The Holidays Are Over and The Joy of Putting Xmas Gifts Together

First of all, as if you can't tell by my latest posting, I survived Christmas Hell once again.  The one Christmas gathering my significant other and I hosted for her side of the family didn't cause me to flip out, fall down on my knees, sob openly and then get up, retrieve my flamethrower from under the bed, go back and set everyone on fire this time around.

I only had two instances where I had to leave a heavily populated room due to stress.  For me, a heavily populated room is anything over five or six people.  I feel like I'm trapped in a herd of insane, babbling bison in that situation.  I can't handle it.  One thing that sets me over the friggin' edge is when three people are talking to you at the same time about three extremely different topics.  My head is turning faster than a possessed girl in a 70's horror movie in order to focus and hear what each buffalo has to say.  For whatever reason, people have a tendency to pull this hilarious routine on me-  intentional or not.  Maybe they want me to pull out the flamethrower.  I must seem like someone who will calmly listen to the subject matter presented and, in turn, shoot wisdom out of every orifice for the talker's benefit or possibly cause the talker to laugh by spurting out an absurd or observational joke that may have something to do with what they're rambling about.

You say you made a macaroni and cheese dish with less flavor than Styrofoam cups covering a decrepit whore's wrinkly worn down nipples?

Well, I can't wait to try to digest that dish you made for our supposedly joyous Christmas meal without spitting it out and blinding your baby with unappetizing chunks of what you jokingly refer to as food.

It's all a pretty picture I paint, I know.

Then someone else may talk about trains and fishing lures.  I will attempt interest while also fantasize about fucking Mila Kunis deep in her tiny, puckered asshole.

Ta-dah!

Here's a joke I made up for ya that's both absurd and observational.  Best of all, it's an easy one to remember.

Question: What's the difference between a monetarily wealthy kid on Christmas morning and a poor kid, that same day, that lives in a run down apartment with a bunch of relatives that are also poor?

Answer: The wealthy kid will likely probably not give too much of a shit about what he gets when he opens his gifts because he already has everything without asking.  He might grow up, feeling entitled.  Maybe not.   Now the poor kid is likely just grateful that he has a big family that loves him.  He may envy the rich kid every so often but he ultimately knows what is important and what's not.  Does he feel entitled?  Hell, he's just trying to survive.  Living his life is all the gift he needs.

Spoiled girl secretly enters the room at night, then carefully binds mother and father's limbs while they slumber peacefully, dreaming of new things to acquire and gingerly scoops parent's eyes out with a spoon because she didn't get that latest technological piece of shit that will go out of style in a couple weeks and no longer make her friends green with envy.  Later, after the merry mayhem and profuse bloodshed and disemboweling of daddy, she'll get her own reality show, thanks to the hyperventilating, over publicized rabid press coverage.  A happy ending that will certainly appeal to today's wonderfully sane society.

It's not so much a joke but it's something I think people should think about.  I think the poverty stricken people around the world think the wealthy in America suck for a lot of reasons.  It's not completely envy.  Maybe not at all.  You tell me.  I wonder if they believe we're arrogant and entitled, too, to a greater degree.

The wife and I overdid the gift giving to each other this year.  Made all the Christmas gift givings in the past look a might tame.  TV.  Camera.  Exercise machine for me.  I put that together that today.  Jewelry.  A cool graphics tablet thingamajiggy that allows you to draw with a pen while your drawing shows up on the PC monitor.  I forget what else.  Too excessive.  In a way, it gave me a bad case of "the guilts."  Perhaps I shall shed these feelings of guilt, layer by layer, by distributing free bars of soap to the hobos under the bridge.  Sorry.  That isn't right.

I really wish the lady would have come, shipped in a special container with this item, when I ordered it.  She could have made me some delicious mac and cheese.  Darn it.

But, at the moment, I'm feeling kinda vulnerable and anxious now that I've said what we got this festive holiday season.  Don't rob me!  I'm nuts.  Who knows what type of funny rascally rabbit I'll pull out of my hat?  For real. Fair warning, my friends.  Group hug?  No?

I've figured out how this thing goes with that thing, for the most part.  I'm learning how to do new stuff that's normally a little above my intelligence capabilities.  But I'm still one hell of a guy, after all.  There are still hook ups and procedures I don't quite understand.  But I'm going to make a real attempt at being patient with understanding things and more patient with people- this year and beyond.  I'll try working on that.  No more Mr. Flamethrower Guy.  Unless I'm provoked.  :-D

Side Note: So far the comments I've been getting about the exercise machine suggest that I got it as a gift from a family member.  This is not the case.  My wife and I purchased it and had it delivered to myself to help lower my blood sugar and high blood pressure counts and more.  Thank you and have a rip-roaring day, damn it.  

Toadie in "Haunted Bordello" (Part 2)

Click right here, folks, in order to read the first part of this classic type of ultra fine and sophisticated American Literature so you can make sense of the whole story. I wouldn't want you to be "lost in the woods", so to speak. Or would I? Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha.

Upon closer inspection, the slightly mentally challenged Toadie realized the people in the old photograph were his great-great grandparents, Gregory McKelly and Donna Mae McKelly. Toadie remembered seeing similar photos of his great-great grandparents in a family album when he was a kid. His sweet Auntie Kay had told him that "his great-great grandparents were outlaws of the Old West and were fond of drinkin', raising a lil' hell and robbin' banks- but that they were beloved by many because of their good-natured sense of humor and the fact that they gave a lot of their money away."

While looking intently at the photo, the characters in the photo mysteriously began to move. Instead of his late grandfather pointing his gun upward, he was dropping his arm downward, allowing the gun to point to the side. Then, surprisingly, the photo began to change in varying colors. But what was most unnerving, was that the frame around the photo changed, as well, with the indented pattern in the wood, unraveling, curling into twisted flowers, then returning back into it's original form.

Toadie jumped back, tripping over an old brass spittoon and screamed. The photograph immediately returned to it's original state, which was followed by laughter echoing from the rooms upstairs. These were the same rooms where prostitutes cheerfully entertained patrons of the saloons by humping them until their semen had been thoroughly depleted from their scrotal sac.

Toadie stuttered a bit, expelled a long, awkward fart and finally was able to blurt out, "Toadie needs Valerie to come here!"

When Valerie joined him, Toadie explained what he had seen and that the people in the photograph were his great-great grandparents.

Startled, Valerie held Toadie tight and said, "That photo is remarkably clear for how old it is. It's like it was taken just a year ago."

Toadie said, nervously, "Toadie's afraid. Will you comfort Toadie by giving him head, please?"

Suddenly, a blonde haired woman, garbed in a black dress, was sitting on an old piano across the saloon. She had appeared from a gathering mist and, almost immediately, began to speak.

"If she doesn't suck the venom from your snake, Sugar Buns, I would be willing to give it a try."

Frozen with fright, Toadie and Valerie stared at the ghost, feeling helpless.

The ghost said, "The name's Annie and pleasure is my business."

She smiled, seductively and drifted over to where the engaged couple were standing.

Annie warned, "If you know what's good for you, you'll head on upstairs before "Bent Joe" Paulson comes in here. He doesn't like strangers in HIS TOWN."

Valerie paused anxiously, before inquiring, "Who's Bent Joe?"

The ghost circled around the brunette and whispered, "He's the most evil bastard you NEVER wanna lay eyes on, sweetie. He'll tear you apart, whether you want it or not."

Annie turned to Toadie and placed her cold hand on the crotch of his pants. Even though he was scared, Toadie still sported wood and drooled a bit. His "snake" drooled a bit, too.

Annie remarked, "Besides, if you two follow me upstairs, I promise you won't be bored." She giggled at that and gave Val a little peck on the cheek.

Without warning, the saloon doors were thrown open. A glowing orb passed through the entrance. It seemed to be burning with red flames. Annie, Val and Toadie could feel the hostility emanating from it.

"Time to go," warned Annie.

Toadie and Val quickly followed the ghost upstairs into one of the rooms. When they were inside, the old wooden door slammed shut.

Toadie and Valerie stared at each other, shaking. Toadie said, "Toadie doesn't see the hot blonde anymore."

Valerie gave him a stern look. "So you think she's hot, huh?"

Toadie pointed to his dick and said, "The penis doesn't lie." And then he laughed, scratched his ass and plopped onto the bed like a big sack of creamy, maggot-infested potatoes.

A few quiet moments passed until Valerie, aroused by the sight of Toadie's meaty totem pole, joined Toadie on the other side of the bed. She looked out the window and said, "Do you think we'll be okay in here for awhile?"

Toadie saw how the moonlight reflected on Valerie's face and allowed his gaze to travel down to the outline of her soft, firm breasts beneath her shirt. He imagined sucking on her tits and blowing his wad on them. But not vice versa, of course. Toadie would think that to be uncouth.

"Toadie loves you," said Toadie, "Toadie won't let anything happen to you."

Valerie leaned over, kissed her fiancee gently on the lips and complimented him. "You're so romantic, Toadie"

Toadie said, "Can Toadie fuck you in the ass now?"

No longer being able to hold herself back from the suave gentleman, Valerie took off her clothes. Toadie hurriedly removed his clothes, as well. Moments afterwards, the engaged couple were happily fornicating.

And then a mist appeared next to them. Annie made herself visible. Without asking if she could join in, she began rubbing Valerie's wet, glistening love button. At first, the ghost's hand was cold but then it quickly warmed up. Valerie moaned, realizing the ghost was back in their presence and was, nevertheless, enjoying her touch. Annie then turned her attention to Toadie, pulling his walloping prick from Valerie's wide open beaver gobbler and sucking it with terrific fervor.

Toadie shouted, "Hurrah!"

Further pleasures were exhibited and felt throughout the night. Bodily fluids were exchanged. Annie the ghost rode Toadie like a crazed, horny baboon. At one point, Valerie lapped at Annie's ghostly nips. And so on.

Abruptly, a fiery orb passed through the door and entered the room. Val, Toadie and Annie hadn't noticed. The orb slowly transformed into the spirit of "Bent Joe" Paulson. The cowboy was seething with rage as he shook his fists and screamed, "I'll teach you!"

Stay tuned for Part 3, the last chapter to this story, next time. Hope you have a great weekend!

One Hundred and Sixty Four Tornadoes and At Least 280 Deaths

I found this to be more important to talk about than any Royal Wedding, any birth certificate of a current president or all the rest of that crap the media blathers on about these days. Let's get real, folks. This is real news involving real lives. And it really puts things into perspective.

The National Weather Service reported 164 tornadoes struck, yesterday, on April 27. Wednesday's tornadic supercell storms, that killed upwards of 280 people in a wind-driven rampage across the Midwestern United States, is the first of its caliber to have been forecasted and monitored through its progression with such first-hand accounts and eyes-in-the-sky intensity. Most of the tornadoes were at least a mile wide. Here's footage of some of the tornadoes captured by people, who, in my opinion, got just a little too close. 280 people now, have been noted as being dead from the destruction, for the record. But the count is still rising as more bodies are found.

Nonconformists

"Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist."- Ralph Waldo Emerson

"When people are free to do as they please, they usually imitate others."- Anonymous

In the dictionary, I found two main definitions for the word, "nonconformist."

1. One who does not conform to, or refuses to be bound by, accepted beliefs, customs, or practices.

2. A person who does not conform to generally accepted patterns of behaviour or thought.

I can go along with those interpretations of that word. There is also an older meaning to nonconformist. That is: A Protestant in England who is not a member of the Church of England.

Nowadays, when you hear the title of nonconformist, you usually think of the first two definitions. At least in the U.S. you do.

I found this interpretation of what it means to be a nonconformist on Urban Dictionary and I thought it fit me well enough. I've never really put it into words how I usually roll but this was pretty accurate:

It's not that you purposely go against the norms. It's that you fail to recognize the importance rules, structures and social norms and this naturally makes an above average level of uniqueness to you. Given the lack of this pressure to conform to sociality you're given much more freedom to think and act and do. Your acts, thoughts, and ideas may appear absurd to others. Nonconformist tend to either be leaders or loners and mavericks. They are often too new and innovative for their own times. What they hate most is bureaucracy, and way too often when given a position of power they will throwaway the normal routines and traditions of the office.

I consider myself to be a nonconformist because I've never allowed fads, trends, beliefs of others to influence me enough to where I'm set in this mind locking concrete that I will follow a certain line of thinking or anything else society dwells upon. Take celebrity worship or something equally as mindless or insipid, for example. Nonconformity, to me, is more of an attitude than a purposeful unwillingness to follow, without question, a trend, a person or organization of authority or a belief.

Some claim that it is rebelliousness for the sake of rebelliousness. Nope. Sorry, my closed minded, unenlightened monkey. The majority of society thinks that the nonconformist thinks it's something that the nonconformist can throw on, like an obnoxious shirt, just so they can piss the majority off. It's not like that. It's really not a conscious decision. In truth, it's really a matter of strength of mind, independence, free will and honesty. It's just being yourself, for better or worse.

Side effects of being someone that expresses nonconformity can, but not necessarily, include some nice traits such as:

Being creative, intensely independent and individualistic... or being innovative, and trailblazing. I'm not saying I'm any of these, of course. I'm probably as innovative as a speck of dirt on a rock that lays on the side of the road. Still, others that get their jollies by taking the opposite viewpoint on this subject will say that a nonconformist is destined to be a definite loner in society, maybe an immoral individual that is thinking up ways to destroy the world, molest a chickenhawk or some other nonsense. You can't see me but I'm pressing a big red imaginary buzzer at the moment- which represents that this assumption is not only stupid but it can be dangerous- especially dangerous to the innocent person who's victim-less personal choices in life are being thought of as a sinister threat to society. Mass hysteria, anyone? Holy shit!

In truth, nonconformists come in all shapes and sizes and colors and upbringings and class room teachings and so and so on. They conform only to themselves. They are the free thinkers of our human civilization, untouched by the persuasions of a monkey see-monkey do society. All of us could benefit from some of the traits of nonconformity. The bottom line is: Without change and fresh outlooks, it's a stagnate, fearful society we will continue to have, crushing the spirits of all of us.

There now. Glad I got that out of my system. Thanks and have a happy, dandy-as-heck kind of day. Smiles, everyone, smiles!

Strange and Rare Diseases

Throughout the years, I've often been fascinated with strange and rare diseases. Whenever I'd stumble upon articles on this type of subject matter in medical journals and books at home (my mother was a nurse in the mental health department of a hospital in a neighboring state) or in the library or doctor's office, it would cause me to either gasp in disbelief or shake my head, feeling pity upon those afflicted.

I've read a lot about these conditions that made unfortunate victims of these people and the following information about them is something you, yourself, may find interesting.

Exploding Head Syndrome-

Those who suffer from this disease experience a very loud noise as if it’s within his/her own head like an explosion. Typically this happens within several hours of falling asleep although not due to a dream. Patients may feel fear and anxiety associated with increased heart rate. Some physicians suggest that there’s a relationship with stress and extreme fatigue.

Stendhal Syndrome-

This disease causes people who have it to experience dizziness, rapid heartbeat, confusion and hallucinations when exposed to large amounts of beautiful art work.

Blaschko's lines-

Blaschko's lines are an extremely rare and unexplained phenomenon of human anatomy first presented in 1901 by German dermatologist Alfred Blaschko. Neither a specific disease nor a predictable symptom of a disease, Blaschko's lines are an invisible pattern built into human DNA. Many inherited and acquired diseases of the skin or mucosa manifest themselves according to these patterns, creating the visual appearance of stripes. What makes them more remarkable is that they correspond quite closely from patient to patient, usually forming a "V" shape over the spine and "S" shapes over the chest, stomach, and sides.

Cotard’s Syndrome-

Those who suffer from this disease feel that they are dead and non-existent. The sufferer may also feel that he/she lost his or her blood or internal organs; the patient even feels that the internal parts are putrefying. It can show up due to mental illness and is also associated with depression.

When you hear or read or see something about these diseases and others that are, in no doubt worse, you can't help but to wonder how you would react or struggle with any one of these diseases. Although I feel great empathy for people who endure life changing obstacles, such as a few of the ones described here, I can't help but to be impressed by those who are able to cope with whatever they are afflicted with each and every day that passes.

It's something worth thinking about. At least to me, it is.

Second Round of Auditions For The Circus

If you missed the previous "round of auditions", click here, friends and neighbors! It might help you when reading this second part of the story. Either that or it will transport you to a far away loony bin, where purple cross-eyed elves and Happy Ewes in crotchless panties frolic about you as you drool, uncontrollably.

As the family of mentally impaired clown midgets left Asmodeus' Astounding Circus, happy to be newly employed, the ringmaster, Gregorio, grabbed a flask of whiskey from his pocket and took a swig. Byron Asmodeus, the owner of the circus, was a large man with dark brown eyes with just a hint of red surrounding the pupils. The look on his face seemed to convey much wisdom. Byron had owned the circus for 20 odd years. His ringmaster, Gregorio, was his hardworking manager.

Asmodeus stood up from the desk to stretch his long legs after hours of judging, took out a joint, lit it and inhaled deeply. After exhaling, he looked to his ringmaster and asked, "Who's next?"

Gregorio put the flask back in his pocket and announced, "Next, we have a very different group of characters up for audition, my old friend." Asmodeus nodded, rubbed his goatee and said, "Fresh meat for my entertainment."

After this was said, the potential performers for the circus were escorted into the tent by a very large, muscle bound behemoth by the name of Gonza. Gonza was a cruel, burly man who enjoyed his job as Head of Security for Asmodeus. Many claimed Gonza had crushed the skulls of dozens of victims, with his massive hands, in the past. Asmodeus knew of Gonza's past and had hired him, almost immediately.

Asmodeus and Gregorio sat down at the large wooden desk after they had taken a short recess between rounds of auditions.

The first performer stepped onto the stage. Gregorio promptly introduced him, saying, "This is Mr. Wait and See."

Asmodeus asked the man, who seemed weak in appearance, what he did.

Mr. Wait and See said, with little enthusiasm, "I wait and see what will happen as we continue to experience global warming and volatile climate change and ignore all the obvious signs of the evidence around us until civilization crumbles, as it has before, and we, as a supposedly intelligent species, die off."

Asmodeus nodded, considered what Mr. Wait and See had said and then commanded Gonza to come over. Asmodeus explained, "Gonza will assist you in your performance."

Gonza cheerfully and ruthlessly grabbed the puny man's head with both enormous hands and with sheer force, popped Mr. Wait and See's head like a candy-filled piñata. Instead of candy, however, blood, brain matter and bone fragments were sent flying in all directions, hitting everyone in a twenty yard radius. Mr. Wait and See's body fell, lifeless, to the floor.

Asmodeus licked the blood off his lips and then shouted, "Clean up on stage 3!"

Not long after this, a little curly haired dwarf waddled up to the stage with a mop, bucket and other cleaning supplies. Quicker than their eyes could register what they were seeing, the dwarf moved with mercurial speed and had the mess gone in seconds. Gonza took the headless corpse and fed it to the ravenous wolves outside. He laughed heartily and then said, "You don't have to 'wait' for your dinner today, my friends."

The wolves quickly gobbled up the body, with teeth gnashing, tearing the corpse into shreds. With their appetites satiated, the wolves slept comfortably, occasionally cutting the odd fart or two.

"Next, we have The Amazing Trixie to possibly entertain us," explained the ringmaster.

Asmodeus eyed the college girl's voluptuous figure and speculated on how he would enjoy having the young woman as a guest, later, inside his mansion.

"And what can you do for me, today?" asked the ancient circus owner, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth.

The girl, completely overjoyed and oblivious to the fact that someone had just been heinously murdered in front of her, was ignoring Asmodeus and Gregorio. She was texting away on her little electronic contraption about her plans for the upcoming weekend.

"Ahem!" shouted Gregorio, in an attempt to get her attention.

Trixie, startled, looked up and coyly asked, "Oh, it's my turn?" Her sizable breasts jiggled as she bounced up and down, bubbly and full of surprising energy.

Asmodeus stared evilly at Trixie and whispered, "Tell us what you're going to do and do it... Now."

The Amazing Trixie giggled and then replied, "Well, um, heh heh, I'm kinda doing it right now."

Ringmaster Gregorio demanded, "Explain yourself, girl!"

Trixie brushed her blonde hair back, laughed and said, "Well, um, I'm able to text and text and text and never stop, no matter what happens around me."

Asmodeus glared at her. Trixie's once overly perky smile turned upside down into a frown as she added, "Well, um, until now."

Asmodeus rubbed his chin and let out a howl of laughter. Trixie was relieved, taking this as a sign that "all was good in the neighborhood", so to speak.

Crimson horns sprouted, suddenly, from the top of Asmodeus' head. Showing the true nature of who and what he really was, Asmodeus stood up and calmly walked over to Trixie. The demon took Trixie by the chin with his clawed hand and with fiery eyes looking down into her almost completely innocent face, he calmly said, "Gonza, will you please escort the young woman outside so that I may confer with her, in private, later?"

Gonza bounded onto the stage, grabbed Trixie around the waist and hurriedly whisked the college girl off the stage. When this happened, she dropped her texting device. Before she was exited out of the tent, everyone heard her exclaim, "Wait! I dropped my phone! I need to text my gal pals about the new color I painted my toenails!"

By this time the other potential auditioning performers were shifting, uneasily, from foot to foot. They looked up at the demon, Asmodeus, who had somehow grown taller in size and more fierce looking. Trembling, a few of them pissed their pants in fright.

Ignoring their fear, Ringmaster Gregorio waved the next one up onto the stage and introduced a man that was clothed in an expensive suit and tie. He seemed very out of place.

"Next, we have Speaker of The House, John Boner."

The politician nervously corrected the ringmaster and said, "Uh...My name is... um... pronounced 'Bay-ner'... actually."

"Boner, it is, then," said Gregorio, unflinchingly.

Asmodeus bent down, inches from the Speaker of The House's orange-ish colored face and menacingly inquired, "What is it that you believe you can do for me in order to possibly entertain our audiences in the future, Mr. Boner?"

Normally outspoken Republican, John Boehner, hesitated at first, then explained, "Well... I can... cry at will in order to seem... genuinely passionate... for the media and the American public."

"Yes, go on," demanded the demon, with smoke rising up from his hellish form.

Boehner continued, "And I am able, um, eh, to help convince members of congress and the American public that... we really have no need for nationwide healthcare that would allow even the poorest of them access to health insurance."

Boehner paused for a few seconds before saying, "And I have done much more than that... to cause, umm, needless misery for my personal gain. For instance, I..."

The demon held up his clawed hand to stop Boehner from droning on about his achievements.

Asmodeus grinned at the evil of which the politician spoke of. Nevertheless, the demon circus owner was considering the weaknesses of the man before him.

The demon sighed and then replied, "Though you show remarkable qualities in the political arena in which you dwell, I'm afraid there is no position you can fill here."

Boehner seemed sad and caused himself to shed a perfect single tear after hearing this decision.

"Awww," said Asmodeus, "Please don't be despondent, Mr. Boner."

The Speaker of The House looked up and smiled, believing that the demon was taking pity upon him. No sooner than this thought pass in his mind that the great, terrifying figure from the depths of hell rammed his arm down Boehner's throat and slowly pulled out the pathetic man's heart, intestines and other vital organs from his body. The politician's screams were muffled by the demon's arm and his body shook as blood and gore gushed out of every orifice.

Finally, the body fell to the stage floor. The head of the human was an unfamiliar mangled mess as every bone, eye and other parts of his face had been reduced to mush.

Gonza walked over with a garbage bag and scooped up the remains. Before exiting the tent, Gonza said, "Thank you, Master. The wolves will have full bellies, tonight."

Asmodeus laughed, heartily and then replied, "Just be sure to give them something for the indigestion they're likely to have with this last heap of human garbage."

Everyone burst out with gales of nervous laughter. Asmodeus sat back down and asked, "Who wishes to perform for me next?"

This story will likely be continued at a later time... at my convenience. :-)

A Unique Alternative-The Conclusion

Ethan looked at the spirit with mild bewilderment at what it had said. His hand rubbed Clara's smooth butt. He smiled. There wasn't much that could surprise him now in comparison to the event of what had just transpired. With this in mind, he wasn't too concerned about what she was about to tell him. Having sexual intercourse with a ghost, he thought, would likely be the most surprising thing that could possibly ever happen in his lifetime.

As it would be for most of us.

Clara looked deep into Ethan's eyes, in complete seriousness, and said, "Daria killed me."

Clara paused, momentarily, then said, "It happened almost a month ago yet to me it seems like yesterday."

Ethan gave the beautiful, slightly luminescent spirit on top of him a stern look and asked, "She killed you? Why?"

Clara continued, "A little over a month ago, Ken and I were working in the same office and we would ocassionally go out to a restaurant, eat lunch together and talk. We were just two co workers getting to know one another."

"You must be talking about something that happened before I became friends with Ken, "stated, Ethan, "I don't remember Ken mentioning you. And I'm sure he would have mentioned someone as hot as you."

Clara laughed for a moment and then said, "Thank you."

The spirit slowly raised up towards the ceiling from the top of Ethan's hairy chest and dissipated in the air. Ethan looked around and asked, "Where are you?"

Clara slowly materialized, nude as she was before, at his bedside to pick up where she left off. Illumination from the streetlight showed through his bedroom curtains. The light passed through Clara without leaving a shadow on the wall. Ethan was relieved when she returned.

Clara explained, "Daria had just begun dating your friend and my co worker at the time. She had seen Ken and I going to restaurants together on a couple occasions and she was becomingly increasingly jealous. She thought Ken was cheating on her with me. This was pure insecurity and paranoia on Daria's part because Ken and I were just co workers and only beginning to become friends."

Ethan pushed, "Go on. I'm listening."

"Ken told me about her increasing jealousy and I told him that maybe it would be for the best for everyone if I didn't have lunches with him anymore. After a few minutes of debate from him about this, he agreed with what I was saying. So we stopped. We only saw each other in the office. After a couple days passed, it seemed as if everything was alright. But Daria was still jealous, according to him, still thinking that he and I were together from time to time. He told me their arguments about our supposed affair were getting bad. And then one night, her fury over something she was only imagining, took over any reasoning she might have had in her little mind."

Ethan knew his friend Ken was faithful. Even obedient. Whatever Daria told him to do, he would do, no matter how ridiculous or insulting it seemed to him. She was his manipulator and he would agree to whatever she wanted.

Ethan shook his head, dreading what the spirit was likely going to say next.

"Daria came into this house- my house, invaded this bedroom, where we are now, clamped my mouth shut while I was asleep and slit my throat open with a knife."

Suddenly, blood began pouring out of an abruptly developing gash in Clara's neck and splattered upon the mattress. The mattress became soaked with gore. Ethan could hear drops of blood hit the wooden bedroom floor, as well. Closing his eyes, Ethan pleaded, "Please... Stop."

The blood disappeared. Clara remained.

"Oh, fuck," said Ethan, realizing his friend's girlfriend was a murderer. Dismayed at what this meant, Ethan shook his head and added, "Now what should I do?" Then he answered his own question. "I have to call the police."

Clara explained further, "The police have already questioned her and asked where she was that night. She told them she was in bed, asleep. They could neither confirm or not confirm she was in her apartment that night. Daria was also careful not to leave fingerprints, using latex gloves on her hands and small bags that covered her shoes."

"Why didn't Ken mention you were killed here or any of this before I moved in?" inquired Ethan, with a small measure of anger.

Clara touched his face and said, "He didn't want to frighten you in any way and he knew you were desperate in your attempt to find a place to live in this area."

And then Clara smiled.

Gradually, Clara ascended upwards and then slowly made her way down upon Ethan. Her head maneuvered towards his groin. Gently, the spirit took his penis into her mouth and she commenced sucking the head of his cock. Ethan's hands roamed through her wavy, dark red hair and her backside. What she was doing felt so good to him. Clara continued, easily engulfing his manhood inside her throat, sucking and licking upon it until he had a mind blowing orgasm.

"OOOOHHH," cried out Ethan. Spurts of semen shot through her head and rained down all over the sheets of his bed.

After they held each other for awhile, Ethan moved away from the spirit. He then flipped over on top of her, thrusting his prick inside Clara, relishing how very real she truly felt. Almost an hour of passion had passed before they climaxed, intensely, together.

Not long after the sun had risen, there was a sudden knock on the front door. Clara disappeared from his arms without notice. Ethan looked around the room, actually feeling alone this time. He sat up on the edge of the bed and pulled his jeans on. Ethan thought Ken and Daria might have seen something of his in their car while moving and were bringing it back to his place.

When he opened the door, sure enough, Ken and Daria were standing there, with a box full of electronic equipment.

Daria smirked and said, "We found some more of your stuff in the trunk and figured you might want this, maybe, before we see you later tonight." At that point she pulled a TV remote control out of the box and tossed it to Ethan. Ethan, tired from the hours of lovemaking and conversation with Clara, fumbled for the remote and dropped it on the doorstep. To add insult to injury, the plastic casing cracked and the batteries fell out. It looked broken.

"Did you make any coffee yet, dude?" asked Daria, "Because you look like shit."

Still trying to comprehend all of the recent events leading up to this moment, Ethan mumbled, "Just had a rough night." Then he added, "But it was an amazing night, as well." Ethan smiled.

Daria said, obviously bored, "That's good. So are you going to make us some coffee or what?" Ken was behind Daria, looking like he was embarrassed by how she was trying to order his friend around. Ethan looked away from him and answered, "Sure." Ethan realized he was going to have to have a talk with Ken about Daria and what crime she had committed there- after he called the police. For the moment, he didn't want to reveal what he knew or what he thought he knew to either Ken or Daria. And what exactly was he going to say to the police about any of this, he wondered.

When Daria and Ken walked into the living room, Daria glanced around, as if she were looking for something. She had a puzzled expression on her face. Slightly frustrated, she joined Ken on the sofa.

While Ethan was in the kitchen, plugging the coffee maker into the wall, he heard a familiar wail coming from the living room. He knew it was Clara, crying out. And then he heard a piercing scream. It felt like his heart was going to stop beating.

Ethan ran into the living room and saw Clara, standing behind Daria. Clara had her arm around Daria, tightly binding her. Daria screamed again, while attempting to escape from Clara's supernatural strength. Clara increased the pressure, causing Daria to shout, "Get off me, you dead fucking bitch!"

With her other arm, Clara reached from behind and produced a knife in her hand. Daria looked at the knife and declared, "I hid that fucking knife here where the cops wouldn't find it." Ken and Ethan saw the dried blood on the knife and remained still, amazed at the sight before them.

Quicker than Ethan could say a word, Clara pressed the knife blade to Daria's throat. Slowly, Clara pulled the knife across Daria's flesh, splitting her neck open. Massive gushes of blood bubbled forth from the widening wound. Daria tried to speak but her vocal cords were severed.

Before Daria closed her eyes, dying, Clara held the knife in front of Daria's fading gaze. The spirit said, "I found the knife." Clara released Daria, allowing her murderer to drop to the floor. Just as Daria's head smacked on the floor, Clara vanished.

When the shock wore off, Ken called the police department and when the cops arrived, the men told them that Daria had slit her own throat and killed herself. They also added that before she died, Daria admitted to having killed Clara in a fit of jealous rage- which Daria didn't admit, though it was true, but that was what they had agreed on telling the police. They told the cops that Daria felt she couldn't bear the burden of what she had done and had to pay for her crime.

Later, the police matched Daria's fingerprints to the knife she used to kill Clara. And neither Ken or Ethan had traces of blood or evidence of a struggle on their clothes and skin. This meant to them that Ken and Ethan couldn't be suspects in either deaths. With the evidence presented, the police closed the case of Clara's murder and considered Daria's death to be a result of suicide.

Two days passed before Clara materialized again in Ethan's bedroom. The spirit glowed faintly, floating from the opposite end of the bed to lay by Ethan. She smiled, then said, "I thought you would leave this place after what has transpired here."

Ethan shook his head and replied, "Not if you stay here with me."

"It doesn't bother you that I'm a ghost?"

Ethan answered, "No. At first, yes. But now I believe I'll choose the unique alternative of being with you instead of a living, breathing ordinary woman."

Clara grinned and asked, "And why is that?"

Ethan smiled and continued, "Because you are beautiful, honest and more alive than any other woman I've had a relationship with."

Clara kissed Ethan. For the remainder of the night, they continued their lovemaking. And for the remainder of Ethan's life on Earth and afterwards, they stayed together.

The Dropa Stones and The Dropa People

I've always found "ancient alien" theories fascinating. And I find, with more and more information, ancient texts and artifacts surfacing up from our past, that the probability of an alien race visiting Earth long ago is pretty damn high. I've read and heard what the naysayers say and have written and I still find it odd that they continue to be incredibly close minded. My motto has always been: Nothing is 100%, absolutely concrete. What was true yesterday may be suddenly or gradually studied to be found false today. You see it all the time.

Authors and others in the past and present have written and told of many encounters human civilization has had with ancient astronauts or ancient aliens that have visited Earth. There are those who believe that this contact is connected with the origins or development of human cultures, technologies and religions.

I've talked about this subject before in a previous post, showing artwork of the past that uncannily seems to exhibit alien spacecraft, technology and a connection to those who may have witnessed such phenomena.

I've been doing research on the net about The Dropa Stones. Maybe you've heard of them. There's no way for me to tell unless you let me in on that. Regardless, here's what I've found out about these intriguing artifacts found over 40 years ago:

The Dropa Stones, 716 disc plates or disks, were first discovered in 1938, when a archaeological expedition led by Chi Pu Tei, stumbled across a cave high in the mountains that border China and Tibet.

It was obvious to the archaeologists that the cave had been occupied by primitive people from long ago. This cave is said to be around 10 - 12,000 years old. This cave also connected to other caves that were more like a complex system of tunnels and underground store rooms than anything else.

The walls of the caves were squared and glazed. They described them as if they were actually cut into the mountain with a source of extreme heat.

On the walls of the caves were carved pictograms of the heavens, the Earth, the sun, the moon and the stars. Each were connected with lines.

The most incredible discovery, half-buried beneath the floor of the cave, was an odd stone disk, which was approximately nine inches in diameter and three quarters of an inch thick. In the center was a perfect 3/4″ hole, with a fine groove spiralling out from the center, resembling that of an old phonograph record.

The groove, on further inspection, was a continuous line of weird carved hieroglyphic writing.

Dr. Tsum Um Nui, in 1962, had the difficult task of transcribing the character from the disks to paper.

He estimated that they were at least 12,000 years old, with writing so small he had to use a magnifying glass to see it clearly, much of the writing had worn away, but he was so puzzled at how these primitive people could of created these stones and how they managed the almost microscopic writing.

Eventually the doctor made progress and a word emerged, then another and another until he made out an entire sentence. Incredibly, he had broken the code.

Dr. Tsum Um Nui, discovered that the stones were written by a people who called themselves, the “Dropa”, but what he was reading 12,000 years later didn't make much sense to him. However, when he had finished his translation, he wrote up a paper on his findings and presented it to the University for publication. The reaction he received was not what he expected.

The Peking Academy of Prehistory expressly forbade the doctor to publish or even speak about his findings. The world, the Academy decided, would not know about the “Dropa” and their fateful journey to Earth. The information could bring about disastrous socio-economic consequences, according to the academy. Eventually, against their will or with their approval... No one is absolutely sure... Dr. Tsum Um Nui did, in fact, publish his findings and entitled it "The Grooved Script Concerning Spaceships Which, as Recorded on the Discs, Landed on Earth 12,000 Years Ago." Admittedly, a long freakin' title. The important thing is, is that he believed in his work enough to get it out to the public.

In his published findings, Dr. Tsum Um Nui related the following:

The Dropa Stones tell an amazing story of an alien space probe from a distant planet that crash landed in the mountains of the Himalayas of which the occupants of the space craft, the Dropa, found refuge in the caves of the Baian-Kara-Ula mountains. The members of the Han tribe, whom were occupying neighboring caves, were fearful of the Dropas, and misunderstood their intentions. In turn the Han tribe hunted down the aliens, killing some in the process.

Here is an excerpt from one of the transcribed stones: "The Dropa came down from the clouds in their aircraft. Our men, women, and children hid in the caves ten times before sunrise. When at last they understood the sign language of the Dropa, they realized that the newcomers had peaceful intentions...."

The Dropa Stones then go on to say that the Dropas became stranded on Earth when they were unable to repair their disabled craft. Not being able to return to their home planet they learned from the Han tribe how to survive.

Interestingly enough, there is also an ancient Chinese tale that tells of small, slender people of a yellow hue that descended to the Earth from the clouds and who were shunned by everyone because of their ugliness. Today, the isolated mountain region of the Himalayans is inhabited by two tribes of people- the Dropa and the Han. No one in the scientific community has been able to prove that either tribe is of any known race on Earth. They are of neither Chinese nor Tibetan descent.

Another wild thing about this is that their heights don't exceed 3 ft 6 in and they weigh no more than between 38-52 pounds. The physical features correspond exactly to the skeletal remains found in the caves in 1938. The Dropa clan has unique features in that they are extremely thin, have disproportionate large heads, are yellow in color and have sparse hair on their bodies. Even more convincing that the Dropa have some relationship to the people who made the Dropa stone is that they have large inset eyes that are not Asian in aspect, but have pale blue irises.

In 1968, 6 years after Tsum Um Nui decoded the Dropa stones, a Russian scientist, W. Saitsew, conducted scientific tests on the disks that yielded some very interesting and peculiar results. The physical properties of the disks contained high concentrations of cobalt and other metals. This combination of metals would have made the stone so hard that it would have been virtually impossible for the primitive people to carve the hieroglyphs, especially with such small characters. When the discs had been tested with an oscillograph, it was discovered that the discs had once been electrically charged and had functioned as electrical conductors as well. When placed on a special turntable they vibrated or hummed in an unusual rhythm as though an electric charge was passing through them. Like some part of an electrical circuit? Who knows?

Who knows, for sure, about any of this? And I guess that's my point. Why completely close your mind that it did not happen? To me, that's just as "wacky" as saying that all of it did happen just that way, for certain. The thing is this: The story of the Dropa Stones and the Dropa people is just one of a number of stories from ancient cultures that claim their descendents came to Earth from the heavens. And having an open mind about this and any other seemingly impossible phenomena, I believe, will only allow you to grow in wisdom.

Here's Looking At You, Freak

I get creeped out by cock-eyed, walled and freaky eyed people. Why can't they all go on some island together and live... Live far away from me. Next one of you crazy eyed motherfuckers get near me I'm going to set you ablaze.

Of course, that would just make you creepier... Unless you had the decency to quickly burn to a crisp and land face first so I don't have to see your boiled or seared eyeballs.

Even though I liked Marty Feldman as an actor and comedian, he still freaked me out a little with his fucked up eyes. Yes, I even felt a little sorry for him, but hey, the mind is bothered by what the mind is bothered by. some people are freaked out by clowns. For me, it's folks with fucked up eyeballs. My favorite movie with him in it, is Young Frankenstein.

Some imbecile getting an eye tattoo. For real. Why?

Again... Why?

Steve Buscemi. Can you guess which hilarious movie this image is from?

I think I saw this at a Ripley's Believe It Or Not museum. Loads of freaky things to be found at those museums.

Spooky shit here. Beats a clown any day, in regards to creepiness.

Bubbles, from The Trailer Park Boys TV Show. He makes me laugh with his antics but I'd still set him on fire for free.

A nice biker couple. Take your "Born To Be Wild" asses away from me, goddamn it!

Crashing Into An Old Folk's Home

Well, I was going to write another post about our Caribbean Adventure that my wife and I had about a week or so ago. I still might, after writing about this recent fiasco.

To begin with, when we came back from our trip, I found out my Dad had pretty much sold the house I grew up in for so many years. All I wanted to do, when we got back from our cruise, was rest, put our 266 cruise pictures in our photo album, give everyone their souvenirs we brought back and catch up on blogging.

But no, while the house has been on sale for nearly two fuckin' years, it wasn't until when we got back from our wonderful, yet exhausting trip, that the house gets sold and now we, only a few us us, have 30 days to get Dad's ungodly amount of crap moved to God only knows where. The options are pitifully slim. I have zero room in my apartment. My sister has only a little more room than I do. And my Dad, has hardly any space at all.

We are trying extremely hard to get him to agree about putting most of it in a storage unit but he gets angry over that idea because he doesn't want to pay a $41 renting fee for a month. And talking to him in a reasonable fashion (about anything) is incredibly difficult due to his vascular dementia, severe continuous anger, verbal abuse, confusion and him wanting to still control everything.

This business of moving means a whole lotta trouble for my sister and I and everyone involved, but mostly my sister and I. This means lots of moving of massive amounts of stuff my mother and father collected over 50 years. They would frequent antique malls over the years and buy copious quantities of crap that would be placed in every room of their substantially sized house. And this is on top of the normal furniture and normal everyday stuff.

Anyway, last night, after my sister, brother-in-law and I pack up just a fraction of his stuff in my truck, we go to the assisted living place, where my Dad lives at, to dump off his old heavy watchmaker's desk to be put in his small one bedroom apartment. As I'm backing my huge Dodge Ram pick up truck toward the secondary entrance down below, I crash into one of the assisted living place's flimsy ass roof columns. I hear the crunch, fear the worst and get out to see that my fear is not misplaced. One side of the arched roof is slanted slightly, with the right hand column totally set back a few feet, still crookedly attached at the top.

Dad, of course, goes into a screaming fit at the sight, yelling at me and so forth. My sister and her husband, after reaching the area below in their van just stand there and look, wanting to help.

Meanwhile, as with any situation that is horrible and unexpected that happens in my life, I go into shock. I can't talk, blink, jerk off or shit my pants.

Not that it would matter.

After Dad calms down from his hysteria, thanks to my sister (who is better at that than I am), my Dad and I go upstairs to explain the situation to the only nurse working there at the time. My sister creates a sign so no old people try going out the door below and are possibly crushed by the roof hovering above on one column. I give out my car insurance information after mumbling what I can out of my mouth.

In closing, I called the woman in charge of the assisted living place today to better explain things and ask if she needed any questions answered. She was nice enough about it. I know our car insurance is going to go up again. Hell, we might even get dropped after this incident. Why? Because we've ran into deer on two different occasions in the last two years in this heavily wooded area we live in. Plus, my wife had a driving accident two years ago due to lack of sleep from working two jobs.

Another thing that also gets to me is that the columns used to hold up this small arched roof is made of a hard plastic material. It's not that sturdy. According to the nurse on duty last night, a couple other people on different occasions have crashed into these columns, too,because of where they're positioned. And they're kind of hard to see because they're so freaking narrow.

At least that's my excuse.

When I got home last night, my wife knew there was something wrong by the look on my face. I wanted to talk to her later about it but she persisted until I told her and she, like my father, previously, flipped out and yelled at me. This morning, after waking up to go to work, she said she forgave me but I still feel like a major dumb ass.

If I didn't have bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all, folks. Suddenly, the category 4 hurricane I was facing down during the cruise doesn't seem all that big a deal right now.

Zippity Fuckin' Doo Da!

Disturbing Neighbor and The Attention Needy

My neighbor that lives below us in our apartment complex is likely the worst one we've had in the ten to twelve years we've lived up here on the hill.

Not only is he annoying and disturbing, but he has that bad boy, punk ass, "gangsta" look about him. He has made it clear he is a bully and is possibly physically abusive to the woman and little girl who lives with him.

I'll get back to this douchebag in a minute but first I have to say....

It hurts me to utter or write the word "gangsta" because it's not a real word, but instead, something rappers and rap fans made up to make themselves sound tougher than they actually are. "Gangsta", which I'm guessing is supposed to mean gangster or some other similar tough guy nonsense, sounds silly to me.

In fact, anyone who tries that hard to impress me with their toughness or supposed uniqueness ends up making me shake my head. This especially goes for people who stick lots of metal jewelry into their skin or cover themselves with too many tattoos or black eye liner or wear their pants almost down to their knees.

I feel like saying, "Yeah, you're such an individual. How unique you must be. I get it." Or.... "Gee, what a statement you're attempting to make. I'm so impressed with your supposedly extreme, attention getting appearance, I'm clearly shaken by it all or, at the very least, popping a boner with excitement or whatever. Now, go away!"

At first, people like this made me laugh. Then I found them to be mildly entertaining. But as the years go by and I grow older, I find that they just bore the fuck out of me with their desperate need to get my attention or show that they are so much more different than the rest of us. Pure Silliness. Futility in action.

Hey, do you want to show me how unique you are, Numb Nuts? Talk to me and let me in on your thoughts or your true persona. Better yet, show me who you really are through your actions. No swaggering or over-the-top conduct, please. Just the real you.

There were real gangsters in the 1920's to 1940's in America. These were true criminals. Like Al Capone, for instance. Not that these true criminals have any more redeeming value than today's gangster wannabes in the rap industry, poverty-stricken districts and ghetto areas.

I guess you could call someone a gangster that belongs in a street gang. But that's really stretching it a bit for me. To me, they are just common street thugs, dealing drugs, involving themselves in petty crimes and sometimes committing violent acts. They have many excuses for needing to belong in these gangs and will usually acquire their money by doing anything but getting a real job and earning their money.

But getting back to my equally worthless neighbor....

He also wears the droopy pants, has tattoos all over his body and does the "tough" talk routine. Never before have we had someone (or something) like that living in our apartment complex in the years we've lived here.

More importantly, this gangster wannabe screams at the woman and little girl that lives below with him. He shouts at them in the parking lot, too, for all to see. I also hear a lot of thumping and banging down below. I can't say for sure if he's physically abusing the little girl but it wouldn't surprise me that much if I found out for certain.

My wife says the front door below, that sits below our stairwell, is broken at the top, where the metal arm thing was attached, because of him. My wife says she thought she saw him pushing his girlfriend so hard against the door one day, that the force of her shoved body caused the door to break free from the wooden frame above. Earlier that same day, she could hear what sounded like them arguing back and forth below us. The door is, indeed, unhinged at the top and I'll be calling our landlord soon to fix that.

This barely human turd also allows the little girl to drive her plastic tricycle all around the parking lot, not keeping a watchful eye on her half the time. With how busy our parking lot can be, this poses a real danger. On one occasion, I've seen him pull his car into the lot and the little girl looked like she was hanging halfway out of the passenger side of the car. At my angle of sight, I couldn't tell for sure if she was wearing a seat belt or not, but it still looked pretty wrong to me.

Whenever, I see the woman living below us, she is never friendly and, in fact, appears nervous, like she's hiding something. This is conjecture on my part, of course. There are also some unscrupulous looking types of people, "friends" of his who visit him time to time. Maybe they are decent people. I don't know for sure so I'm not going to assume -but all of these things put together make me a little nervous, myself.

Another bothersome activity this asshole likes to engage in, every so often, is thumping on our floor/his ceiling if we turn the volume up on our TV above the 25 mark. Not that loud, really, when you take into consideration that our TV goes all the way up to 100. We've had around five different neighbors living below us in the nearly dozen years we've lived up here and we've never had any complaints before -from neighbors or landlords.

Yes, I know. We should have called the landlord already for a variety of reasons. The couple of reasons I haven't done this so far are this:

1- I don't like to get people that live close to me in trouble. Usually, this will cause trouble for the complainer (me, in this case) and will sometimes result in having your car tires punctured or some other retaliation by the bothersome neighbor. Since I have a bad temper and am easily stressed out, I may do something even more stupid to him. I have my very weak and shaky emotional moments and then, on the other side of the coin, I have my super-motherfucker-I'm-going-to-fucking-kill-you kind of moments in these situations. I can be extreme, either way. And neither one of those ways is not good, I know.

2- Even though our most recent landlord is a cop, he's doesn't seem to care about when tenants complain about other tenants -even if it may concern a serious issue. One tenant, who talks to my wife, fairly frequently, alerted our cop landlord that she thought a person who had just moved into the apartment complex was a thief. He told her that he didn't care as long as he paid the rent on time. This tells me that he may not give a good shit when I tell him about the neighbor below us.

I don't know for sure what will happen next with this guy but I have a feeling I'm going to be forced to call the landlord and make a complaint or several complaints about him. I just hope it doesn't backfire -for our sake and if he pisses me off too much -for his sake. I don't want to go to jail over this gangster wannabe.

Besides, that would put a damper on my all-too-important cruise this summer. Ha ha. Good golly, I hate fuckin' bullies and other tough talking pieces of shit. How about you?

The Courage To Experience New Things

Yesterday was a beautiful day here in Indiana. In days, previous to this one, we were overwhelmed by a deluge of rain. In fact, the rivers and creeks around the tri-state area are reaching flood stage. You can't really do much outside in the rain. And I hate being kept inside like a caged animal. You'll see me, in those situations, pacing back and forth like a tiger in the zoo, bored and waiting for the next meal. Unlike the tiger, however, I'm not waiting to die. I feel pity for caged animals.

Early in the day, my wife and I went to our bank to make a payment for our truck. We were pleasantly surprised to find they were having a Customer Appreciation Day. Some of the bank staff were out in front, grilling hot dogs and handing them out to customers, along with free drinks and snacks. That was nice. The hot dogs tasted great, too.

Later, we took a walk in the park, not far from our place. Hand in hand, we joked and laughed about many things. The smells of Honeysuckle and other trees and flowers were pleasing, invoking memories for me of times when my family and I would take nature walks in the woods of the many state parks in our area.

For a change, we didn't carry our pesky cell phone with us. Cell phones, those detestable electronic gadgets, are creations made by the Devil. They attack you with their constant interruptions, dumb ringtones and calls from people wanting something from you. My wife has a love affair with the damn thing. I... do not. I would very much enjoy crushing the motherfucker with my foot.

Anyway, as we were enjoying our casual two mile walk/workout, my allergies got the best of me and I sneezed. Unfortunately, when I sneezed, I shit myself a little. Even though it was uncomfortable, I continued walking back to the truck (as if there were any other choice) and enjoyed the rest of our stroll.

Afterwards, I made dinner for us by grilling out on our brand spanking new charcoal grill. As you can see, you can fit a lot of food on this grill and it has a handy thermometer on the cover, telling you how high the temperature is getting inside. Yesterday, I was cooking two inch thick rib eye steaks that had been marinated in pineapple juice and Teriyaki sauce, overnight. Off to the left of the grill, I'm grilling corn on the cob with pepper and garlic butter. Sometimes, when I'm cooking steaks, I'll use a dry rub consisting of garlic, paprika, chopped onion and other spices.

I'll try a different combination of things almost every time. I'm not afraid to try new things. The only things I'm afraid of are losing people I love. The nightmare of losing my mother five years ago trumps anything I could be confronted with in the future, besides losing other loved ones.

Everything on the grill turned out great, I'm happy to report.

Speaking of things that people are afraid of....

A new restaurant has recently opened in town the other day. A Chinese restaurant. Surprisingly, an abundance of hillbillies living here, along with the wifey and I, patronized the place the other day. This town mainly consists of fast food joints and plain old "meat and potatoes" type of rest of restaurants. This establishment had some very unique, at least to me, cuisine on the buffet. While some patrons (ignorant rednecks) made disparaging remarks about some of the items, based on looks only, I happily dove in and tried almost everything they had. A little bit of this. A little bit of that. It was all delicious.

I even had a go at the Hibachi grill section of the restaurant. Just a couple other customers and I were brave enough to try it out, picking out different items (eggs, pork, lettuce, mushrooms, shrimp and many more), putting them on a plate and handing them to the poor, bored, under-worked chef standing behind the grill to cook for us. I felt a bit of pity for him, like the tiger, as well.

The reactions of the ignorant rednecks, concerning the looks of the food at the Chinese restaurant and their unwillingness to try some of the items got me to thinking, once again, about how fearful people can be about experiencing things that they are not accustomed to. It can be food, activities, ideas or any number of things. It's sad, really. People miss out on so much by staying stagnate in their comfortable, monotonous ways.

I plan on taking up oil painting after our cruise. That's something new for me. The classes cost some money and since we've been saving every spare penny for our upcoming cruise, it will have to wait until after that big event. In the near future, I would like to try parachuting. Although I'm afraid of heights, I'm eager to try it out. For our cruise, I signed up for snorkeling. This is a big deal because I'll be snorkeling in a large body of water in the Caribbeans. This has real meaning to me because in the past, I've almost drowned in large bodies of water. Once in Lake Michigan. The other time in the Ohio river. Ever since those times, I've been leery of getting into water that is that deep and expansive. But... I have the courage to do it again and I'm sure it will be a wonderful new experience, being in the beautiful blue water and seeing all the different, amazing types of marine life.

I can't wait.