail, or when in flight, a string of spider web.
The problem is the plants are thought to thrive in a region controlled by up to 90 trillion Yellow Crazy ants. These bugs shoot acid in your eyes to blind you then they run away. Then they come back with a swarm of friends from their supercolonies to eat you. They can devour an entire human body in minutes.

I’m bringing my goggles, magnifying glass, Petri dish, rubber ant proof suit, and my usual Safari gear. Wish me luck!

Thursday, August 24, 2006

A World Without Men:

Someone sent me a lizard in the mail. I’m going to take it with me tomorrow for a 4 day road trip to Reno for good luck. The lizard made me think of the Y chromosome. They say in about 125,000 years the Y chromosome will completely disappear, and along with it the human male. Females will become unisexual and capable to reproduce without the need for a man.

The Whiptail lizard already does this. They are all female. But since offspring are all basically clone copies of the mom, the species has to rely on mutation to adapt and evolve.

So what if we woke up tomorrow and we lived in a world without men? What would be changed? Well, here are the top 10 changes:

10. The death penalty for being gay that currently exists in 9 countries won’t exist—since everyone will probably be lesbian.

9. God and the Bible will be obsolete—maybe there will be a Goddess though.

8. No more tampons or cramps—the whole system will change.

7. A two day work week—5 day weekend to better accommodate emotional needs.

6. Nuclear weapons will be gone—women are just not too good in math or war anyway.

5. Open sewers will be popular again—when’s the last time you saw a woman plumber?

4. Everyone will live in a shopping mall.

3. Women will be more beautiful, their breasts will look better, and they will make love with whoever they want, and whenever they want—just to spite the ghost of man.

2. Movies will be boring—I mean really.

And the number 1 change…
1. David Hasselhoff will be President of the United States—don’t ask!

Thursday, August 10, 2006

The Greatest American Dessert!

I ALWAYS eat desert before or during my main meal. I just don’t want a terrorist to show up and make my last mouthful a spoon of green beans. I’d rather go with a banana split in my mouth.

But not all people believe in, or benefit from the banana split. Terrorists, for example, would surely be a more peaceful folk had they discovered the charms of the ultimate fruity delight. And you can’t find a banana split in China! Or in a Chinese restaurant for that matter! The Chinese I know simply won’t touch the stuff—“It’s not healthy,” they say. “It’s better to eat rice and vegetables, and green tea for meals.”

Hog wash!!! You just gotta learn to balance things.

Speaking of balance, there is a time in every man’s life when a banana split becomes more attractive than a woman. I mean a banana split ALWAYS shows you a good time. You can count on a banana split. A banana split won’t argue with you, it just submits to your ravishing. A banana split is variety all in one, not like most women. And women claim to be sugar and spice and everything nice; but they still fart like everybody else. A banana split does not fart.

So a banana split has a place on my bike anytime. But a woman? Well, maybe if her name is Kristen Scott Thomas. Or Gwyneth Paltrow. Or Ashley Judd. Or Heather Grant. Or if she doesn’t mind dressing up like a banana split. Or if she wears perfume that smells like flowers, yeah, that will work too. Or popcorn. Perfume that smells like buttered popcorn.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Why I ride

A buddy and I have a smoke outside the sushi bar after lunch…

Bud: Why do you ride that motorcycle anyway?

Vin: It’s a chick magnet.

Bud: What, you like chicks that smoke, drink beer and have tattoos?

Vin: Heck yeah! Besides, it attracts all women—the danger, the inhibition—turns ‘em on.

Bud: It attracts skanks. You like skanks?

Vin: Heck yeah!

Bud: Liar!

Vin: What? You just don’t know the beauty of a skank.

Bud: Haha, what beauty? A crack head skank? You’re tellin’ me you would do a slutty, oily, sweaty, smelly dirty skank?

Vin: [I pause to think]

Bud: Haha See? You wouldn’t.

Vin: No, I was just thinking of some skanks I’ve met. You just don’t have a clue ‘cause you never get out. The skanks I’m thinking of—they’re the bomb man, I’d do ‘em in a heart beat!

Bud: You’re full of sh_t!

Vin: Fine, more for me, you’ll never know what your missing. A skank is like Heaven on Earth dude.

My buddy shakes his head, and just then a skank comes out of the liquor store and he starts cracking up.

Bud: Hey! What’s you’re tee-shirt say? [to the skank]

The skank turns around and shows him, it says “Guys and Brains Don’t Mix!”

Bud: Hey, I don’t agree with that!

Skank: You agree with this? [she lifts her shirt over her breasts.]

Bud: [Jaw drops]

Vin: Damn!

Skank: [puts her shirt back down.] You wanna help me carry this bag to my car?

My buddy helps her to her car, carrying her little bag full of probably smokes, condoms and booze. He comes back with a phone number and a big smile on his face.

Bud: Look what I got. Oh yeah baby! See how it’s done!

Vin: You got a phone number of a skank, wake up!!!

Bud: But you were just saying…

Vin: You gotta be choosey when you go skanking homer, not all skanks are equal. I can’t believe you just got pussy whipped by a skank.

Bud: Well I like this one, her name’s Sara.

Vin: I don’t care if her name’s Paris Hilton, you’ll need triple layer condoms with that one.

Bud: Don’t worry about it. Hey, I need to borrow your bike tomorrow night.

Vin: No way. Why?

Bud: I told her the bike was mine…

Tuesday, July 18, 2006


Hey, I am switching my 'POST' schedule to once a week every Monday. Because my work has slammed me once again with stuff to do and I have to cut back on all 70 of my hobbies to accommodate. But I will still be reading blogs whenever I can. Cheers to a good Summer!

A professor working under a Hartford research grant was mauled to death by this Gorilla while he was trying to determine its intelligence. The only evidence of what happened is on this partial tape recording:

Prof: Okay, what letter comes after Q?
Gorilla: Arrrr!
Prof: Okay, good. Now talk like a Pirate.
Gorilla: Arrrrr!
Prof: Great, now what do you say when Jennifer Lopez walks into the room?
Gorilla: Ooo Ooo.
Prof: Terrific, good job.
Gorilla: Hey!
Prof: Excuse me? What did you say? Did you say Hey? Say it again!
Gorilla: (silence)
Prof: Common, say it again for the tape, say HEY!
Gorilla: (silence)
Prof: SAY HEY!
Gorilla: (silence)
Gorilla: ARRRRRRRRG !! [SLAM! BAM! click*]

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Interview: Chief Dark Cloud

Chief by visivo.manila on flickr
Vince: What makes you happy?
Chief: My people, and their freedom.
Vince: What do you think of George Bush?
Chief: He is a Chief without a people.
Vince: How do you lead your people?
Chief: I listen. And speak from my heart.
Vince: And they listen to you?
Chief: My heart is their heart.
Vince: So what does that mean? How does that solve their problems?
Chief: If they follow their heart, their problems will be solved.
Vince: What if they have hatred in their hearts?
Chief: A heart big enough for hatred is a heart big enough for love.
Vince: What if they’re ignorant?
Chief: Knowledge is not the purpose of our hearts.
Vince: So what is the purpose of our hearts?
Chief: Listen to your heart, and it will show you the answer.
Vince: How about lawyers? What do you think of them?
Chief: Everything has a purpose.
Vince: How about women, do you have a woman?
Chief: To be had is not their purpose.
Vince: I see you have a Battle Axe. Will you use it to protect your land?
Chief: I use it to kill. The land does not need us, or our protection.
Vince: Why would you kill?
Chief: To survive.
Vince: Would you kill for revenge?
Chief: I kill to survive.
Vince: If I kick you in the balls. Would you find love in your heart and forgive me?
Chief: I will receive your gift. And in return I’ll let you feel the steel of my Battle Axe, and give you a taste of your own freshly cut balls.
Vince: You wouldn’t really cut off my balls would you?
Chief: You wouldn’t really kick me in the balls would you?
Vince: Okay, ah in closing, one final question: We know you are a fierce warrior, respectable leader, and fabulous dresser; but are you good in bed?
Chief: Is there a woman who loves you?
Vince: Yes of course, why?
Chief: Then bring her to me tonight. And if she rides with me tomorrow, then I must be damn good.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Space Suit

Space suit by dctim 1 on flickr
My buddy and I have another silly conversation:

Buddy: I wanna go to space.

Me: What for?

Bud: I wanna meet aliens, to talk to them.

Me: You’re already doing that. I mean, we’re already in space. The Earth is a big space ship. And we ARE the aliens. To anyone else out there that is.

Bud: No, I wanna go on a space ship and meet a REAL alien from another planet.

Me: You’ll need a space ship.

Bud: That’s possible nowadays.

Me: But a space suit alone costs around 10 million dollars—that possible too?

Bud: I don’t need a suit.

Me: There’s no oxygen in space. In direct sun light it’s 250 degrees. If you try to hide in the shade, it’s minus 150 degrees. Then there’s the cosmic rays and solar wind you need protection from—you need a suit homey.

Bud: So I’ll steal one.

Me: They weigh 350 pounds. Give it up! The earth is 99% water, why not just go scuba diving and meet a new fish?

Bud: Because I wanna meet a real alien.

Me: What if you do, and the alien is the size of an atom? How you gonna talk to him?

Bud: [no answer]

Me: What if you don’t understand his language? What if the one you meet is a molester? What if he’s so big, when he takes a breath, he sucks you up his nose and you get stuck in his mucus? Is that what you want? Why don’t you just get real?

Bud: There are intelligent beings out there who can communicate with me.

Me: Think for a minute! Idiot! Why would an intelligent being want to communicate with YOU? That’s like me wanting to talk to a f__king skunk. That’s like me wanting to talk to the bacteria in this mustard on my hot-dog  Why the hell would they want to talk to you??? You f__king Moron!

Bud: F__k you!

Me: Now me personally, I want to have sex with a female alien.

Bud: Yeah. In space in zero gravity.
Me: Yeah, and we'll have to be strapped together so we don't float apart.
Bud: But you'll run out of oxygen in about a minute?
Me: That's enough time...
The girls sitting next to us got up and left.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Dead Man’s Chest

I saw a picture of British actress Keira Knightley as she posed at a premiere of 'Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest' in London.  She was very skinny. 

I used to be as skinny as Keira. The odd thing I remember is that when I had a stomach ache, I could never understand how so much pain could come from a place where I had so little substance. Keira may be a size negative 2, but you can bet her pain is still in ‘full’ size. I know.

And every time I sat down, the only thing separating the seat and my bones was a thin layer of skin and it was so uncomfortable, when I had to take those hour long exams in school, 80% of my time was spend shifting my weight from bone to bone. I hate tests.

My waist was so thin, when I turned sideways, I could barely see myself in the mirror. I used to get two mirrors positioned with a space between to actually convince myself I was there.

One day, I lay exhausted and flat on the floor. My cat walked over me and didn’t even notice me. I think she just thought I was a new throw rug.

I learned if I tied a stick around my chest like a cross-- under my windbreaker-- then on windy days I could ride my bike to school without even peddling.

The bully in school hit me in the stomach. But he missed!

When my parents took me out to eat, the hostess would always ask, “table for two?” They thought I was the coat rack.

At the Hospital, my parents bought me a ‘Danny ‘O” Day’ venquilatrist doll. But the other kids got confused. They were calling me Danny.

The Docs did find the remains of a tapeworm in my system. But it had been dead for 10 years—starved to death.

My sister got in trouble one day for using my belly button as an incense holder.

My father got in trouble just for looking at me ‘funny’ at the company picnic, when he couldn't find the other pole for the horseshoe pit.

My brother almost broke my arm when he thought it was a back scratcher.

At the pool, all the other kids had cool beach towels to dry off with. I had a Kleenex.

But the worst thing that happened was when the fat lady next door stuck my head upside down into her Margarita and tried to suck it out my other end.

Okay; I’m going to cut myself off here before I offend someone :)

Sunday, July 02, 2006


When men watch women’s sports, they always end up thinking of sex. It’s because a woman exudes sex. Instead of wearing baggy shorts to play tennis, they wear short skirts with a cut-out to exhibit the private area.

When women play volleyball, they wear shorts that are shorter than the gloves I use to ride my motorcycle, and tighter than the gasket hugging my V8 engine block.

Sometimes I just want to see sports. If I wanted sex to show up in sports, let me see some size Zero models wearing high heel tennis shoes play badminton or croquet.

Friday, June 23, 2006


Mary is a four-year old Asian girl. Three of her classmates are Iranian. Mary and her five other Asian classmates happened to run faster then the Iranians, and Mary concluded that Asians are faster than Iranians. A stigma was created. “Iranians are slow.” Oh, and they smelled of spices, but Mary only knew the word ‘stink’, so Iranians are slow, and they stink now too. Mary’s new Asian friends look like her, and they know Chinese. They quickly build a common bond, and then they forced the Iranians out of the playhouse because they are brown, and thus slow and stinky. And the Iranians are outnumbered, so they are weaker, and they don’t belong, like the cat does not belong on the page with the apple, orange, and banana. Besides they dress funny, don’t talk English too well, and don’t talk Chinese at all.

Mary had become an instant racist. Nobody had taught her this. It was a product of Childs play--a product of real life and growth—an innocent and natural occurring form of racism that led to pure oppression and discrimination! Mary did not feel ‘hate’ at all for the Iranians however. It was all play and fun. Mary was happy to play Princess and be the ‘bestest’ of the playground. But the Iranian girls felt hurt. And they hated that feeling. And they began to hate Mary and her Asian friends for delivering the hurt. They hated Asians because they were hurtful. And so they hit Mary on the head, out of anger, and called Mary “stupid.” So Mary now felt hate too. And hurt. And she hit back.

Mary had become an oppressive, hateful, violent racist within the first two hours on her first day of pre-school; and her first day around other children.

Racism, hate, discrimination, anger, oppression and ‘people in general’ are not the problem at all because these things just happen. It is Ignorance that is the problem, because ignorance does not ‘just’ happen. Ignorance has already happened! All we have to do is learn from what has already happened. You’d think that would be easy.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

World Cup

I watch the World Cup on ESPN2. When someone scores a goal, the announcer says, “he scored a goal.”

On the Mexican TV station, the announcer says, “Goooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllll. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL. Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooall.”

See the difference?

When Mexico, Germany, France, Brazil, etc scores, their WHOLE COUNTRY ROARS. The whole country knows. But when the USA team scores, some kid in Chicago is buying a hot dog with no relish--clueless. And some other guy is sitting in traffic with his radio tuned to Howard Stern.

My Portuguese friends’ root for Portugal, my German friends root for Germany, my British friends root for England. And it’s the same with my French, Japanese, Korean, Brazilian, Australian, Iranian and Italian friends—all for their country of origin. Who roots for Team USA? Who in the USA really gives a damn? Just me? Hell, we probably outsource most of our players from other countries anyway.

Where is our National Camaraderie? Where is our National Pride? Has it dissolved into the mixing pot? Is this good? The greatest game in World History has no place in the Greatest Nation?

Maybe we have become so anti-establishment that we ARE the establishment. And what have we established--a Nation of modern day Hippies? Not to say there is anything ‘wrong’ with the Hippie mentality, there are the attractions. But I want to see a Hippie who can play soccer--a Hippie who can see a competitive game as a means to enhance peace and love; a Hippie who can respect and command respect from other Nations in the game; a Hippie who can talk peace, yet can also pick up a ball or gun and get excited about something. Excited about America!

Such a Hippie leader can bring back the Bond America is missing. A Bond that will put us all on the same page when acting on ‘What is RIGHT’ for our Nation and the Nations we share the Earth with.

A thousand years from now, our history books may credit the salvation of our Nation to a shorthaired Hippie sporting a tattoo of the Grateful Dead and carrying a soccer ball.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006


“Long ago, and so far away, I fell in love with you, before the second show...”
You loved Karen Carpenter; I remember. You loved life.
Remember the time, when you and I sat together and observed the world?
And for that moment we shared eternity.
And we knew what life was all about, it was so simple.
We listened.
To life.
As one.
Here’s to you, Princess. And I don’t even have to say it.
We don’t even have to say it...

Sunday, June 11, 2006


Inspired by the writings that grow in Straw Houses

the wind comes

and leaves her leaning one way.

fruits fall,

roots dig in and water sooths the pain.

She runs and falls and loves

and sits,

then sees the memories of laughter

and me.

time cannot evaporate the memories

of what never was.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Alaska vs. Sad Sac

So this was Alaska. Cool. I approached the float plane sporting my Indiana Jones outfit. Equipped with my adventurous look, I was confident that I was going to impress the two girls who were already inside. But upon entry, I hit my head on the door frame so hard that I fell on my back and my Skittles (which were in my shirt pocket) spilled all over the dock. All of a sudden I was an instant dork, and the smirk on the pilots face confirmed this. When we landed at our destination, I cautiously deplaned first, unable to ignore or hide the sprouting bump on my forehead. I had to walk to the trading post alone because the two girls wanted to stay and talk to the pilot dude, who had gallantly overshadowed my Indiana Jones outfit with his greasy hands, grinding gears, and general he-man mannerism.

So I took to the trail towards the trading post all alone. But then a miracle! There before me was the sight of two beautiful young Japanese girls, disembarking from a helicopter. They were obviously tourists, complete with expensive Nikkon cameras, floppy hats and brand new hiking boots. I quickly approached them and threw out a friendly greeting, “O-Hiyogozai-masu.” They responded, not with the flurry of Japanese yakking that I had anticipated, but rather with a simple, “You’re bleeding man,” in more than proper English.

After describing the crash landing, and close shave with death, I talked them into taking a short detour through the woods; to a place by the lakes edge where I assured them would yield great pictures of the glacier on the other side. They looked upon me as a seasoned adventurer with extraordinary knowledge of Alaskan tundra and woodlands.

Then the mosquitoes came in relentless torrents, buzzing and bumping and sucking the blood from all exposed skin and even through my clothing. I swapped and slapped, and screamed in futility while the Japanese girls, garnished with pre-adorned repellant, avoided the debacle completely. They also whipped out these electric wand things that exerted an inconsequential current to humans, but exploded mosquitoes on contact. It sounded like they were popping corn.

“You don’t have repellant?” They asked
“True explorers don’t bother with trivial things.” I said, very aware there were tears in my eyes at this point. The mosquitoes were getting stuck between my eyes and glasses, and engorging themselves on my bloody bump. They called in more of their friends—thousands of them-- and my head became a focal point, a feast, a living feeder. I must have looked goofy because the girl in the yellow hat mumbled the word “Bozo!” I had lost all reputability—I was no doubt a tactless fraud in their minds--but I didn’t care, I was just trying to survive. They offered to turn back, but I insisted we stay our course, and that this was an everyday occurrence for me, and just a minor annoyance.

When we arrived at the lakes edge, the girls took more pictures of me than the glacier. I had lost control and stuck my head in the lake. My hat disappeared into the ice cold water, and when I emerged, my hair looked like a frozen mosquito nest. The girl with the yellow hat blurted out, “Barney” to her friend--not even trying to hide the offending word under her breath to spare what was left of my ears. Then they took more pictures of me.

When we made it back to the trading post, it was lunch time. They served freshly caught salmon, deer, rabbit, and other delicious looking dishes. A buffet of kingly pleasures! Now this is what I’m talking about. But the float plane girls hooked up with the Japanese girls and they wanted nothing more to do with me. And I sat alone in the corner staring at the two aspirin on my empty plate, that the waitress was so kind to give me. My lips were starting to swell--yes, I am deadly allergic to mosquito bites. I couldn’t eat, or even stand up to get the food. The girls that once glanced in my direction with laughter in their eyes now stared with alarm. My face felt like a balloon about to pop. I could barely see through my swollen lids, and my glasses started bending and digging into my head. My hands could have doubled as surgical gloves that some wicked kid filled with water to shower an unwary victim. I couldn’t even hold the water glass to take the aspirin.

I looked down at the sight of my once baggy pants, now threatening to burst at the seams. But where were my private parts, my manly bulge? They were being squeezed in by emerging thighs. I was looking at camel toes!!! A distinct feminine feature that had no business in my pants! I heard myself scream. Then the gasps came. Then the camera flashes (those damn Japanese girls.) …Then the medi-vac.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

The Wizard

I first became aware of my powers when I was 8 years old. I saw the back of a man wearing a white shirt and walking a small black dog with a distinct background of a large glass wall. It was a dream. But a month later my parents took us to the county fair for the first time. I watched in awe as I saw the back of that same man and dog at a dog show there. The glass wall framed a large bleacher area.

Later, such dreams would occur time and time again. The most memorable happened when I was in my twenties. I started having re-occurring dreams of large mansions. In one dream, I was a little boy playing in a large room. I ran out of the room and into a narrow hall with wooden railings that shaped into a square. It was open in the center to the foyer below. There was a floor above me, and below me with similar railings, and the foyer was at the bottom for a total of four floors. I ran to the foyer and looked up to see the squares—the squares got a little narrower as it went up, kind of like a pyramid, but not so distinct. I had the feeling I did not live there, but enjoyed playing there. There were other kids there too.

In a second dream, I was also a kid. I walked into a side door of a mansion and there was a huge room with men eating and drinking on long tables. There was a bar or kitchen on one end. The ceiling was low and it was not a formal dining area.

A year later, I happened to be in Providence Rhode Island on business. It was very cold, close to zero degrees, and I was ill prepared with my isotoner gloves. But none-the-less, I ventured out to check out the Great Mansions which were open to the public for tour, and was recommended by business associates. There were tons of mansions on my ‘mansion map’, but I only had time to visit like six of them, and some of them were closed due to the cold and snow. One mansion, I was the sole tourist, and the mansion guide was an older female in her forties who could not hide her lust for my tall dark male frame. (I was young and arrogant.) I could tell she was fantasizing about me as she led me into room after room, her tail becoming increasingly welcoming and actually calling out for attention. But when we got to the foyer, my distraction vanished as I gazed up to see the three square halls. Identical to that of my dreams. I stood there looking up in awe for what seemed like minutes, and debated whether to reveal my dream to the female in heat who by then was giving me a quizzical look. I choose to keep my mouth shut. When we approached the room on the third floor, I knew what it would look like and my heart raced as we entered another familiar room. The woman in heat reported it as a play room. Despite my gentlemanly appearance and our age differences, I still regret not ‘taking’ her in the laundry room.

Another mansion reinforced my wizardly experience. The guide led me into a side door of a mansion where there were at least 30 children seated on the floor around another guide in what appeared to be a field trip. The room was identical to my dream, and still full of life. Other rooms in this mansion were familiar to me from my dreams as well, and a square piano which I so wanted to play in my dreams but did not. (like I was not allowed to play it.) And I had the same strong urge to play it in my present life, but with the guide at my side and the plastic cover over the keys, I was again denied.

The bottom line, is that I ‘saw’ both the past AND future in a present dream. I have powers. Wizardly powers. And I’ve exploited them a bit over the years. At the race track I won $1,800 on a ‘vision’ or a 7/4 exacta long shot. I strolled the Casino floor and it paid off. I locked onto one slot machine that according to my ‘vision’ would hit a jackpot on the very next spin. I put in two quarters and was $500 richer. The same jackpot I envisioned. But I still fail at trusting my powers. I passed up putting $100 down on the two double zero’s on a roulette table—Twice in minutes. I left in frustration for not trusting my visions.

So one day, I parked my car and closed my eyes. And I prayed to God that, “if these visions are real, then when I open my eyes, let there pass before me, a person in red.” The exact moment I opened my eyes, and between some low hedges, and across the street, a girl with a bright red jacked peddled her bike right in the middle of the space where I was looking! I was astonished! It WAS real. So I said, “God, if this is all real, then let there be a million dollars beneath my seat.” I looked and found nothing. So I said to myself, “well maybe it does not always work eh?” and was satisfied. A couple of days later, I realized I was parked above an underground garage. And I may not have been specific enough. I bet there was a car parked below me and my seat that contained a million dollars for my taking…

So last month I was watching the lotto balls come down the tube on TV. After the first two I decided to try a ‘vision’. The third and forth was a no go. But I got the last two and the balls positioned the numbers in the EXACT angles I had envisioned. So I need a way to envision ALL the balls well before they are dropped to give me time to buy the ticket. But it’s hard work. It’s hard to concentrate on six balls, I can only do one or two at a time.

So even with wizardly powers, I remain a failure. (that is I have to work for a living.) What a waste. I’m probably the only Wizard out there who is a loser…

Thursday, June 01, 2006

If I were King…

I’d be at the beach right now.

I’d bring my armies home from Iraq. Iraq is not my Kingdom.

I’d let Iran alone. But warn if they harm my Kingdom or my friends, then harm will come unto them.

I’d buy everyone in my Kingdom a brand new Harley, or a 72 inch flat screen LCD HDTV ready TV, or a grand piano—their choice.

I would dabble with acting and play opposite Vin Diesel as the bad guy.

I would live modestly in my Castle, but throw a smashing party at least once a month with plenty of good hearty meat and drink.

Drugs, prostitution, gambling--all legal. Except for minors.

Everyone can say ANYTHING they want. The ‘N’ word becomes defused and just another word. People of all colors and orientations love each other.

9/11 would never had happened and there is no threat of terror—Osama would get his 72 virgins without having to give his life.

Mexico would be thriving and illegal immigration not a problem.

Anyone can commit any crime they want. But they risk getting something chopped off--maybe their head or private parts. No need for prisons. (and their Harley would be taken away.)

Guns and shooting ranges are plentiful, and you can ‘carry’ concealed anywhere; but people will rarely have to, or want to.

Out of a job? Join the New Army. No age restrictions. There is a job for everyone. No need for Welfare.

And on the 7th day, I shall rest…

Thursday, May 25, 2006

McDonald Land

It won’t be long before the USA falls into the control of McDonalds, and Mexico becomes a thriving democracy. I see myself running to the Mexican border only to be stopped by our own Wall. A net is cast and I fall to the ground entangled in a red and yellow lace. “Get your filthy paws off me you damn dirty Clown.”

“Okay, Vince.” He says. “Aren’t you getting a little too old for this?”
My captor knows who I am. My whole life history flashes on the inside of his helmet visor, linked in from a database that joins the Global Tracking System (GTS) signal radiating from the implant in my brain. No DNA required although that data is available too. No need for an ID chip--just a simple GTS node and a unique personal frequency.

I am dressed in nothing but a black pair of bikini underwear. “Why are you dressed like that?” He says.
“Why are you dressed like a Clown, you over-weight Mayor McCheese wannabe.” I reply.
“Okay, we know you’ve been blowing your tokens on underground rabbit meat. Now all you got left to your name is a pair of black floss. What’s wrong with our McBunny sandwich? It tastes better than a real rabbit. “
“It does NOT you freaky brainwashed cartoon character! It tastes more like a nutty synthetic pork chop, you sick pufnstuf!”
“Now we know better than to talk offensively, don’t we? You’re already banned from McMilk Shakes. I’m afraid you just jeopardized your McChocobar privileges.”

I’m stunned. He knows McChocobar is my weakness. That scumbag. So I plead, “You can’t take that away. That’s the only real food you got. You can’t take that away.”
“Well, what can you give me to make me forget this little incident?”
“What do you mean? You know all I got left is this old pair of floss. What do you want? “
“I want you to tell me who sells you the rabbit meat, the EuroChino Union will be obliged to you.”
“But I’m no fink. I can’t rat out on the only family I got left.”
“The Corporation is your only family: Remember that.”
“Okay, okay. Just wait a minute. Okay, it’s John McCain, our president. He’s the one. And he has a Spanish girlfriend on the side.”
“What? Damn! This information is useless to me, McCain has immunity you know.”
I take a shot, “I’m useless to you too, believe me. Let me go. Let me go to Mexico.”
Then I hear the magic words, “Okay Vince. Go! Go find your freedom. And toss me over a burrito every now and then will ya? And don’t miss the McChocobars too much. They're made of recycled Starbucks coffee cup holders anyway.”

Suddenly a realization. “Bless you my son. I heard legends about you--a direct descendant of Jesus and Mary Magdelene. But how do you pass detection?”
“It’s the food.” He shrugs. “It has altered my DNA so I’m no longer traceable; but how did you know it was me?”
“I recognized your sandals.”

I climb over the wall into Mexico with the help of a well placed eucalyptus tree. I drop down and see some old graffiti. It depicts Bush shaking hands with Ronald McDonald. The beginning of the end…

Friday, May 19, 2006

The Monkey King

It’s a good day, but I sense it’s the last as life as I know it. I’m sitting in my spot, high above the camp overlooking my happy tribe. But I am uneasy, and not feeling as content as I do usually. Then I see him in the distance. This time he is not alone, he has five other ruffians with him. They move with fierce intent, building up their confidence along the way. Knocking over and challenging everything in their path--and they're moving rapidly and without pause.

My adrenaline is peaked and I put on a show of dominance as they arrive. But I am older now, and my display has left me a little exhausted. He has challenged me several times before and failed, but this day he is determined. He is young, strong, and relentless. Everyone watches in awe and horror. I am defeated within minutes and outcast into the jungle.

I’m shaking now. I peer through the leaves from afar and see him sitting in my spot, overlooking my tribe. The five hoodlums are already ravishing my daughters. Then my favorite wife comes up to him, bends over and offers him her posterior as a gesture of total submission. This is his reward. This is what he lived and fought for. What he was born to achieve. My other wives line up and follow suit. Like a string of harlots bowing down to the jungle while he samples them from behind.

Oh, what’s this dripping from my eyes? It’s clouding my vision. Everything is a watery blur and I can no longer see the terrible scene through the leaves. I’m still shaking. I feel numb and alone. I think of my mother who dreamed of me becoming King. But did she know this day would come? She had to.

If only I was smart enough to make a gun, then I would have had a fighting chance. But then, they would make guns too. Maybe I could have made something stronger like a bomb or a nuclear bomb! And just have made more bombs then they could. Then I would still be King.

I am alone, but not. Something is there with me, embracing me, healing me--but what? Who is out there watching me? How is he penetrating my soul with such loving warmth? My eyes fill with water again. But I hear the birds singing. I see some bananas and a clear flowing stream. I am so thirsty. There is life all around me. I see a path through the jungle, no doubt paved by a herd of elephants. If only I were smart enough to make a motor bike. Then I could ride the path and see where it takes me. That would be fun.

Thursday, May 04, 2006


Well, I had to postpone my Butterfly Expedition to a future date. Unfortunately we arrived in Sydney on Easter Sunday, and someone had the bright idea of an Easter egg hunt. We thought it would be good practice for our butterfly hunt—so we took it on-- but it took us the full two weeks to find all the eggs. The stupid “someone” had hid them all over Sydney!

When I bumped shoulders with someone in Australia, they said, “Sorry mate.” In Asia, they would say nothing and keep on moving. I guess it’s so crowed in the cities there in Asia, that if you were to say “sorry” every time you bumped shoulders, you’d lose your voice before noon. In the US, when I bump shoulders with someone I have to get ready for a fight!

I quit smoking, but I had to try some Australian tobacco ( I was on vacation!) Their government warnings are much larger than in the US and it really gets in your face. That's a picture of a clogged artery on the bottom right. I’m telling you right now, that the tobacco company that labels their cigs “POISON” or “TOXIC” with a skull and crossbones logo to compliment the Government “SMOKING KILLS” label—then they will make a KILLING!!! I mean I would have bought 100 cartons of those. So if there are any Phillip Morris executives reading this; then hire me right now!!! I got more ideas that will help you make Big Oil look like child’s play, and the Black Death look like a minor flu bug!

Thursday, April 13, 2006


Australia by lednichenkoolga on flickr
I’m headed off to Australia to lead an excursion party of renowned butterfly hunters in search of the famous Belenois Invisibilis (Invisible Butterfly)-- So I’ll be back in a few weeks. My journey will take me to the largest remaining sub-tropical rain forest in the world—The Australian “outback”.
Transparent butterfly by Young in Panama on flickr

The transparent butterfly seen here is a direct descendant of Belenois Invisibilis, which roam the outback near the forest floor. 

Where there are transparent butterflies, there are Belenois Invisibilis’.
The only known photo of an invisible butterfly is seen here on this flower. One has never been taken into captivity. I hope to capture one towards the end of my expedition because their lifespan is only 5 days, and I want to show it off while it’s still alive.
Purple flower by aldenchadwick on flickr

It will be a tough hunt, because they are 99% invisible. Only their food and feces are visible, so we will be tracking their droppings, which are rather small, about the size of this dot (.)

I am equipped with a magnifying glass, butterfly net, safari gear and saddle bags, and my Crocodile Dundee outfit (I want to look cool in case I run into Jungle Jane in the bush.) I will meet my team at 0600 hours Sunday, and after a boiled egg breakfast to celebrate Easter, we will begin our journey.

I plan to sell my bounty on eBay, and donate the proceeds to my 'lint louse' expedition fund (my next project.) Wish me luck, and bon voyeurism!

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Spiritless Ghosts:

Researchers in Denmark claim to have cloned the first batch of Poltergeists. “Unlike ‘real’ Poltergeists, these clones are ‘soulless’, and not subject to Human or Animal Rights laws.”

These clones can move objects, or perform any simple physical duty you train it to. The potential benefit to mankind is unreal—here are a few projects already in progress:

Ghost by sarahstierch on flickr
--Poltergeist Pets: No mess, no loud barking, no veterinary costs.
--Poltergeist Companions: Won’t complain if you smoke; won’t take up a seat on the subway; endless electrifying, and safe sex; undetectable affairs; won’t eat your food; can be trained for simple tasks such as picking your nose and wiping your butt.
--Poltergeist tool set: Crafty Ghost can turn screws and nuts. Snake Ghost can clean out stopped drainage without caustic chemicals or a plumber; Garden Ghost can zap bugs to keep your garden healthy.
--Political Poltergeist: Tapper Ghost can infiltrate any location without need for warrant or wire tapping.
--Ordained Poltergeists: Can exorcize real Poltergeists without need of a Priest.

Critics warn the unholy alliance with Poltergeists can only lead to trouble and open a Pandora’s Box. “By God, these entities can be sent via email! Life has a way of ‘finding a way’, and it won’t be long before these spiritless clones learn to perhaps ‘steal’ souls and propagate.”

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Sewer Main Lobsters:

MAIN (Rooters) - Sewer Main Lobsters (SMLs) have invaded the Northeast. A Hybrid of Main Lobsters, these lobsters are unisex, super aggressive, and chirp like a cricket. “They eat their dead, so we didn't even know they existed until recently, and now it’s too late—it is estimated they number in the billions.”

The problem is this subspecies has discovered they can crawl up the toilets and nip off penises, which are an apparent delicacy to them.

“We must nip this problem in the butt." Homeland Security has developed a system that will keep toilet water at a steady boil. This new toilet is expected to wean SMLs from penises in a matter of months. The added benefit is a built in humidifier along with a sanitizer making it possible to transfer trapped lobsters directly to the dinner plate, fully cooked and ready for consumption.

“The SML toilets will be provided free of charge thanks to special sponsors: Members Only, Johnson & Johnson, and Der Weinersnitchel.” But opponents to Homeland Security warn that the boiler toilet will solve nothing! “It’s only a matter of time before a heat resistant strain of SMLs evolve. But the real fear is they are already capable of surviving for months out of water, and seem to have an unlimited capacity for growth, enabling them to snip even the largest penises. "They will just by-pass the toilet and jack you when you sleep. We recommend a stainless steel penis muzzle that attaches via a testicle harness--to be worn at ALL times.”

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

May Freedom Come:

What if Dr. Martin Luther King were alive today? Would he fight for our Civil Liberties as he fought for our Civil Rights? Maybe!
--Civil Rights involve Government ensuring equal treatment and focuses on who you are.

--Civil Liberties involve Government balancing our freedoms with order and focuses on what you do.

Martin Luther King, Jr. by cliff1066 on flickr

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equally free of the bondage of the BAN." I have a dream that one day on the concrete hills of New York the sons of former victims of the BAN and the sons of former lawmakers will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood and smoke and drink spirits if they want to. I have a dream that one day even the state of California, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of communism and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the smoke they intake, or the SUV they drive, or the guns they own, or the seat belts they choose not to wear; but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring." And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring without the chains of the helmet law. Let freedom ring without the signs that segregate smokers from non-smokers. Let freedom ring without BANS on abortion or BANS on Fourth of July fireworks, or BANS on the internet. Let freedom ring for all suppressed brothers and sisters. Let freedom ring.

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every county and every town, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, Smokers and Non-smokers, Junk food eaters and Vegetarians, gas powered lawn mower owners and electric lawn mower owners, prostitutes and virgins, drinkers and non-drinkers, motorcyclists and automobilists, drug users and non-drug users, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old spiritual, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Sad Sac—Casino:

casino by loop_oh on flickr

So Saturday, I took a day trip to the Casino.   I arrive at the Cache Creek Indian Casino feeling kind of out of sorts after blowing away a Mustang on the way over in my Audi race car. I had thought it wanted to race and punched my turbo V8 to a 140 mph, leaving the Mustang in the dust.       But BustSeconds later my victory melted away as I sat stuck behind a stop sign and the Mustang caught up to me. The old lady behind the wheel did not look too impressed. And there was that blue handicap tag hanging from her rear view mirror.

But I try to leave that all behind me as I walk into the Casino. I switch into John Travolta mode and strut to the water fountain feeling cool and thirsty. I’m also intelligent and whip out my leather coin purse to shield me from the inevitable shock at the fountain. I notice there are women watching and imagine them noticing my wit and cleverness at the fountain. But I hear a “spack” and see sparks as I feel a sharp pain voltage into my tongue forcing my body to spasm and let out a very non-masculine shriek. And my coin purse falls to the floor spilling six months worth of spare change. Not a very cool sight to behold.

So I order a chili dog and lemonade from the Deli bar and the cute girl at the counter hands me my cup and says I am number #1. (my call number) So I say, “Yes I am!” But I only say half of it because when I expertly flicked my cup up in a summer-sault, it hits my nose and falls to the floor. Damn! I refuse a replacement cup.

I’m at a slot machine and very hot filly sits next to me. I try to act cool and flip out a smoke. I hope she notices my cool new lighter in the shape of a stack of poker chips that matched my World Series Poker shirt. She asks me, “Are you going to smoke?” I’m thinking, “Okay, I got a cig in my mouth, and lighter in hand, what the f__k does she think I’m going to do?” All I could say was, “Yes.” So she gives me a dirty look and scoots out of there!?! I’m like WTF? The whole place is festering in smoke? What the hell?

So I can’t let these events spoil my fun, so I decide to cool off and plan what I should do next. So I’m standing in a safe place scoping the joint and a security gal yells at me, “No smoking here!!!” Everybody around looks at me like I’m some sort of public offender! “Oh, I didn't see the sign. Where is the sign?” She points to a small eligible sign behind me. I say, “Oh.” And move THREE feet to my right where there is an ash tray!!! “Is here okay?” 
Now I’m looking around and there is smoke EVERYWHERE! My eyes are stinging with smoke. People with cigs that walk through the 6 feet of non-smoking space are okay because they are moving. Again, there is smoke EVERYWHERE! But I get yelled at—sheesh!

So I go outside and light up. I realize my shoulders are getting stiff and I feel a headache coming on. But it was beautiful out there and I start to relax a little. I’m watching some workers plant these bushes. I put out the cig on the ground and a worker stares at me and says, “That’s a fire hazard sir, can you pick that up?” I notice the bushes are all dead and extremely flammable looking. I say, “Oh, sorry.” and pick up the butt. “Why are you guys planting all these dead weeds for anyway?” He said, “I dunno, it’s the look they wanted I guess.”

There is a fire burning across the street in a field. I look to my left and there are two fire engines up on a small hill next to the Casino doing absolutely nothing about it. Then I notice these guys are in training and there are four firemen in full gear moving up the hill with a stretcher. It takes them like five minutes to move six feet man, then one guy slips and the stretcher spills to the left onto the ground. I’m thinking, “What kind of world do I live in? Is everyone insane? Fumbling firemen, dead weeds, anti-smokers, old handicapped ladies driving Mustangs, water fountains that can kill, and enforcing a non-smoking section that’s absolutely deluged in smoke? ”

So I go to the buffet and have a ton of oysters, a steak, prime-rib, goat meat, eight desserts, five cokes, egg rolls, fruit, pizza, mashed potatoes and gravy, French toast with lots of syrup, salami, sausage, coffee, champagne, ice cream and some unknown food. I tip BIG!

Afterwards I am happy again and on a corner slot. A hot girl is sitting on a slot facing me with her legs parted open in a manner that would make the Pope look twice. Her tight jeans were shouting out to be noticed. She looked me in the eye for a second than her eyes locked onto my stomach. At this time I realize I am carrying around a beach ball under my shirt. I can’t even suck in a millimeter. It feels like it is expanding like someone is pumping helium into it. It must have been the oysters or something. My face felt flushed and something moved inside me as gases began to export from every possible opening. Her expression became concerned, and that was my cue to head for the bathroom which was just beyond the crap tables. I made it to a stall okay, but the janitor was working on the toilet next to mine which over flowed and brown water rushed into my stall all over my shoes. I heard someone say, “Oh, sh_t!” and minutes later a yellow sign was placed in front of MY door! When I got out, everyone thought I was the one who had an accident!!! Damn!

So I’m by my car ready for my journey home. I’m admiring two shiny Harleys that parked right next to me. Then, all of a sudden, two guys rush to the bikes admiring them too, and then start digging through the saddlebags??? They seem aggressive and indiscriminately rampage through the Harley owner’s stuff. I get very offended because I have a bike and know that you just don’t mess with someone’s ride. Then I heard myself shout out at them, “What the f__k you doin’ man, get the f__k outta here!” 

Big Mistake!  I mean I’m six one at 240, but these guys were even bigger, and meaner, and harder and were no doubt stronger than oxen. They turned and glared at me with eyes that said, “You’re already dead brother!” And it was just then I realized the colors they were pullin’ out of the saddle bags were that of an infamous outlaw motorcycle club (name not given to protect my ass.) And worse, I realized those were THEIR own bikes man!!! So I quickly pointed to the cell phone which thank GOD I had in my hand, and indicated I was talking to someone on the phone. I turned away and continued to yell in my phony remote microphone, “I told you not to do me like that!” I walked back to the Casino shouting profanities at my pretend caller and holding an invisible fake earphone to my ear. I never turned back. And I hid inside the Casino doors until they were gone…

It's only now I question why they did not wear their colors in the Casino. My only guess is it was either too hot, or they were trying to avoid trouble, or had met with clueless parents, or something? But there had to have been a good excuse not to wear their colors with pride and respect...P.S. If you happen to be the riders reading this post--I was just trying to protect someone's ride man. And you were dressed like cagers (someone who drives a car.) so I thought those were not your bikes! Nice bikes btw. Solid rides man.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Evolving Plant Life:

Pitcher plant by MShades on flickr
The Eatamongus plant eats small birds and rodents, but prefers cheeseburgers and table scraps--makes a fine 'no maintenance' pet, but not recommended for vegetarians.

Purple pitcher plants by Just chaos on flickr
The Vampirus Oclitorus plant (or Swallow Plant) relies entirely on the human male for pollination. And it feeds by pricking the male organ with small teeth hidden under her lips, and sucks the blood much like a vampire bat. Because this creates a pleasant tingle and win-win situation, this plant is also one of the most intelligent. But intelligence comes at a price--90% of these plants are now obese and owners are asked not to feed them so much.

Magnolia by dougwoods on flickr
The Dillydo plant is an outdoor plant. But now totally dependent on the human female for pollination, it is on the verge of extinction. The idea was that the seed is injected into the woman’s saliva during pollination. Then wherever she spits, a new plant will grow. But nowadays more and more women are just swallowing the seed. Or taking the fruit indoors for personal use before fully ripe.

Monday, March 06, 2006

Travel Alert: South Dakota

The CDC put out an emergency travel alert for South Dakota after a law was approved to institute forced slavery among women:

A new law will force women to nourish, nurture, take care of, and financially provide for unwanted babies forcibly injected into their bodies, affectively making all females potential slaves, and fair game for any parasitic entity that needs a Host body for their demon seed to grow.

“Be very careful when traveling to South Dakota, especially if you’re a woman—avoid if possible—no quarantine of South Dakota will be provided by our government.”

Warning: Increased chatter reveals extensive movement towards South Dakota of the following, who intend to capitalize on the new law to propagate their offspring:

Hell spawned Demons
War Mongers
Evil Aliens
Hillbillies from Dirtyback Mountain
Peewee Herman and his Gang of Wankers
“A woman’s body is no longer her own. The State Government has taken it hostage and stamped it as a piece of meat to be abused as a culture to grow any seed that invades it. “

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Synchronized Swimming: The Bad Apple of Olympic Sports.

A rare look at the most controversial sport in Olympic History: (Inspired by Jungle Jane)

1.) The whole thing began with a duck! Kings forced performers to strap ducks to their heads and swim around for entertainment. But eventually they became the first “Sitting Ducks” when a King took up a spear for some real sport.

2.) Then in 1907 a girl bought a ballerina suit and a giant fish bowl. She developed a dancing fish act and traveled the Globe for 25 years before she disappeared in the Mermaid Riots of 1932.

3.) The underwater ballerina act evolved into the most undefined, controversial and segmented sport in history. The Lesbian National Aquatic league, for example, is scored not only on beauty, but the number of synchronized climaxes they can achieve in a 5 minute period.

4.) The Brownie Troop Ornamental Swimming Team features young teens in full brownie uniform. They rise to the surface feet first and their skirts fall to the water like Lilly pads, exposing white bulbous panties and long young virgin legs that slowly spread open into full flower for all to admire.

5.) The Punk Rock Water Acrobatics Team has a colorful act, but the team was marred last month when excessive thrashing sequences, two drownings, bloody waters, and three missing bodies rattled the audience—the shark was simply a bad idea.

6.) The sport also inspired illegal underwater Horse races. I actually attended one of these events and my girlfriend had a chance to meet the winning horse. But the horse didn’t appear happy, so she tried to comfort him—“You are the Champion …so why the long face?”

7.) A prison recently sanctioned the first Synchronized Football League – featuring burley inmates in elaborate floral huddle formations, synchronized spinning pass patterns and flower plays, all to the music of the “Nutcracker Suite”. Judged not by number of touch downs, but by the artistic and electrifying manner in which they are executed!!!

8.) Today, men are still prohibited from the Synchronized Swimming games in the Olympics--And rightfully so I might add. I mean if they ever get allowed, then what message will it send? Like what will be next? Girls in the NFL? Coed bathrooms? Free sex in the streets? ...uh...Well then, maybe we ought to at least give it a go, eh? What can it hurt?

9.) Over 85% of men polled admit wanking it to Synchronized Swimming more often than any other sport.

10.) The all male Chip & Dale Aquatic Team put on a Royal exhibition for the new Princess of Wales, depicting the Iron Man Submarine Battle of WWII. Microphones amplified the battle scenes and intensified the underwater explosions. But the explosions were farts man. And you could see the bubbles rise up. And when a sub was destroyed, a butt would float to the surface with a Daisy sticking out the arse!!!
The surface torpedoes were neat, but the periscope sequence had all the ladies fighting for the opera glasses. Young girls fainted. The Princess fainted too, and totally missed the grand finale with the sperm whale. The show is banned now in 192 countries and “Blow-hole” has since become a dirty word.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

Top 10 Figure Skating Facts:

10.) Figure skating is the only sport where the most sought after photos are crouch shots.

9.) No butt ugly contestant has ever won a gold metal in figure skating.

8.) Sexual elegance between couples are judged as part of the sport. Exotic sex acts win points while penalties occur if the acts are too raunchy and basically a turn off.

7.) Fifty percent of the sport is about sex; however you get penalized if your outfit is too sexy.

6.) Only sport where the viewing of scantly clad girls is deemed suitable for young children, and where young children are actually encouraged to participate.

5.) A gay couple has never won a gold metal in figure skating--yet.

4.) More affairs between coach and athlete occur in figure skating, than all other sports combined.

3.) There are more sexual abuse cases between coach and athlete happen in figure skating than all other sports put together.

2.) It's the only sport where a man can reach up under a woman's dress and grab her crouch, flip her into a 69 with his face between her legs and her face in his crouch, push her to her knees and hold her face against his crouch, grind his crouch against her crouch, cup her breasts, fondle her butt, put her face against his butt, jam his nose in her butt, place his crouch in her butt, rest his face on her bossism, rub his body all up and down hers then turn her over and do it from behind, and finally kiss her on the lips after the routine--then win a gold metal.

And the number 1.) fact about figure skating: It’s the only sport I really want to play, but can’t--Every time I even try to grab a girl for a pick-up game, I just get slapped away!?!

Dakota Burning

The photo above is that of a sperm as seen through a common microscope. You can‘t really see it because it is too small, and I did not have an electron microscope handy.
The following is a script for a play entitled, “ Dakota Burning “
CHARACTERRS: South Dakota Legislature (SDL); Rape Victim (RV)
LOCATION: South Dakota Discovery Court of Humanity

SDL: As your entrusted servants and protectors, we will be passing a new law making abortion a crime even in circumstances of rape.
RV: So if I kill this sperm, then it is murder?
SDL: Yes.
RV: But people kill billions of sperm every time they use a condom and billions more with spermicidal jelly (Chemical weapon of mass destruction) How about that?
SDL: Murdering sperm is allowed, as long as it does not reach home base. That is if it reaches the egg, then it attains diplomatic immunity and becomes human. So if you kill it on home base, then it is murder and you get 5 years in prison.
RV: But South Dakota has the death penalty for murder, it seems this sperm is not given equal consideration as other humans, this is discrimination.
SDL: You are correct; we will make sure the law is changed so that if you kill said sperm, then the penalty is death.
RV: But this sperm is unwanted and if left in will shatter my life and my family’s lives, while the Devil rapist only gets two years prison out on parole in one? You’re telling me if I rip out this hell spawned sperm that no one can even see, an invisible Demon seed that was forcibly injected into me without my consent in a brutal violent rape, then it will be a crime, and you will have the right to hunt me down and murder me?
SDL: As your entrusted protector and servant, absolutely, and in addition to murdering you, we also reserve the right to call you a dirty filthy whore.
RV: But these rules are terrible: I’m allowed to murder all the sperm I want, unless it has reached home base. Then you’re allowed to call me names, and murder me for murdering an invisible sperm? I don’t know if murder is right or wrong anymore. I feel helpless, I feel as though I want to take up arms and revolt against you.
SDL: Precisely why we also have designs to ban guns and render you completely powerless to act against us in such a manner. Of course, we ourselves will retain our right to bear arms.
RV: But you must have mercy! At least give me a fighting chance like you did for the invisible sperm. At least allow me the same consideration as the demon sperm, and give me a home base that gives me immunity from your murderous death hunt.
SDL: Seems fair enough, so in all good will, as your protectors and servants, we will christen Abortion clinics as your home base for immunity.
RV: Thank you kind sirs. So if I and all women of South Dakota become certified abortionists, then we can make every home in our state an Abortion clinic. And we can perform home abortions, and be immune to your death hunts. Correct?
SDL: Technically, yes…
RV: So why even bother with this law you really can’t enforce?
SDL: We don’t have to.
RV: What do you mean?
SDL: We will simply outsource our police staff to mercenaries from the United Arab Emirates, who will have diplomatic immunity to kill you for us, home base or not!
RV: Scumbags!
SDL: As your humble protectors and servants, we will always find a way to punish you, hunt you down, and kill you where you sleep.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Karma and Valentine's Day

This is a photo of Clinton and I at a fund raiser in Washington DC in 2003. Actually Clinton is shaking my hand in gratitude because I informed him of the large bugger in his nose. His hand was sticky, but I had some sanitary wipes in my pocket. We talked a little and he gave me some advice and I told him he ought to lay off the carrots for a while, and maybe avoid getting stuck alone in the men’s room with Howard Dean.

Anyway, it was Valentine’s Day, and I had to leave early to catch a plane to New York for a fashion show. So I rushed back to my room at the Watergate Hotel, changed, grabbed a sandwich at the deli, and caught my limo to the airport.

But the limo driver said he had to make one quick stop at the United Arab Emirates Embassy to pick up a few more people.

Photo by DVIDSHUB on flickr
When we arrived at the Embassy, a sheikh (looking similar to the one in the photo) and his female companion wearing a beautifully sequenced veil adorned with gold chains sat opposite me. I immediately felt uneasy because I knew the presence and aroma of my Memphis style shredded pork shoulder sandwich might offend them. Their eyes immediately confirmed my suspicion, but I was hungry and took a big bite while sounding out my pleasure. The woman said in broken English, “That is disgraceful!” I replied spontaneously, “What? It’s just a sandwich; you’re the one who has to hide under a veil.” (rude, I know.)

But I talk with my hands, and the swing of my sandwich let fly a piece of pork that landed on her lap. She screamed and stood up to rid of the offending meat, and her head hit the ceiling, then her face came crashing down onto my crouch. Somehow the gold chains on the top part of her veil over her forehead got caught in my fancy belt buckle. She was stuck, and yelling something in Arabic. The sheikh came forward and reached for my crouch to help her untangle it but I brought my hand up for him to stop and warded him off with my sandwich, "I may eat pork, but I’m not gay, please stay away." (not that there is anything wrong with being gay, or for that matter, being a sheikh, or wearing a veil.)

Just then, four other sheikhs came into the limo, and there was a loud exchange as the first sheikh explained in Arabic why his companion was on her knees with her head in my crouch. The limo shoved off, but we were all still in chaos. I tried to relieve the tension by suggesting we all just calm down, let me finish my sandwich, and then we can think this through. The sheikh said, “No finishing sandwich!” So I asked if someone could hold my sandwich so I could try to fix it and they all just glared at me, no one wanting to come near the pork. Then I asked the girl if she could hold it and she shouted, “No, get it away from me!”

Then at that moment, the sight of the female between my legs sunk into my mind. And along with the vibration of her voice against my loins, something was triggered within the depths of my manhood. A process I knew may be difficult to stop. So I quickly put the sandwich on the shelf behind me and tried to untangle the chain. But I couldn't, it seemed impossible. And the way it was jammed, I could not even remove my belt. I said to the girl, “Can you just take off your veil?” She looked up into my eyes and yelled out, “NO!” Then her eyes widened as we both realized I had become fully emancipated.

With the sandwich no longer in my hand, I had nothing to ward of the Sheikh, who quickly made his way to my pants and worked to jar the chain loose. He failed and sank back into his seat exasperated. The girl had lost all energy to hold her head up, and relaxed it on the only place she could. I had to distract myself, so I looked back at my pork sandwich but it had spilled open and become uneatable. The sheikh looked at me and said, “You know, eating pork is foul. Each time you eat pork you are doing harm, and become in debt to Karma! A debt that has to, and will be repaid!” Just then, answering for me in spite and irony and for all to witness, my spasms forced the girls head slightly up and then down as if something was trying to escape from a hatch below. Exhausted, the girl released a surrendering sigh and the sheikh resigned to an incredulous stupor.

Trying to divert attention from the spectacle, I said, “I can cut the belt off, does anyone have a knife or a box cutter?” I guess not, because the sheikh just stared at me with daggers in his eyes. So I suggested I take off my shirt, and put it over her head so she can unveil and get a better angle of it. They seemed to like the idea but had doubts if I would somehow be able to steal a peek at her face. So I offered to even blindfold myself to make double sure there was no way for me to see. One Sheikh actually had a blindfold in his pocket, so we were in luck.

The girl was still quite liberally struggling under the shirt when we arrived at the airport. My mouth had contoured into an expression of pain as I desperately battled to suppress the flow of life trying to find a way out. The Sheikh yelled out the window at two airport policeman for a knife. The cops did not understand his broken English the first time, so he opened the door and yelled again, “We have a knife!” He should have said, “Can we have a knife” or “we need a knife.” Because all the police saw was a car load of angry Arabs, and me sitting there blindfolded, apparently in pain, and wearing a wife-beater tee-shirt--not to mention the added confusion of a girl on her knees working on my crouch under a shirt. Needless to say, none of us made our flights that day…

Moral of the story: The more constraints we impose on ourselves and others, the more indebt we become to Karma. And that debt must always be repaid.