Peace of Mind and Lords of Acid- Out Comes the Evil

Wow. If you haven't heard their music before, you may want to try Lords of Acid, guys, out on your ears. Fucked up, yes. Sexed up, sure. But the beat is something easy to get into.  It's rave music and or techno music, if you feel the need to categorize it, but it's more than that.  I think if you get them, you like them.  Hell, if you're not persuaded by the steady rhythms, overall style and the catchy beat in the first place, I don't think you'll give them a shot.  If you wanna, read the rest of this post while listening to the song.  There is no real video to be watched.

Yeah, it's one of those kind.  Don't be put off.  No tears, please

I hope you all had a great weekend. I'll be seriously catching up on blog visiting and commenting the next few days. I've kinda been taking it easy and going to parks for tranquility and peace of mind- or maybe I've just taken a break to pick up the pieces of my mind.  Too much going on all at once again.  That was the anchor wearing me down.

And thanks to my cat, Victor, who can somehow type, has a certain command of the English language, while  carefully observing the Human Condition or "brain reformatting by certain systems and/or corporations, for filling in for me while I was away.  For that matter, hell, everyone else in the blogosphere is allowing or being forced by their animals out of their blog author chair and taking over.  Why not let the cat do it if he wants?  He can rant as well or write as well as the rest as the bloggers out there.

Did I mention the next post will be one where you can actually take walks with me, by movies I've recorded during these walks, that take you on  peaceful little journeys?  I will even be including a recipe I've created for Venison Stew.  You don't want to miss that!

Bambi is dandy in a hearty broth, I always say.

I farted twelve times in the park, this afternoon, while taking a walk.  Sometimes they came in three sputters.  True.  I felt it important enough to report for a status update on Facebook.  The people need to know.

Beats watching the clown car full of Republicans spill out and pull their crazy one liners on people these days.  What is it with these obvious numb nuts?  Santorum, Gingrich, Romney and so on.  Earlier you had really radical presidential hopefuls like gun-toting Perry and crazy-eyed Bachmann mouthing off inanities or you got these guys in the present.

Here's a few crazy Republican quotes, in case you haven't heard them, but I'm sure if have by now:

The problem isn't too little money in political campaigns, but not enough- Newt Gingerich

"I don't know how much God has to do to get the attention of the politicians. We've had an earthquake; we've had a hurricane. He said, 'Are you going to start listening to me here?' Listen to the American people because the American people are roaring right now. They know government is on a morbid obesity diet and we've got to rein in the spending." –Rep. Michele Bachmann, suggesting at a presidential campaign event in Florida that the 2011 East Coast earthquake and hurricane was a message from God (Aug. 2011)

“Give the park police more ammo.” ~Newt Gingrich, responding to a  reporter who asked what to do about the homeless a few days after the police shot a homeless man in front of the White House.

"Corporations are people, my friend... of course they are. Everything corporations earn ultimately goes to the people. Where do you think it goes? Whose pockets? Whose pockets? People's pockets. Human beings, my friend." —GOP presidential candidate Mitt Romney


"I would be saying to the Iranians, you either open up those [nuclear weapons] facilities, you begin to dismantle them and make them available to inspectors, or we will degrade those facilities through air strikes.
If we reach a point where I believe the only thing that will stop them from this program being realized and having a nuclear weapon – I will make a clear declaration to the Iranian government that you either open your facilities, you begin to dismantle this nuclear program, or we will dismantle it for you." - Rick Santorum

Vote for Rick Santorum if you're still living in the eighteenth century

Getting back to this song.  I mean that's more important than ego-maniacal clowns that are funded by all the money they can handle form corporations for favor returning purposes...  Having a song you just discovered and have taken a liking to it and trying to convince people to at least give it a try is a hard sell.  Since I'm not much of a salesman, I'm not going to bother.  And quite frankly, I'm tired of convincing people of even the simplest of opinions or absolute truths. Ya either like this tune or not.  Doesn't persuade me either way.  I will shake your virtual hand if you do give it a listen, though.  At least then, you've shown yourself to be open minded.

Good Christ on a crispy cracker, at least it's a start.

When I first listened to the song and found out it was, on the surface, about drug addiction, if you think about it for a minute, you could switch some of these words with material possessions and obsessions about all types of things out there and you could have a song about any addiction.  Addiction to being judgmental about most things and people.  Addiction to certain food or drink.  Addiction to nervous or destructive habits.  Addiction, in any form for any reason, to me, isn't that great. A few harmless compulsions, now and then, I can understand. A full blown addiction to anything is bad news and is almost always negatively life altering and can lead to loss of life, friends, family and more- including your sanity.

Speaking of further PEACE OF MIND...Good news!  My wife and I are working on plans to go to Hawaii later this year.  We'll be visiting all the main islands on a cruise ship.  During one part of the trip, we'll be passing by an active volcano.  That will be exciting.  So will the sight of the whales racing along side the ship. I hope the volcanic lava hits me full force in the face.  BLAMMO!  No sexually gratuitous jokes here, please.  You know what a delicate, moral flower I am.

Now if that big meteor we're supposed to get, comes this December of this year and hits Earth, I wanna be right there.  Smack dab in the middle.  I'm not into lingering pain.  If I go hungry, because of closed roads or whatever, and can't find any animals or regular food to eat, I will cheerfully gnaw on your arm as you shake, shake, shake.  Instead of a Zombie Apocalypse for me, it will be a Low Blood Sugar Diabetic Apocalypse.  Sorry, in advance.  :(

Anyway, my thoughts on Doomsday 12/21/12 goes something like this:  I think a bunch of idiots (homo sapiens, ya know) are going to convince themselves- so well- that the end is on that exact date, no matter who has predicted whatever in the past for this particular day and will put things into motion (riots, bombs, all matter of mayhem) that might create needless hell for the rest of us trying to do something productive that day without interference.  

This music I just discovered, yet heard of but never listened to until now, from Lords of Acid, spews forth sweet, melodic beautiful acid that creates magical rainbows of love in the sky.  No lava, yet.

Lyrics to "Out Comes the Evil" by Lords of Acid

Half a pound of tuppany rice 
Half a pound of treacle 
That's the way the melody goes 
Pop goes the weasel 

Half a pound of tuppany rice 
Half a pound of treacle 
That's the way the melody goes 
Pop goes the weasel

Half a pound of heroin 
Half a pound of treacle 
That's the way the story goes 
Out comes the evil

Feels so good, feels so bad [x2]

Half a pound of heroin 
Half a pound of treacle 
That's the way the story goes 
Out comes the evil

Feels so good, feels so bad [x2]

Half a pound of heroin 
Half a pound of treacle 
That's the way the story goes 
Out comes the evil

Feels so good, feels so bad [x4]

Half a pound of tuppany rice 
Half a pound of treacle 
That's the way the melody goes 
Pop goes the weasel

Believe it not, I'm calming down. All the problems I talked about in previous posts haven't gone completely away, of course but I'm not asking or expecting that. Just a little relief now and then. I promise that if I hula dance during the trip, I will put the picture of me doing that on the blog. I know. I can feel both your excitement and revulsion.

Absentee Blogger, Super Blogger, Dumbass Commenter and Unsolicited Advice

Absentee Blogger


That's how I'd best describe myself these days.  I think the last time I posted anything on the blog was about the middle of last month.  I'm reminded of that line from Al Pacino from one of his movies.  I know I won't get it right and I'm too lazy to look it up but it went something like... "No matter how hard I try to get away, they keep pulling me back in."

Feel free to correct me on that or tell me the movie reference as I know somebody reading this probably will.  That is, if somebody took the six to ten seconds to read the first paragraph.  More on that topic later.

Absentee Bloggers will usually go on temporary or permanent absences away from their blogs because of all types of situations.  Deaths in the family.  A project at work.  Having a real job, in general.  Responsibilities.  Vacations.  Unhealthy children.  Or, yes... even having a real life that sometimes keeps you away from your fucking hobby-  Which what blogging is... it's only a hobby folks.  Sometimes, it's a bit of self therapy.  Sometimes, it's you wanting to educate or entertain the strangers out there online.  But, in the end, it's just a hobby.  If you think it's anything more than that, here's your straitjacket!  Do not pass GO.  Instead, check yourself into the mental institution, you hopelessly addicted fucker.  Or seek psychological help of some kind.  I did and it certainly helped me.  Seeeeeeeeee????  :)  And the lopsided smiley face makes it all okay, huh?  

Yes, I know.  My goddamn keyboard is dusty as fuck.  Desk tray is, as well, I know.  Don't care, though.   You may "advise" me to get one of those cans of compressed air or one of those crazy American Republican  presidential wannabes to use their hot air to blow the dust away.  On second thought... no thanks on that idea.  They're all so flagrantly stupid, they would probably just slobber on my keyboard, making a bigger mess than a dude that's heavily addicted to Internet porn- if you catch my drift.  Hope I'm not being my usual subtle self.  :)  You'll note that I have a portable phone that's always nearby or stuck up my ass whenever the next personal or family emergency arises.  Which it will.

Remember:  If you feel absolutely compelled to post something each and every fucking day, you may be a Super Duper Dumbass Blogger (see topic below, later) that needs professional help, not to mention any type of responsibility and/or a goddamn job.

In reference to the previous "pulling me back" quote, the last four weeks have claimed my last strand of sanity and my time.  During my absentee blogger time, I was hit with all manner of health scares stemming from my Dad's Vascular Dementia, his hospital stays where he fell down due to low blood pressure or something else, my wife's own health problems where I was meticulously wrapping her swollen legs up every day, my own insulin prescription crisis (I'm severely diabetic) and last, but certainly not least, my Dad wrecking his car into someone else.  That last incident was expected.  We warned the authorities for years.  We did what we could to prevent it.  Legal, persuasive and everything else kind of ways- beyond imagination.  Luckily, no one got hurt.  And, of course, that's what it took for the right people to finally take action.  A damn accident.

My sister and I could write entire thousand page novels on what we've had to go through the last six years since Dad accidentally left the car running in the basement, which in turn, poisoned my mom to death through the air vents upstairs.  It took me a long time before I could even talk about that.

By the way, Dad is living in an assisted living facility.  His second one.  It's nice.  Amazingly nice.  It's a I-want-to-live-there-when-I-can't-take-care-of-myself kind of nice.  The first one he was living at, well, that, in itself, is a 9 part miniseries, featuring dramatic manhunts, threats to staff from him, breaking rules and full on breakdowns on my part and my sister's end of it.  It wasn't a bad place either, but, things wouldn't stop happening.

NO SOLICITED ADVICE HERE, PLEASE!!!!!


Just in case I wasn't clear, I thought I'd helpfully add a few exclamation points above.  Wonderful of me, wasn't it? 

If you've never read my blog or haven't read about that saddest part of my life, click these links for only a small piece of the never ending saga:

Sorry If I've Caused Concern
Sorry If I've Caused Concern- Part 2 
Sorry If I've Caused Concern- Part 3

I made the mistake of saying a couple sentences about the difficulty of caring for Dad on Facebook and somebody gave me unsolicited advice, assuming that in the 6 years of dealing with his problems- which became our problems, that we had never attempted what he suggested before.  When I read his suggestion, I was only looking to spout off a little to get mild, brief relief on Fuckbook or whatever they call it, I laughed and freaked out just a little when I read the suggestion/assumption and I didn't communicate to the assuming person because I'm not into debating and this person, I knew, would debate and argue something until pigs learned to talk.  It certainly didn't help during "my little freak out" that I was extremely stressed from everything hitting me at once from my wife's problems to my own- which are the same if you get down to it.  When you're married, it's like that.  FYI.

Clue 1: One of the biggest mistakes you can make with me is assuming.  Don't do it!  I've had it done to me far too many times.  Also:  Don't fill in the blanks and tell lies just because you don't know the person or the situation.  Questions are welcomed as long as assumption aren't sneakily thrown in.  My motto has always been:  Always ask, Never assume. 

Clue 1.5:  Unsolicited advice is also a big no no with me, just in case I haven't mentioned that two or three hundred times during the 6 years this blog has been around.  If I ask for advice, only then you can give it to me.

Sometimes, believe it or not, people say shit to just get whatever is troubling them off of their chest or out of their minds for a bit of relief.  Imagine that!

Clue 2: Once I've made my point, I don't argue or debate about the topic any longer.  I might give you a couple paragraphs worth of words back and forth between you and I but that's about it.  And that's if I don't have anything better or more productive to do. In person, if you are errationally determined and choose to "win" the argument or "make your case" or "see the gray areas" (also known as 'splitting hairs', I believe) in everything I say, I will leave you standing, talking to yourself or getting zip for response from me.  Feel free to believe you've "won" the argument or debate when I don't return your brilliant comeback with another brilliant comeback.  It matters not to me.  And when you do it on the internet, I think you're an absolute fool for doing so.  I don't care if both "great debaters" become the best of pals at the end of their battle of words, charts, facts supporting their views that will change after the next day or whatever, it's idiotic.  Period.  Go.  Fuck.  Thyself.  The same goes double for Grammar Nazis.  Please... GET A FUCKING LIFE OR AT LEAST TRY TO ENGAGE IN ACTIVITIES OR RESPONSIBILITIES OUTSIDE OF THE INTERNET.  UNGLUE THY ASS FROM THY OFFICE OR COMPUTER CHAIR, FUCKWAD.  Oh, there goes my delightful subtle side of me exposing itself again.  I gotta watch that.

I'm sure you've seen this before... but have you actually read the words and let their meaning sink inside that big ol' human brain of yours.  Mentally handicapped people have my full respect.  They make people who argue and endlessly debate on the net look like deranged imbeciles that are deserving of being slowly trampled by a hyped up herd of people leaving a Disturbed concert.  I respect the hyped up concert folks more than the "great debaters", as well.  Crush on, dudes and dudettes!  

Anyway, during this last hiatus, I would have much preferred to being in this chair, happily blogging about shit people could laugh and/or think about instead of being imprisoned in endless health scare and moving issues.

Super Blogger

Speaking of irritating people, isn't it about time we got rid of these "Super Bloggers".  You know... these ego-maniacal assholes who need a gazillion fucking followers.  Don't get me wrong!  Or fucking assume!  I don't care how many followers you, I or the next person has but when they promote themselves to death by joining every site, blog and advertise... not to mention sell products bearing their website names, without a drop of true substantial content- it speaks volumes to me about what they're all about.  Superficiality and ego-boosting.  It's a cry for help.  No need to assume.  They flagrantly show IT, celebrate IT and glorify IT, themselves and their site.  Link dropping after every comment on someone's blog post is strategy in their strange game of potential profits or ego-boosting.  They want you to click their ads, buy their shit and follow them like the next messiah.  And if you're "lucky" you may get a comment from them on your own blog once a year.   Again, to those who engage in this self-serving practice... GO.  FUCK.  THYSELF.

If you go to my blog pal, Gary and his funny, observant blog, klahanie, you will see he has posted a bit on this subject, as well.  I advise you to check out his excellent, well written site, too.  Here's the link to the post I'm referring to here.

Did you see where I capitalized the words above where I called no one, in particular, a fuckwad?  I did that in the hopes that you would read those words- which brings me to...

Dumbass Commenter

The Dumbass Commenter excels in leaving comments that shows he, she or it did not read much or any of the post.  Maybe they looked for keywords, big words, bold type words or a tiny chunk of the post to comment on.  Maybe they briefly looked at the pretty or bizarre pictures.  Who knows?  Some will say, "Your site is good.  I follow.  My website is Blahblahblah."  You may call them spammers.  I call them imbeciles.  I say, if you're not interested in my post or someone else's, don't read it and attempt a lay a lame comment in the comment area.  Keep your "following me icon" and your shitty three word or lame comment to yourself.  Gary, of klahanie, also wrote his perspective on this subject.  Look here.  I have to admit.  It's more amusing than my somewhat cutthroat, yet still honest, perspective.  I also have to admit that I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy today, joyfully spreading good cheer to one and all.

Did I happen to mention I'm the King of Subtlety?  Or would that be a mere admirer, user or student of sarcasm or sardonic humor?  It's so hard to tell.

On the bright side, things are finally looking up a little.  No, I'm not talking about my penis becoming erect.  Not that far up.  I'm just saying that through all the bleakness, I see a tiny particle of light at the end of this long, dark, melancholy, jagged tunnel of misery.  Maybe, in a few more weeks, things will get even better.  It depends.

Have you read this far down?  Do you have ADHD?  Or is Lil' Puddin' bored that he or she didn't have a laugh-a-second post to read this time around?  If so... Gosh.  I care a lot.

I'm just kidding, folks.  It's all in good, well meaning fun.  Move along now.  See you or not see you next time I post a delightful story or raging diatribe.  Take care.  I love you.  Would you follow me?  I desperately need  that type of ego boost. Hahahahahahahahaha.  I'm okay. 

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!

Give This Dog Some Food, Stupid Bastard!

This evil bastard in the video makes his dog so sad, the dog resorts to doing things he never felt possible doing before. This is what happens- after what you see in this video...

RutRo, The Talking Dog, jumps on his owner's bed when he's asleep and takes a big brown, steaming dump directly into his cruel master's mouth. Then the bastard suffocates, dies, loses control of his bowels and then the maid comes in... there's an awkward silence. She cuts a petite fart... Places a finger upon her lips (not her wrinkly pussy lips, mind you) and acts all coy and bashful- until- a car suddenly crashes through the house and the mayhem starts with a bang as the maid's head is cleanly cut off with a flying piece of broken glass.

Our hero dog is shocked, at first, but then he begins to devour chunks of both the old maid and his owner, making the world a better, more awesome place. Except the part where the house collapses and the dog, busy gobbling on a liver, is crushed into peanut butter.

Everyone comes to the scene, wanting to help and all that shit, but that's when the earthquake shakes the ground, opens up a quarter mile gap and believe it or not, takes the whole neighborhood. Of course, this is when God peeks his head through the clouds, shouts, "Dumb Fuckers!" and takes his size 1,583 shoe and smacks all of us about like those damn lady bugs that get in your house when it gets cold outside.

Good weekend to all.

Bad Service, Truths and Perceptions

There's been a lot of false starts, bad service, unwanted absence and too much of that unwanted shit and not enough of that preferable shit going on around here.

I hate to complain (actually, I quite enjoy it since complaining acts a release valve on my usually bottled up seething rage) but as I found myself on the righteous track of coming back to the wonderful world of blogging, a series of incidents preventing me from making a triumphant stay in my own neck of the bloggy woods occurred once again.

Hell, for a couple days there, I was even able to put out a couple posts without anything falling out of the sky to cave in my head. I thought I was in a utopia or paradise or an island filled with beautiful women, cheerfully sucking my meat pole for all it's worth. And it's worth a great deal, let me tell ya. At least to me. Okay, so that part about me feeling like I was on an island filled with tasty gals slobbering on my knob was an exaggeration. But I was starting to feel not tormented for a change in life and it was pretty decent, to tell ya the truth.

My friend asked me to go to his place to wait on a cable repairman (that didn't come) while the friend went to work. I owed my friend a couple favors so I did it. Besides, I'm a helluva great buddy. It's true! Believe it or not!

But the cable guy neither called or came. So my friend calls up the company support number when he gets home, listens to instructions on pushing this numbered button for this department or reason or service which connects him to more instructions for more buttons to push until he finally reaches a real human being and then proceeds to talk about how unsatisfied he is with the service.

He has a helluva lot more patience than I do. He had been without cable service for three days and the company he was dealing with had been promising to send somebody and no one called or showed up.

So instead of being at home, I was at his place, listening to the radio, reading a book and not doing anything on my blog or visiting other blogs. It sucked. And I did this on Monday and Wednesday, for my friend, waiting for the repair dude. I know. I'm a great friend. I mentioned that, right? Of course, when my friend got home from work both of those days, he fed me. Monday, it was grilled steaks for my wife and I. Wednesday, it was a dinner at a good Mexican restaurant.

By the way, the cable repair dude finally showed up Wednesday. He ended up temporarily fixing the friend's TV reception but said that the problem was actually the tuner on his TV. In other words, it wasn't the cable company's fault for his shitty reception but they are at fault for giving him the runaround and not giving him service until he finally reached an upper management type person during that last phone call he made.

Now, Tuesday, I was without Internet service. This would be the day between the days I sat at my friend's house, waiting for an idiot repair guy. I called the tech support, as I was going through some severe withdrawal symptoms from not being able to go on the Internet and after pushing several buttons to direct me to this number or that number, I was finally told a message by an automated machine. It said: There is no Internet service (with the company I have it with) for the entire state (I was living in) for an indeterminate amount of time but our experts were working on the problem.

There was no apology for this situation but at this point I was thinking:

At least the voice was clear and not heavily accented by somebody in India or Russia or BumFuck, Egypt. Usually, when you contact tech support for whatever electronic fuck-a-ma-jig you own, you usually get some asshole you can't understand.

Bad service is getting to be like a contagious disease in this country from what I've read, heard about and seen, first hand.

Don't ya just love the push button routine you have to go through with these companies? If you're lucky, they might give you a number to push to speak to a representative. But it's usually not the case. Especially when you want service within the next 24 hours.

I could go on and on about bad restaurant service but I'm sure you've had your own unfair share of that, too. Like when they don't give you a refill on your drinks. Or don't get your order right. Or bring your salad, main entree and dessert, all at once.

Since I'm back for the moment and terribly paranoid now about attempting to actually research a subject and write up a real post without something else happening, this post will have to do for now. Please enjoy the rest of these images, featuring truths and perceptions. Good day, good weekend and I'll try to catch up on all your blogs later after I get some shit done around here.

I thought I'd offer a wonderful clue at this point in the post: If you can't make out what you're ssseeeinng, use your fucking mouse to click and enlarge the image.

I'm always the Good fucking Samaritan. I tell ya.

I really liked the not-so-subtle truth that can be found in this Saturday Night Live skit. I know it's an exaggeration but there is a bit of truth and a big heaping helping of humor to be found while watching this. Heh heh.

The Incident At St. Mary's

Uncle Martin, Aunt Liv and their nephew, Tyler were sitting in their pew at St. Mary's Church, with hands folded in prayer. The priest, Father Wilkem, asked the parishioners to offer prayers, wishes and thoughts to The Lord.

The only thing Uncle Martin could think of at the moment, with his hands folded, was the twenty-something year old blonde haired college girl, sitting directly across from him, with the short, tight, black skirt and size D-cup titties and perfectly round ass.

Aunt Liv closed her eyes and prayed for Oprah Winfrey. She REALLY loved Oprah and was blessing Oprah for all of her good, charitable deeds throughout life and for giving all of those tax deductible free cars to "random" folks in her audience. Liv was sad that Oprah's last show was several weeks ago and that she was moving on with other projects on her own network but Aunt Liv just knew that deep in her heart that the magical Oprah, Queen of Daytime Talk Shows, Woman of The Year, Fortune 500's Sweetheart of The Decade and gosh, The Best Actress The World Had Ever Set Eyes Upon would somehow make it. And really BE THERE for her and all of her faithful followers in upcoming shows on her new network. Gosh, that Oprah was a saint.

She just didn't understand why the Catholic Church wouldn't induct her in the Saints Hall of Fame. She shook her head. Someone thought they heard a marble rattling around.

Tyler, a junior in high school, wriggled uncomfortably next to his Aunt Liv and cut a slow, rumbling fart against the wood of his seat. "Amen," said Tyler, under his breath. Tyler smiled and looked across the pews and caught a glimpse of Cheryl, his classmate in English. He thought, What a babe!

Tyler began imagining several scenarios where he was banging Cheryl over the long fold out table at the school cafeteria. Everyone was staring at them. Some students were applauding. Before you could say, "Alakazam!", Tyler was pitching a sizable tent in his slacks.

Right after loosening his tie, trying to suck in a little more air for his brain, Tyler heard Father Wilkem ask his parishioners to please stand up. With his fantasy temporarily put on pause, Tyler and the rest stood up. A few more readings from the bible went by and then Communion Ceremony began.

Everyone formed two lines to go up to the Priest, before the altar, to receive the blessed body of Christ that was in the form of a very thin, white, unleavened piece of round bread. A wafer.

These wafers were actually quite tasty and much better than the way they are described. I used to eat 'em like cookies when I was in parochial school. They couldn't become Christ, though, until the priest waved his magical wand (not his penis) and did the incantations. Sure, they still looked like wafers after he was done saying, "Presto! Change-o!" or something like that but I tell ya what... they tasted just a wee little bit better when you knew you were eating an ancient carpenter from biblical times. Yessir! Oh, wait a minute... I'm in the middle of a story aren't I?

Moving onward...

Each parishioner slowly marched toward the priest, for the Communion Ceremony and said, "Amen" after the priest said his special words.

Note: The priest says his special words that require the secret password of AMEN so the parishioner may then receive the blessed, newly transformed wafer that looks basically the same as it did before the priest made his incantations to change it to bite sized, easily digestible pieces of Christ. I farted. Amen.

Still, moving onward...

When everyone began returning to their pews to sit down and quietly, devoutly place the wafers on their tongues to eat it or allow it to dissolve like a breath mint, the parishioners pretended like they were praying and thinking deep, holy thoughts and other good ideas. Even as Tyler received his magic wafer, even as he said his Amen in of front Father Wilkem, he was still thinking of plunging his meat sword deep into Cheryl's quivering cunt. Some of the church goers noticed Tyler was sporting wood but Tyler could care less as Father Wilkem placed the host wafer into Tyler's sweaty hands.

Suddenly, a dark haired man threw open the front doors of the church entrance. His name was Intenso.

Intenso stormed through the middle aisle of the church, determination on his face. Dressed entirely in a black cloak, Intenso raised his hand towards the buxom blonde that Uncle Martin had been having impure thoughts about less than twenty minutes ago.

Dana, the college girl that Uncle Martin had been ogling, began to squirm around. Soon, a slow, lingering moan escaped from her O-shaped mouth. Her temperature began to rise. Her pussy began lubricating, soaking her bright pink thong.

Dana stood up, abruptly and began tearing her clothes off. Heavy breasts were unleashed from her bra. Dana's fingers probed her cunt inside her thong. She ripped the rest of her clothing off and began spreading her thick, swollen piss flaps. Intenso slowly twisted his hand, an evil smile appeared on his face. Dana made a loud warbling sound come through her throat and out of her mouth.

Pussy juice gushed from Dana's cunt. Everyone in the parish church gasped, in shock and desire, as Dana fingered her clit with such blurring speed, that her eyes rolled to the back of her head. A banshee cry came out of the young woman's mouth as she spread her arms and legs. Intenso twisted his hand in the air the opposite direction. Now you could see Dana's clit, and cunt lips being pinched and fondled. Her nipples stood straight up, towards heaven, as Dana bent over backwards over the pew behind her.

Half of the parish was hard or wet from watching the spectacle.

Father Wilkem broke out into an award-winning prayer to The Lord.

Soon, Intenso turned his attention to the other female parishioners and began his routine of masterful telepathy and manipulation of genitals with them.

The parishioners moaned, allowing wave after wave of orgasm hit them. They all took off their clothes and their cries of pleasure, joy and intense emotions took them over. Pussy juice splattered on the floor. When some of the men saw this, they could control their lust no more. They instantly dropped their trousers and furiously wanked off, spurting streams of thick jism all across the church pews. An old man was hit in the eye with one blob of sperm and he fell, crashing his head into the small table in the middle of the aisle. The elderly gentleman's head was split open on the collection plate on the table. Blood soon ran everywhere and dribbled off the table's sides.

Father Wilkem asked for guidance from The Lord as he stroked his penis, uncontrollably.

Sister Bethany fell to her knees and screamed, suffering and enjoying waves after soul-enlightening waves of orgasms ripple throughout her body and hit her deep into her G-spot. Sister Bethany's nipples felt tingly, like they were almost on fire. A puddle of her pussy juice formed around her. There was enough there to baptize an infant, if one so desired.

Many of the parishioners were squirming and thrashing about. Various spots and puddles of human ejaculation and vaginal secretions were causing severe safety hazards during this unique Sunday church service. People began slipping and falling. A man in his mid thirties fell and cracked his head wide open on the top headboard of the old wooden pew. Blood soon gushed out of his forehead where there was a messy gash. Other people fell, as a result of slippage, often while moaning during the ecstasy and struggle of constant orgasms.

Intenso quickly whirled his arm around. The Master of Orgasms stood in the middle of church. Naked bodies writhed on the floor. Penises spurted heavy loads. Balls drained and filled up, magically, once again. Snatches dribbled and gushed their wetness. One man dipped his holy wafer into a small puddle of pussy juice, soaking it until is was soggy. He then gave thanks to The Lord, ate it and promptly rammed his penis into Sister Bethany's backdoor, her holy stink eye, if you will.

Her mouth made a funny noise right then.

While Tyler was jerking off, he contemplated the sound Sister Bethany emitted and thought it sounded like, "Moooo."

Some of the parishioners had tortured looks on their faces. Some expressed a mix of pain and pleasure. Either way, Intenso was satisfied. The man in the black cloak threw his head back and laughed, heartily.

And then, before you could say, "Hit me with your best money shot", Intenso left the church. A few minutes lurched by as the church goers' fever of seemingly unending lust finally subsided. They looked at each other, embarrassed and commenced to putting their tattered, wet clothes back on their trembling bodies. Many of the parishioners had passed out. A few died of cardiac arrest and stroke. Others were helping incapacitated others with their clothes.

Dizzy and feeling quite used up, the parishioners stumbled and lurched out of the entrance of the church. A few of them fell down the stone stairs, from a major lack of bodily fluids and low blood sugar. Some men were in pain due to severe semen drainage from their balls. They were light-headed, speaking in an unthinking, mumbling sort of way. The women stared, straight forward, zombie-like. Some of them, as well, tripped down the stairs. Leaves from the nearby trees were blown against their bare, sticky legs and stuck snugly to their slick flesh of their thighs and calves.

Passerby saw the people tumbling down the steps. A few ran to help them up and take them to the hospital or aid them in another positive way. Some only stopped to take pictures with their cell phones. Tyler smiled. He had just fucked Cheryl in the ass, while pinching her nipples over a church pew. Going to church wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be.

What started out as a normal, uneventful church service turned into quite an unforgettable day for the parishioners of St. Mary's Church.

An Award From The Minute Man's Wife and Unbridled Insanity

And by god damned it, I'm back and seething with such ungodly friggin' rage, I'm gonna park my small car after just having gone to the bar parking lot for some excitement, stick pickles up my ass, while using a sawzall on my penis head, all the while using a penis pump, beforehand, (to get my junk- Grade A- good n' hard, ya know) while having a crooked neck giraffe give me a deep anal lickin' and have it topped off with the spiritually uplifting rim job of a lifetime from an anteater at the zoo.

Woo Fucking Hoo! and pass the fucking Valium after I go really crazy and drink a cup of shitty, chemical-tasting decaffeinated coffee. What in the fuck is decaffeinated coffee for? Don't give me any of that bullshit like "It's for people who enjoy the taste of coffee but are afraid of the staying awake a couple hours past their wussy bedtime". Fuck that! Grow a set of balllllllssss or flabby pussy lips, depending on your gender! That shit ain't coffee!!! That shit defeats the goddamn purpose of drinking god damned coffee!!! Excuse me here for a split second while I chop some fucker's head off and wear it on my rigid, cheerfully erect pecker (reference to the book, American Psycho) while I pour myself a god damned fresh cup of REAL COFFEE.

So... how have you guys been? Good? Ah, that's nice.

So, yeah, I'm back one more time until something eventually falls from the sky and caves my head in. I wonder what it will be? A meteor. I can handle that. A hundred pounds of frozen waste from an airplane going overhead? That would be like a fly gently floating by my ear and cutting a fart. Hardly noticeable.

Fuck, I'm so fucking shell shocked by recent events, nothing could be a surprise. Actually, when nothing at all worrisome is happening to the wife and I and all is cool and all is right- that's when I begin to worry. If my life suddenly begins to transform into something resembling almost harmonious, take fucking cover, immediately! That will be the true sign of the Apocalypse! Fuck that old idiot, Camping and his Rapture. Buddy, I got your Rapture right here!

But things are starting to head in the right direction. If nothing else occurs, I will be 60% satisfied. That's equivalent, to some fuckers that have a hard on or wetty for that most dreaded of made up percentages, that some like to say out loud, in a sad attempt to impress- and that would be "110%". Take your 110% and shove it way up your ass with your decaffeinated coffee you superficial, motherfuckin', crooked neck, rim job lickin' stain from a rancid pussy fart!

No, not you, my friend. The guy or girl behind you.

Sorry. Where did I hide my mind again? Ohhh yeahhhh...

Did you know that Winnie The Pooh, Rabbit and Tigger violated Piglet in all of his orifices, so brutally, until his colon eventually fell out onto the ground where it was eaten by all of the rest of the crack-addicted Hundred Acre Wood critters? Well, it's true. It's says so in the bible. It's the start of the Rapture, in fact! You're welcome for the heads up.

While on a much needed sabbatical, three (and possibly a fourth one on the way) bloggers acted as guest posters.

Mrs. Pickle from the blog, Pickles In My Ass, The Wolf, from the blog, The S.N.A.F.U Report and Pickleope from the blog, Pickleope.com have all been generous enough to give of their unique talents and be my guest posters for the last couple of weeks. I thank all of you for your support, time and well-written and often, extremely hilarious, posts. In my tirade, at the beginning of this post, I think you might have noticed a little referencing to their posts in a somewhat genial way.

You guys really know how to make me laugh out loud while sticking my pecker in a pickle slicer.

I also want to thank genuine supporter and thoughtful blogger, The Minute Man's Wife, for the Good Bloggers Pay It Forward Award, while I was away. I've connected with her the last several months, at a sympathetic, supportive level in the blogging community in a way that I feel honestly appreciative for. She's one of the nicest of nicest people that you'll ever have the pleasure of interacting with. The Minute Man's Wife gave me, a crazy bastard, who has a heart of gold, filled with flesh-eating maggots, this award for being supportive. I am grateful and touched by this.

Amazed? Choking on a drink, suddenly? You shouldn't be. Not only am I swell but I'm modest as hell, too. Yep.

Take a gander at The Minute Man's Wife's blog, but please remember, no sex toys allowed while visiting.

Look to your extreme right. It's already there with the rest of my awards.

Oh dear lord almighty, have I just been blessed again? Easy rules for this award! Hooray!

The rules for this particular award are, thankfully, weep-worthingly easy.

1) Tell everyone who gave you the award. (I did)

2) Put up a link to their blog. (Done)

3) Pay it Forward to five more bloggers. (Going to)

In no particular order, here are the five bloggers, in my opinion, in the past, who have exemplified support, which the award is supposed to represent:

(1) Rebecca (The Snee) from the blog, The Sometimes, Never, Eventually Express

(2) Gary, from the blog, klahanie

(3) LilPixi, from the blog, It's a Lollipop world

(4) GEM, from the blog, the modern day spinster

(5) Last but not least, Mrs. Pickle, from the blog, Pickles In My Ass

Be sure to check them out or you'll get the lash!

Now this isn't to say the rest of you have not been supportive and secretly or not so secretly wish me a slow, torturous death involving me being naked, with my nuts, honey coated and ready to be torn away by the sharp teeth of rabid rodents. Besides, I don't wash my scrotum but once every leap year. Ah Ha!

I do this to keep the rodents away and because I like the sticky, pasty feeling so much. Plus, it's for the sake of any house guests who come over every so often for my famous homemade putrid cheese dip.

Where was I? Oh, yes.

I want to thank the rest of you for your support by way of commenting on my blog while I was gone, just visiting and for all the other interactions on the Internet. You know who you are. You guys have been great. Thank you!

Don't forget to take home some of my homemade cheese dip before you leave. It's deeeeelish! But whatever you do, don't drink decaffeinated coffee.

Take care, my friends!