I had a strange experience in the house last weekend where all the batteries in the living room died. No kidding, everything that ran on lithium or cadmium batteries died. I discovered this when I went to use one of the approximately 7 remote controls we keep on the coffee table. It didn’t work. I tried a different remote. It didn’t work. I tried the next. I worked my way through all of them. None of them worked. Now, it’s common for the remotes to drain batteries. I’m sure that two at a time is merely coincidence, but all seven of them?
Oh, it gets better. I replaced the batteries in the two important remote controls, then went to check my email before heading to bed. The battery in my wireless mouse was dead. No light, no cursor movement, the mouse was dead. The work station is a built-in unit about a meter from the television. The batteries in the digital camera that resides on the desk were dead. It appeared as though some mysterious force wandered through my living room and ate all the batteries. That or the electronics just couldn’t take it anymore.
I am now potentially facing a mass battery suicide…or something…else.
You all know who we need to call, and it ain't the Ghostbusters or Domino's.
It wasn’t over yet. I realized that I was stuck in the middle of some crazy ass supernatural occurrence, so just out of curiosity, I went to check my cell phone. My cell phone was hooked up to its little charger a few meters from the coffee table that appeared to be ground zero. I left it on the charger a few hours earlier, enough to get some sort of gas back into the little bugger. I unplugged it and looked at the screen. The battery light blinked back at me. No batteries, please connect to charger. Something sucked what should have been a full battery completely dry.
I know nothing about electronics. I am a chemist, so I have an idea about the exact chemical process behind designing and building a simple battery. However, that is not my forte, and I have no clue as to how modern electronics work. I do know that every battery in only one specific area of the house shouldn’t die at once. So, what the hell happened here? I don’t know. If somebody has any plausible theories, I’d love to hear them.
I can only speculate. My life, thus far, has been blissfully free from any sort of supernatural bullshit. I’d like to keep it that way. However, I can’t shake the paranoia that comes with every battery in one room of the house dying in a matter of minutes. I need an explanation, if only so I can sleep better at night. Just don’t even bother mentioning that goatsucker thing. Mention that and it’s nothing but a smack in the head for you.
I’m hearing quite a bit about sex addiction lately. Now, I have to stop right here and give a quick disclaimer. I grew up in a house full of drunks, drug addicts and generally insane people. I don’t subscribe to that whole “addiction is a crippling illness” bullshit (I’ll get to that in a bit). I bring this up because I look at the people who are supposed sex addicts and just roll my eyes.
Sex addiction, according to Psychcentral.com, is “a progressive intimacy disorder characterized by compulsive sexual thoughts and acts.” “The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Psychiatric Disorders, Volume Four describes sex addiction, under the category ‘Sexual Disorders Not Otherwise Specified,’ as ‘distress about a pattern of repeated sexual relationships involving a succession of lovers who are experienced by the individual only as things to be used.’ According to the manual, sex addiction also involves ‘compulsive searching for multiple partners, compulsive fixation on an unattainable partner, compulsive masturbation, compulsive love relationships and compulsive sexuality in a relationship.’”
At least they have enough taste to not insist it’s a kind of disease. Let me tell you something I know about disease from the viewpoint of a biochemist. Cancer, leukemia, rheumatoid arthritis, etc., are all diseases. You can take some mitigating steps in your life (good diet, exercise, not smoking) to try to avoid them. However, sometimes, despite all your better efforts, Mother Nature decides that you will get a disease. There is nothing you can do about it. She/Fate/God/What Have You makes the decision and you get the disease. There’s not a thing in the world you can do about it.
There is a whole WORLD of difference between getting a disease and acting like a goddamn whore. And that’s all you are if you’re a sex addict. Male or female (especially if you’re male, I’m sick of that term only being applied to women), if you fuck anything that moves, you’re a goddamn whore.
Look familiar sex addicts? No, it's not your reflection...
Sex addiction seems to be limited to the realms of the rich, famous and affluent. Let’s face it; only those types can work the stroll all day and not have to worry about being back before their lunch break is up. The rest of us just get to listen to these dicktards whine all day about how hard they have it and how they’re truly sorry and how they have to get back to country club rehab.
What they really need to do is just shut the fuck up. Seriously. You’re a goddamn whore, so stop making excuses for your ho shit because nobody’s buying it, least of all me. Now, put your dicks back in your pants, stop your fucking whining and pull your shit together. Nobody feels sorry for you.
Oh, and stay the hell off my furniture.
I'm sure there's hidden consequences to your little "disease." One of them will NOT be pus on my sofa.
After all your ho shit, there’s no saying what kind of dick gangrene, crotch critters or jungle rot you have going on down there. I really don’t want to know. I will tell you one thing, you better stay the hell off my furniture because I’m really not in the mood to burn the sofa. If I do, I’ll make sure you’re still on it at the time. There’s nothing like the purifying power of fire, I always say.
I would insist I am of sound mind and temperament, but I’m beginning to wonder lately if I really am. I’ve come to a conclusion. Either I am completely batshit, or worse, I am the only sane one left in America these days. Don’t argue with me, just look at the proof:
Pssst. You forgot to get dressed.
Did you see it too? Whew! Okay, I’m not alone. Since when has it become acceptable to wear your pajamas in public? Did I miss the general memo that went out to all Americans that this was in some way appropriate? I went to buy Girl Scout Cookies the other day and decided not to because there were little Victoria’s Secret bimbo wannabes there in their “Pink” brand pajamas and Ugg(ly) boots. No uniform, no sash, no badges, NO SALE. End of discussion. It’s never too early to conduct yourselves with dignity, ladies. Yes, I let their parent/guardian/overlord/whoever the hell she was what I thought.
Just when I thought I managed to escape the insanity, I had to pass this Bull. Shit.
If the belt isn't around your waist, your fucking pants ARE NOT ON.
They’re not on. There are women and puppies in this neighborhood, and none of them want to see your ass. Really. We don’t. Ask around. Please get arrested for indecent exposure while you’re at it.
I was confronted by this “message” on my Facebook wall the other day:
i googles him n its jus soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo sad wat happened 2 him. all im askin is tht u lyt a single candle 2nyt when the sun goes dwn. he shld of n wld of been 21 yrs old 2day. im still stuck on how 2 10 yr olds cld b THT cruel n sadistic 2wards A 2 YR OLD !! ((james was 2 when he was murdered by 2 10 yr olds))
If anyone has any fucking clue what happened there, please let me know in real English, or even Spanish (I speak, read and write both), not gibberish. I’m sure there was a valid point there, I just have no fucking clue what it is.
You know, the world is not kind to English majors and those of us who can be bothered with writing grammatically correct, coherent sentences. I’m the old-fashioned, stuffy one because I feel that there should be some level of comprehensibility to anything you write. I’d like to think that the only reason something like the atrocity above exists is because the poor person writing it only has two fingers left, both located on the same hand. I fear that may not be the case. Anyway, if you can translate this from lazy dumbass to English, please let me know.
Oh, and there is a thing on all QWERTY keyboards, your cell phones and PDA’s called the “Shift” key. It makes big, pretty letters that look like this: I, K, E, R, V, B, etc. You get the idea. Feel free to use that whenever that naughty little personal pronoun “I” crops up. There’s no charge, it takes no skill and anyone can learn to do it.
Maybe I just need to leave social media for a bit. Take a walk, look around the neighborhood, say hi to everyone….
What. The. Fuck.
I'm sure she parked the horse about a block away and decided to walk.
This is clearly a commercial image. However, on the average day in Oakland or San Francisco, you will see at least a dozen young impressionables wearing riding boots while striding up and down the hills of the Bay Area. Why, I don’t know. Once again, nobody remembered to tell me about the massive outbreak in ponies we had in the city last month. I don’t have a pair of riding boots (anymore). What happens if I happen to encounter a pony? I don’t have boots, a lariat or even a taser should the pony become violent. People need to let me know this is happening.
I can’t even take shelter in a store. Every time I do, I’m confronted by this:
They're fugly. Just STFU about how supposedly comfortable they are, admit it and move on.
These are the ugliest fucking shoes manufactured in the history of mankind. A shitty piece of gaudy colored plastic with holes so you can put your Hello Kitty charms in them. Really? You’d wear that as an adult? Look, the only time these pieces of shit are appropriate are when you are 6 and hanging out at the beach. They’re only one step up from flip-flops, which, I don’t give a fuck what you say, are still not shoes. They’re not even close, and don’t attempt to justify your affinity for having a quarter inch thick piece of shit rubber on your feet by saying they have rhinestones on them. Flip-flops are not fucking shoes. Period.
Somebody get me a bucket and some Ativan. I'm not joking. Scratch 'n sniff, everyone!
You know, I’m just going to go home and bleach my eyeballs. And my brain, so I don’t have to live with the traumatic memory of all this shit. I can’t take it anymore. Somebody, please make it stop. Just please, for the love of God and your own human dignity, make it stop.
America has become a nation of illiterate, lazy slobs. Yet we still find time for righteous indignation when other countries make fun us. At least we can still muster up enough energy to do that, if not pull our pajama bottoms up.
Yeah, I'd learn English, but I'm not doin' that 'cause some liberal, pinko, commie, egghead snob sez so. Besides, "American Idol" is on.
Hi, my name is…you know, it’s still not important. Anyway, I have a confession to make. I hate clowns. I don’t just hate clowns, I fucking hate clowns. We had a clown week in an online game I play, and I temporarily quit in protest. I have since walked it off. “Why hate clowns?” you ask. Here’s why:
Yeah. I think I'm skipping that birthday party.
There’s no end to the reasons to hate clowns. Even their phobia instills fear: Coulrophobia. It’s pronounced how it’s spelled. It sounds like it should be a fear of Cholera. (We should naturally fear Cholera as we do clowns. Cholera sneaks into your bowels and kills you, as do clowns.) I don’t want to be around clowns, I don’t want to visit the circus and I sure as hell don’t want any clown related items in the house. You never know when something like this may happen:
You know you’d get that thing outta there too. I take issue with the definition of Coulrophobia. It’s described as an “irrational fear” of clowns. There’s no such thing. Clowns are scary. They’re especially frightening for children. Think of how all that make up, crazy ass hair and freak show outfits must affect a child. You may as well just let them watch Lady Gaga or Christina Aguilera. Between the batshit outfits and 13 extra pounds of makeup, it would be hard to discern between them and a clown troupe. Just never let your children watch this:
It's a klassic. I watched this as a child and I swear I didn't sleep for a week.
That was a klassic. Poltergeist featured a scene in which an evil clown doll terrorizes a small child. I believe this probably happens in real life. This scene scared the shit out of me as a child, and has stuck with me as an adult. Apparently I’m not the only one. There are almost a thousand sites dedicated to Coulrophobia, including this one:
Yes, an entire site made for satiating all of your scary clown needs. I hate it. Yet strangely, I can’t bring myself to look away. I hate it. I really hate it.
My parents eventually gave up on trying to take me to a circus. Between the clowns and the sheer trauma of seeing people beat elephants with cattle prods I was fucked up for life. It wasn’t a matter of me being neurotic or overly sensitive, it was a matter of clowns being scary and assholes beating the hell out of an animal that by all rights should have squashed them flat. About the only thing worse than a clown is: MIME. I hate that filthy, filthy four letter word. Fuck has nothing on it. It shall never be mentioned again here.
Sometimes those creepy clowns actually get theirs. Scary Movie 2 was a particularly lame comedy that had little if any redeeming value. However, there was one scene which I totally got into. It’s this one. Couldn’t happen to a better doll.
I’m suffering from a case of the lazies, so here’s the best I can do.
Have you ever been cleaning out a desk, cabinet, drawer, etc. in your house and pick up some random object and think, you know, it was at this point where things just really started to go straight to hell? I had that happen to me today. The random object was a box of canceled checks that I had written over the years. Why I still had them, I don’t know. Some of them are from back in 2005. Anyway, I started looking around and realized that my entire life is crowded up with random objects.
These do NOT in any way represent the moment where it all started to go straight to hell. In fact, most of them bring back fond memories. So, in no particular order, here are 7 random objects.
Flask I bought at a comic book show. There was no potion to put in this, but I loved it and had to have it.
They're actually protectors. Makes me want a Mai Tai.
Hand made sake cup from Takara Sake in Berkeley, CA.
The genius of the cup is the flat side. It has a slightly concave thumb hold on the side so you can keep a better grip. Safe drinking everyone.
Sushi plate from Maui, Hawaii.
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, EXCEPT this ugly ass 3D wall hanging. I think I'd rather have a hooker follow me home.
Draft doggie I've had since college the FIRST time back in uh---19 something.
That just about sums it up. The random objects around me are the detritus of more than two years worth of adventures. Funny thing is, I barely notice these things on a daily basis. However, if I were to lose any of them, I’d be heart broken. All except for that tacky as hell Vegas thing. I’d use it for kindling.
As I sit here typing away, the delightful sound of clickety-clack of metal hitting metal in the dryer keeps me company. I’m thrilled, because that random clacking means I’ve just hit the laundry lottery. I sure hope it’s a quarter this time. I’m not the only person who’s broke in America. Seems that unless you’re a CEO at a major bank or an entertainer these days, you’re shaking the sofa cushions and scraping the gutters for spare change. Not to worry, an inordinate amount of lenders are just waiting to come to your assistance.
I received a brilliant offer from Quick Click Loans in the mail last week. Quick Click loans is an online payday loan service. Now, if they’re totally on line, it sort begs the question of why they send out junk mail via the US Postal Service, but I digress. The thing is, I have a loan offer, and they’re going to give me a loan for up to $3500 based on my winning smile and ability to not fart in public. (I think those are the qualifications, but I really can’t tell. Harvard lawyers don’t understand payday loan and credit card offers.)
BUT. (Somebody’s big but is always in the way.) The big but here is the one condition they actually spelled out in the offer. The annual percentage rate (APR) is 96%. No, you didn’t read that wrong, the APR is almost 100%. Sadly, I’m learning that 100% APR is a good deal for payday lenders. Payday lenders demand anywhere from 36% to 400% APR on their loans. Basically, you’ll need a loan in order to pay off your loan. Shit, and here I was thinking that usury and loan sharking were somehow illegal in this country.
It turns out that Congress essentially got rid of all usury laws in the US at the end of the Clinton administration. That opened the door to unbridled greed from the banking industry (that and the repeal of Glass-Steagall, lest we forget). Now anyone can be a loan shark under the guise payday lending. A lot of these services only exist online. This makes me wonder, how do they shake someone down in cyber space? I don’t know, maybe they send the hit man to your physical address by UPS or parcel post or something so he can break your legs. I wouldn’t sign for that package if I were you.
We laughed about that interest rate. After all, who wants to pay 100% of their loan every month? It seems insane at first. However, I’m sure that there are plenty of people who don’t read the fine print or live with an assurance that they will pay that bad boy off before Mean Uncle Leroy comes to collect. It’s a scary thought. Here’s something scarier. Want to know about everything that’s wrong with this country and its blind, asinine worship of the free market/capitalist system? Watch this clip:
Let’s pick it apart bit by bit. There is no government sponsored/single payer health care system in America that covers working people. NONE. Most employers do not need to provide health benefits to employees working under full time. Full time is usually 40 hours per week here in America, but the thing is, if you work 39 hours, you’re not eligible for any benefits. An employer with a conscience (ha ha) can offer it, but the odds are you don’t have coverage. What happens if there’s a law passed to make 35 hours/week full time? Why, you make sure all your employees don’t work past 34 hours. It’s just that simple, and happens in every state. What happens if you, or in the video, your child gets sick? Well, you do your best to beg, borrow and steal the money to treat an illness. Where does the money come from? Funny you should ask.
Americans have seen no real increase in wages since around 1970. No, you didn’t read that wrong. Sure, salaries have gone up, but so has the cost of living. Unfortunately the cost of living has far outpaced that of salaries, employees now pay the lion’s share of overpriced health insurance (if they even qualify) and the cost of housing skyrocketed to the stratosphere. Combine that with mass layoffs, no job re-training, student loans where applicable and needing to take in at least two, preferably three paychecks to make ends meet and we have the perfect shitstorm of financial ruin. Throw in a health crisis for any family member and the only thing left to do is pull the shroud over your finances and wait for the coroner to arrive. The payday lender appears to be offering a lifeboat in the middle of the shitstorm. What they’re really offering is an easy path to bankruptcy.
The bailout is for the BANKS, not you, dumbass. Now sign yourself over to the slave holders at the bank and prepare to work until you die.
This brings us full circle on why nothing works in America anymore. Banks and special interests own the politicians, who answer to them. No public funding of campaigns ensures average Americans don’t have a voice. No cops on the beat makes sure corporations always win. They don’t need to pay a living wage, benefits or taxes. You and your family have no health insurance. One illness makes you broke, which means you’ll turn anywhere to get money for food, which means you’re back in the hands of the corporations at the cost of 36% to 400% interest. Gee, what’s wrong with this picture? I can see it, too bad the rest of the people in this country can’t. Now, if I were rich, would I hate the poor too? Certainly. But since I’m never in the 10% of the population that controls 80% of the wealth, the question is irrelevant to me.
I’m sure Warren Buffet, Bill Gates and Scrooge McDuck are in that tiny little green portion.
So, I laugh at the 96% interest rate. It’s one luxury I can afford right now. However, if anyone is in the position where this might not sound so bad, I strongly suggest you consider doing hand jobs for money before you sign your life away. No, it’s not legal, but it’s more ethical than usury. That’s something to take to the bank. Here’s some more cheeriness about the death of the middle class. It won’t make your day brighter, but hopefully it will make everyone think about how damn rigged the system has become.
One of my old high-school friends decided to give me the boot off her friends list. It’s a bittersweet moment, because I looked forward to reconnecting after all this time. The thing is, when I bumped into her again, even if it was in the virtual sense, things were a hell of a lot different than what I expected. For one thing, I found out my friend not only moved to the southern US, she fell right into the lifestyle. Yes, the pretty well-grounded friend I knew all these years grew up, became a right-winger and decided to vote Republican. And now, she decided to quit that bitch who became the typical Californian liberal, commie, pinko hippie.
Well that sucks. I’d say I’m sorry, but, I’m only sort of sorry. I wish it could have been a fond reunion after all these years. It wasn’t. Lesson learned: Life looks like this:
What to do, what to do....?
Ever wonder what happens to people over time that they end up making the batshit decisions they do? Yeah, I do to. I guess a life of prayer, worship, fear and passing off bitterness and disappointment as “God’s will” is the ideal life for some. I wonder why some of us interpret every little shitty thing in life as a wonderful, joyful test of faith and God’s love, and others, no names *cough, cough* say, “Fuck it,” and move on. I don’t know what happened between then and now. I only know that I’m a blasphemous heathen no longer worthy of that friendship. That’s the self-righteous, self-serving, good, holy Christians for you.
On a side note, it irks me that I’m supposed to accommodate everyone’s batshit beliefs in the name of tolerance and open-mindedness. I have to tiptoe and self-censor lest I offend the faithful, fragile and delicate. Mention that I really don’t hold truck with any gods and I’m targeted for prejudice, scorn and derision. Funny how tolerance only needs to work in one direction, isn’t it?
You had to see this coming. Don't panic, he's only a minor one.
That’s my good friend Ronwe. Now, I know you are all writing him off as a small-time player in the grand scheme of things, but give him a chance. This is the one guy who makes all our lives miserable. See, this guy is the demon of knowledge. Yes, there’s a demon of knowledge, and if you ever regretted knowing anything, you’ve met him. He’s looking over your shoulder the very minute you realize that you lived, learned, got that unfortunate education and now moved on. When you base your opinions on facts, don’t believe everything you hear in church and stop praying because no matter how shitty anything gets, no amount of wailing to the invisible presence in the sky is going to change it; he comes for a visit. He also leaves with your high school friend who now thinks you’re an evil bastard.
At least nobody tried to convert me to something this time. They just tucked their tail in and left like an alley cat after the food’s gone. Thank Ronwe for a small favor.
Thanks to the graces of social media I can now travel 3,000 miles from where I grew up, look back, and wonder what the hell happened there. Why do some of us become indoctrinated and others do not? I don’t know the answer, but it’s amazing how many people who claim to be such good friends later end up throwing my ass to the curb when they find out I didn’t grow up to be as gullible and superstitious as they are. The joys and pains of leaving small town, USA. Look, I took the one path. It may have not been the road less traveled, but that’s okay. I met a a lot of swell folks that didn’t get upset because I don’t live up to unrealistic standards set 20 years ago.
Okay, enough downers for one day. Because I’m such a heathen, I’m treating you to an Amanda Palmer video. It’s so catchy, I’m thinking of completely abandoning all hope of being saved in favor of a pasty featuring little felted bunnies.