An Arcturian's Evaluation

Uxetar beamed aboard on his Arcturian space vessel.  He would miss some of the friends he had made on Earth, during his 142nd year old study of the inhabitants on the blue planet, below, but he missed the serenity of his own home and his Arcturian companions.  After 142 Earth years of observation of the human species, Uxetar had suddenly materialized on the transport platform, realizing what he would miss most about the human contactees he had associated himself with and what he wouldn't miss. His feelings, statistics and observations were all in his report.

Another Arcturian appeared before him.  Ogaim was another fellow Arcturian.  He was a bit smaller than Uxetar and his skin was more of a greenish hue in color.  Uxetar, realizing he was still in human form, morphed into his natural form and more closely resembled the appearance of an Arcturian.  Ogaim welcomed him to step closer to the holographic image of Earth which was positioned in the middle of the science room of the space vessel.  Ogaim was acutely interested in what Uxetar was about to present to him and hear his evaluation.

Before Uxetar could begin to go over his evaluation, Ogaim looked at the live image of Earth and calmly stated, "Look. Another war on Earth."

Uxetar said, "Most likely the end result of a group of people saying something perceived as being negative towards another group of people and their god or idea during the present era."

Ogaim replied, "Or the violence could be over natural resources or a cover for the real reason to make war with another nation."

"With this planet's inhabitants, you can never tell for sure until you read the minds of the handlers who hold the power and hoard the money for their own agendas," explained Uxetar.

Uxetar continued, "Most of the species do not engage in violent action every day.  Some of them, during different intervals of their lifetimes engage, by word or actions, positive notions, expressions of themselves and activities.  They do this by helping the less fortunate by sheltering or feeding them.  Holding a person's hand to comfort them.  Showing signs of concern for animals and caring for them.  I could go on.  But this is all in my evaluation, as you will read."

"I really like the humans who are artistic and have a sense of humor, as well," Uxetar pointed out.  He showed Ogaim, the senior scientist on the Arcturian space vessel, a video clip.  Uxetar said, "Take this dance routine, for example.  It combines both elements of human artistic expression.  Uxetar giggled, aloud, at Ogaim's facial expressions as they watched the video.

This is what Uxetar showed Ogaim:



Uxetar patted his fellow Arcturian on the back and said, "Sometimes their odd and humorous antics can have you overlooking their grievous flaws.  Their sense of humor and other genuinely sensitive attributes benefit one another, greatly."

Ogaim looked over at Uxetar and said, "Well, their forms of entertainment and levity have changed, quite substantially, since I was last dwelling with them nearly 400 earth years ago for my own study period.  That much is certain."

Uxetar leaned over to the right and cut a long, sputtering fart.  Afterwards, he stared at Ogaim and smiled.

Ogaim said, "But that form of entertainment and amusement isn't new."

Grinning for a bit, Ogaim once again regained his serious composure.

He asked Uxetar, "Now tell me about their negative aspects and actions."

Uxetar folded his three fingered hands and glanced down at his report on the table.

With a look of solemn discernment on his face, Uxetar explained, "The more generally violent types of humans might use weapons of mass destruction, in the near future, in the name of their religion or their lack of resources and/or their ideology. Also, large groups of people in a nation have been told lies, repeatedly, as well, until the lies are believed by the majority under the cover of a patriotic redundant chant and thought.  Instead of doing their own thinking and giving themselves a reality check, so to speak, they will do the bidding of the great money and power holders of the world and go to war with a militarily weaker country.

Many people over many of the wars fought during my 142 years of observation there have died for incomprehensible reasons that have never really been revealed to those who fight or rally behind the fighters until a small time has passed or after they have died and been forgotten.

The money and power holders and behind the scenes corrupters "pull the strings" of many majorities on Earth, so to speak.  Meanwhile, there are those who know the truth and are content with distracting themselves with being a part of a rigid system of laws, some of which, lack sense, and acceptable rules of behaviors they have placed upon themselves, their obsessions with their workplace, their idle entertainments, their electronic gadgets and more.  Then you have those that absolutely don't care what is happening to them or their loved ones.  Still, there are few who know the reality of their mass group situation and attempt to cause a positive outcome so all will benefit.  And then you have a few Earth inhabitants who don't know their assholes from table lamps."

Ogaim looked at his friend, Uxetar and said, "One can tell you've spent a considerable amount of time on Earth, Uxetar.  Your unique expressions give you away."

Ogaim smiled.  Uxetar shrugged, smiled and then said, 'Shit happens when you spend so much time in one place."

Uxetar continued by saying, "One of their greatest, widely ignored threats, however, is global warming and climate change.  Those who have control of the upper echolons of status, which is fueled by power and money, ultimately persuade or threaten those would could easily tell the truth of their situation and move in a positive direction, away from fossil fuel dependence and other pollutants that damage the Earth's atmosphere and create chaos with the weather patterns.  They are experiencing, as I'm sure you're well aware from our space vessel's scanner and computers, volatility and more extremities in their weather during the last one hundred years."

Ogaim said, "Yes, it is extremely noticeable to me and most likely to anyone living down on Earth."

Uxetar shook his head and replied, "Yet they still choose to engage in ignorant behavior with these wars, their destructive polluting of the air they and their children breathe and the greed which induces them to erratic, damaging actions."

Ogaim stated, simply, "Uncommon self destructive behavior for such a species that has advanced technologically, throughout the centuries, with their level of intelligence."

Uxetar replied, "But not uncommon for those who possess such intelligence yet are not emotionally advanced enough to balance their technology."

"Still," Uxetar claimed, "They may unite one day when they are on the brink of extinction.  We've seen it many times before with other inhabitants on an alien planet.  Whether they are too late to undo the damage, change course and seriously rethink their goals and agendas remains to be seen."

Ogaim quietly replied, "One hopes they will realize what is important in their lives and unite for their own well being and divert extinction."

Ogaim reminded himself that it was against their Arcturian nature to directly change the course of another planet's inhabitants.  Humans would have to learn, adapt and change on their own.  In time, the Humans might embrace peace, instead of war and work together to conquer their worldwide ills.  Both Ogaim and Uxetar still held a small amount of hope for this to occur.

Uxetar thought of all the accumalitive friends he had made on Earth, during his 142 Earth years there with them, remembering their thoughtful gestures, wise words, love, good humor and nodded, in remembrance and in agreement with what Ogaim had just said.  The Arcturian wished them well and gave Ogaim the entire evaluation.

The Apocalyptic Holiday Parade

If you're unfamiliar with some of the characters that have been featured on this blog before or you just want to reacquaint yourself with them again to better understand the following heartwarming holiday story, just click on the following links and enjoy!

For another story about the mysterious Intenso, click here:

The Incident at St. Mary's

For stories regarding Asmodeus, click any of the following links:

Auditions For The Circus
Second Round of Auditions For The Circus
Asmodeus' Astounding Circus

For lovely adventures involving Toadie, click any of these links:

Toadie in "Happy Anniversary"
Toadie in "Road Rage Spectacular"
Toadie in "First Love"
Toadie in "The Christmas Trip" (Part One)
Toadie in "The Christmas Trip" (Part Two)
Toadie in "The Haunted Bordello" (Part One)
Toadie in "The Haunted Bordello" (Part Two)
Toadie in "The Haunted Bordello" (The Final Chapter)

And now, the final story involving all of these wonderful, fairy tale like characters.  

Brandon and his family are at his house, enjoying video games, talking about the economy and pulling food from bags.  The family pet is also busy, in the corner of the living room, licking his pecker like a lollipop.

Brandon just came from the grocery store with his Dad, Mom and dog, Skipper.  Then he, while putting a jar of peanut butter on the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet, heard what he thought was a marching band, just down the street.  Curious as to why there would be one, especially on this day, around Christmastime,
the twenty one year old man went outside the door, turned and saw what was coming his way.  Behind what was coming his way, was a cloud.

This was no ordinary cloud.  The was unique.  It was a deep crimson red cloud that was raining blood from it.  Hot blood spattered the ground and street below, erupting from the cloud in wave after wave.  Steam rose up from the asphalt of the ground and soon, even from where Brandon stood, he saw the blood was eating away the street as if it were acid.  Even the ground beneath what was once road was eroding into nothingness, leaving a wide trough of burnt dirt.

This cloud crackled with a horrifying sound that Brandon thought was a raucous mix of laughter and thunder. It scared away almost all of the animals. Dismembered body parts rained down from this cloud.  Detached heads busted open on the eroding, steaming street.  Arms, legs, torsos followed.

Trumpets made an earsplitting noise in the air.  At the front of the parade, sat the demon, Asmodeus.  The demon was sitting on a throne being carried by men, writhing in agony.  Asmodeus' tongue flicked out of his mouth.  He began laughing.   Intenso was by his side, laughing, while the band played a warped tune that began to make people come out of their houses, screaming.  While screams of laughter and pain filled the air, Intenso saw neighbors staggering out of their houses.

Brandon could see the neighbors' faces then.

The neighbors watched, filled with terror, as some of the participants of the parade were wearing the blood and dead skin of other humans.  Others had simply painted their naked bodies with odd human expressions and symbolism.

Dressed in black, the mysterious Intenso twisted his wrist, suddenly, and through sheer mind control, made the neighbors tackle each other to the ground and fuck like wild dogs.  Afterwards, they forced tree limbs into each other's butt holes.  They both howled and bled, profusely.  They wouldn't stop until they had torn each others assholes apart and bled out, almost completely.

"Tree huggers," muttered Intenso.

A neighbor dog ran up to one of the fat naked corpses on the lawn.  Blood was forming in large puddles around him and his wife.  They had just gotten finished with reading the local paper and suddenly found themselves in the front of their houses, fucking each other with long tree limbs.  The husband was struggling to breathe.  Abruptly, a huge dog, named Pippy, sprinted toward the man and tore out a piece of the man's gaping butt.  The dog, under the spell of Intenso, then ran across the yard, growling, with a slimy chunk of the man's colon in his canine jaws.  The man watched the dog run away with a meaty bit part of his colon, screamed loudly and futilely, then shit himself in a funny sort of way, before breathing one last time.

Intenso skipped forward a bit and began to sang, gleefully...

"Oh, Susannah
Oh don't you cry for me
For I come from Alabama
With a banjo on my knee."

He then turned to the lesbian couple and twisted his wrist again.  "Think you could "munch some carpet" for me?"

One of the women shuddered, seeing what chaotic, violent acts he had made the other neighbors perform.  Still, one of them stepped forward, bravely and said, "You can go fuck yourself."

Intenso smiled and then replied, while twisting his wrist back again, "What you will do for me is going to give me such a hard on."

It wasn't long before the women, under the spell of the maniacal Intenso, stripped off their clothing and began to push each other to the ground.  The smaller one hit the taller of the two in the face, knocking her out.  She took out a small pocketknife and was about to carve up her lover before Intenso decided their deaths would be more humorous if he tried his next trick.  Intenso curled his finger, forcing his supernatural powers to overwhelm the woman with the knife with thoughts that were more sinister than the ones she had before.

Everyone who witnessed what happened with the women began retching, violently.  Skipper the dog, ran out of Brandon's house and enthusiastically chowed down on the steaming piles of vomit.

Towards the front of the parade were baton twirlers, swinging human femurs into the air above and catching them as they came back down.  Blood poured out of their sockets in their heads where they once had eyes.  Their nude, emaciated bodies contorted, every so often, repulsing everyone watching them.  Their ribs would sometimes rip through their thin flesh, with blood spilling down their bodies.  They no longer had the will or strength to scream.

A huge balloon animal was pulled along in the line of the parade.  Even those that were lying on the ground, suffering from torment, looked at the plastic object and chuckled.

People heard Intenso, skipping along, cheerfully singing...

"I had a dream the other night
When everything was still
I dreamed I saw Susannah
A-coming down the hill."

By this time, everyone was out of the neighborhood's houses and apartments, in awe, of course, of the evil, disgusting spectacle being played out in front of them.  When a few people tried running back into their dwellings or attempted using any of their electronic devices, they were instantly incinerated by the power of Asmodeus.

When one man was almost able to reach his cell phone, about to dial the emergency numbers, Asmodeus raised his butt cheek, from where he sat, cut a huge fart towards the man and burnt his victim's off of his shoulders.

Women in strange green clothing, sat on the shoulders of merry men, while the muscular men had deeply planted their hands, then arms in the women's vaginae.  The women, oddly enough, wouldn't scream and only smiled to the passerby.  Some even waved, as if they were on a normal parade float.  Their minds, obviously, had been taken away long ago.

Brandon screamed at the living nightmare all around him.  Body parts were everywhere.  People were torturing and raping each other.  Scenes, too horrific to describe, froze Brandon where he stood. At this point, the marching band stopped playing.

Asmodeus, the demon, raised his clawed hand, signing to all the rest who were involved in the parade, to halt at his command.  With his other clawed hand, he had been munching on a woman's detached boob.  Quickly, he tossed the rubbery nipple off to the side like a discarded, half-eaten gummy bear.  The demon stared at Brandon, angrily and soon the young man was feeling himself slowly catch on fire.

___________

Four blocks down the road, Toadie and Valerie had just gotten married.  After several years of being together, making love and going on several adventures, they cemented their relation by making their love official and on paper.  They came out of the little church, full of happiness, ready to begin their lives as husband and wife.

When the newlyweds looked down the road at the carnage and the macabre parade, the mentally challenged man shouted, "Toadie is hungry for wedding cake!"

Then he farted.

Valerie looked at him, lovingly and held his hand, proud of her new husband.

Asmodeus turned his attention toward Toadie and instantly, Brandon's body ceased catching on fire.  His parents came running up to their son and extinguished little flames on his shirt and pants with their jackets.

In less than a second, Asmodeus was staring down at Toadie, sneering at the apparent fool.

Toadie looked up and giggled at the smoldering red behemoth.

Asmodeus snapped his fingers, without warning and caused Valerie to bleed out of her ears and nose.  Streams of blood ran down her face as she cried out.

Toadie stopped giggling.

Toadie cocked his head to the side.  Intenso ran over to see what the hold up was about, regarding the parade.  He thought everyone was having a good time, so far.

Intenso looked at Toadie and the demon standing toward each other, shrugged and to break the tension, the man cloaked in black garments began to sing...

"Old McDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O.
And on that farm he had some chickens, E-I-E-I-O.
With a..."

Intenso couldn't sing the rest of his verse because Toadie had quickly crushed the supernatural being's trachea and shattered his voice box with his right hand.  Intenso grabbed his pulverized throat with both hands, confused and unable to understand Toadie's surprising surge of strength.

Before Asmodeus could take any action, Toadie, with lightning speed, pierced Asmodeus' chest and pulled out the demon's black heart.  Asmodeus slumped to the ground.  Valerie, in that instant, stopped bleeding.

Skipper the dog ran up to Intenso and bit through his scrotum, causing Intenso to wail.  The dog shook his head, aggressively, clamping his jaws down on Intenso's nutsack.  Soon, Intenso's genitals were being escorted off the property by Skipper the dog.  The testes of the mysterious being slipped out of the dog's slobbering mouth and hit the ground.

The cloud behind the parade cleared up.  No more blood rained down.  No more body parts.  The sun came out and the street that was there once before began to reappear again.  People who had once died or were hurt, stood up, healthier than they were before the parade.

The stout, broad shouldered Toadie looked down at Asmodeus and said, "You're no different than any other tyrant.  You feed off of the fear of others.  You either secretly or not so secretly crave attention, fear and adulation from as many obedient people or sheep as you can gather.  If more folks like me took a stand and realized they had capabilities they didn't know they had before and were willing to stand up to pieces of shit like you, you wouldn't exist in the first place.  Love, courage and people using their minds for the greater good will ultimately defeat beings like you.  Oh... and one more thing."

Asmodeus was gasping for breath.  Toadie turned around, pulled down the pants of his tuxedo and farted directly into the demon's face.  Asmodeus coughed, choking on his own retched vomit.  The green, toxic gas ate the demon's flesh off of his face.  The demon's eyes bulged and melted away. Soon, the demon no longer existed in this realm.

Toadie threw the demon's heart high into the air.  Skipper caught it with his powerful jaws and burst the organ in his mouth.

Suddenly, those involved in the parade disappeared, completely.  There were no signs that anything had transpired during the last few hours.

Toadie looked at Brandon and said, "Nothing should be assumed.  That especially includes anything that breathes.  Strange, evil beings, such as the one you confronted, are different, in how they appear and the tricks they can pull off- but that is really the only difference between them and the puppet leaders and ruthless dictators of the world.  Sometimes, regretfully, you have to resort to violence as a last resort with these fuck wads or they will continue their reign of terror and their often successful campaign of fear-mongering."

After this was said, Toadie took Valerie up in his arms and took off in their white rented limo, toward the reception hall.  This would begin a new exciting chapter in their lives.  Together, in spirit and love, they would spend the rest of their lives, making each other as happy as possible.

At the reception hall, everyone drank bourbon, rum and tequila, singing and dancing.  Later, old friends would tell their same old favorite stories, smoked copious amounts of marijuana and had a terrific evening of fun and revelry.  It was an evening of celebration and also a time to reflect on what they could all do to improve themselves and the state of the world.

Everything, miraculously, had been set right again in the land.    

An Interview With Myself (Part One)

During the last post, regarding newly given awards and "amazing predictions", I said was going to skip over the rule about naming the seven most important events in my life or some shit like that.  Since I, ahead of time, knew I would be doing this bit, I figured why bother.  It would be repetitious and with this present post, possibly a two parter, if I get too chatty or start rambling on about this or that, then posting up those seven amazing moments would make it seem I've got the ego the size of Donald Trump's or Mitt Romney's own ego.  And who wants to see that?  Gosh, certainly not magnificent lil' ol' me.

As the title suggests, I will be interviewing myself, revealing things I may have mentioned before here, some things I've never revealed, but also adding some clarification to misconceptions.  I'll also be adding some traces of sardonic or dry humor that some individuals may or may not perceive, successfully, depending on how sharp of mind that being is.  Not that I'm putting anyone down for having the intelligence quotient well below a snail's turd- but there have been times when I've read the comments on my blog or ones I've read on other's blogs and I've found it somewhat disconcerting to realize there's more than a few, uh, how should I put this in polite terms... mmm... dumbasses out there?

But, being the helluva guy I am, I'm throwing caution to the wind and going on with the show.  I want to inform you, my friends, entertain you and gently coddle you like tiny baby birds in a wasp's nest, keeping you feeling all warm and secure, inside and out.  No shocking diatribes, sarcasm and crude humor found in this humble abode of mine, I can assure you.  I certainly wouldn't do that to get an individual's attention to make one simple, friggin' point.

Ahh... there I go again with the friendly, idle chit chat.  On with the interview:

Inquisitor Kelly:  What's with the clowns?  Everyone believes you have this vested interest with clowns because of the heading on your page.  It's loaded with repeated images of clowns.  Are you afraid of clowns?  Do they arouse you, in some undetermined way?  A lot of folks, on and off this blog, have brought this "highly interesting' subject up time and time again and have this deep desire to know what's up with that.

Honest Kelly: I really don't care one way or another about clowns, actually.  When I conferred with the co-designer of the web page's layout, a couple years ago, she suggested that I keep the image of the clown from my old layout to use with this layout.    Her daughter even drew me up a jazzy, nifty looking clown and I have kept it on the blog ever since.  Why clowns?  I agreed for the sake of keeping with the theme of the blog.  Not because I like clowns or want to, hopefully, fuck one so hard in the ass one day that it's bright red colon explodes- but because of practical reasons. And to be truthful, I think every human being is a clown, just at different levels.  Some are more obvious than others.   Because of the clown question, it was, at one point, tiresome to read the same question over and over about it.  I didn't give a shit enough to give a reason for it.  Even now, I just don't care.  In fact, knowing that this insignificant image on my page supposedly frightens people, as I've heard it does with some freaks.. I mean... people... amuses me a tiny bit.

That goes for the black background on my site.  Some people say it's too hard to read my words on a post I'll put up.  To them I say, I like the black background.  Black matches the sometimes dark themes I bring up during my rants and stories on my charming blog.  I won't change it for anyone or for any reason.  Not for more followers.  Not for more hits on my pages.  In truth, the opinions of most people mean less than nothing to me.  This is because I'm too old, too wise and have had enough experience to imbue myself with the knowledge that people basically want things their way because they are selfish and narrow-minded.  Not to mention uptight and stupid.  Thanks for asking. 

Inquisitor Kelly: What was your childhood like?  Were you a normal kid?  Or were you a rowdy, screaming monkey child or what?

Honest Kelly: I grew up poor.  I lived in an old, four room, white-paneled house on farm land.  The cistern we drank out of, we found out later on, had quite a few dead and half-dead albino frogs in the water.  We didn't have a shower.  We poured buckets of water over our heads and washed with that water (which I think was from a creek up the hill) in a hand made metal stall my dad had built.

I had a swing and a tire on an apple tree I played on.  I also had a black and white cat named Pepsi, a German Shepherd named Happy and I often talked to an old large apple tree, out of loneliness, boredom and because I had a fertile imagination.  Finally, 6 years later, my sister was born.  I played with her toys, rode bikes with her and played with my own collection of Hot Wheels cars.  Each one of my Hot Wheels cars had his or her own personal name and military rank.  The President was in love with the Secretary.  Sometimes, I made them kiss.  The apple tree, outside, often told me to kill the useless weeds in the yard (they were the enemy).  So that I did, with pure, delightful abandon and with a large stick I'd whip around, cutting them down like a warrior.

Down the road, we had neighbor kids that enjoyed peeing into each other's mouths, for sport and dry humping the wiener dog.  They locked me in their spider-filled, completely dark old basement once, for hours.  They would make Kool-Aid, on hot summer days and their mom would serve it to us kids in unwashed, food-encrusted glasses.  I'm surprised, to this day, I'm still alive.  I'm not kidding about any of those details and I've talked about them a couple times on this blog.  When I was six, I had no idea what they were doing to their dog.  Later, I put it together and figured it out.  All I knew was that it's little doggy eyes rolled to the back of it's head while it lay on the slab of concrete while one of the brothers cheered on the human kid fucking it.

I found out later that Happy, my dog, was a bad doggy to a vet.  Dad said he had ran off one day.  No explanation was given.  I was shocked and saddened when I was told that as a kid.  When I was 16, Dad told me that he had to "put Happy down" because Happy suddenly bit a big meaty chunk out of a vet's arm during one of Happy's regular vet appointments.  The vet told Dad Happy had to be put down or he would make sure Happy was euthanized.  The way Dad described it, it took several shots to his big furry canine head before Happy finally died.  Hearing this story did not make me happy.  But I understood the reasoning a little later.  Happy could have killed me, at some point and that's what they were afraid of.  During our play time together, though, he was a really friendly and honestly happy dog. 

On a happier note: I really enjoyed the walks mom and I would take down the old gravel road that was named after us because Dad had done so much work on it, himself.

Every week, it seemed, we would pay a visit or visits to my grandma and grandpa's farm down the old country lane.  I was mostly a very shy, quiet kid.  I played with my Aunt Kay.  I remember one particular time when we set white milk stools together, down on their sides on the floor, in a line and sat in the open spaces.  We pretended that we were riding in a train and made "choo- choo' noises.  Those were fun times.  My Aunt Kay, who was more of a sister to me, now and then, says that she used to bully me.  I don't know about that.  Maybe it's repressed memories.

She would play tricks on me, of course.  She was a little jealous of sweet lil ol' me because I was the "new baby",so to speak, of the family.  It had been her for awhile.  One time, she blindfolded me and told me to take a big bite out of this juicy apple she had in her hand.  So I did as she directed, as trusting and innocent as a kid I was.  But no, it was a tomato, not an apple.  I shouted, "Yuck!"  I quickly took off the blindfold.  When I saw the mushy pulp and seeds of the tomato I wanted to puke, preparing my taste buds, beforehand, for a sweet, juicy apple.  To this day, I won't eat a tomato.  They repulse me.  I'd rather lick a cow's taint than eat a fucking tomato.

Pretty visual, eh? 

Because I was shy, I often got bullied on the buses, as I grew up.  I didn't know you could be thought of as being "stuck up", too, for being quiet but I heard it whispered that, that was another reason I was bullied so horribly.  Four to five bigger kids would gang up on me and smash their hard back school books on the back of my head on the school buses.  A few would punch my face.  The school bus driver would watch the action, in his rear view mirror and do nothing.  He was famous for this.  Anytime there was a fight or bullying, he did nothing and reported nothing.  I was too ashamed to tell my parents about it so they more or less didn't know about it.

I made a few friends in grades 1-8 in parochial school.  They were a couple of "misfits", as well, because they would not be picked out for team sports and were quiet and whatever else kids (and for that matter, adults) would use- as an excuse to pick on them and I.

Speaking of bullies, that's a subject that really pisses me off on many levels.  With all this texting and facebooking gossip shit going on between kids, telling lies and being cruel, kids these days are really having a hellish time with bullying these days.  They sometimes end up killing themselves, in fact, from what you read in the paper and on the Internet.  It makes me sick.  I hear and see crap about gangs of girls kicking the shit out of other girls and I wonder what the hell kind of values are their parents teaching them. Even my niece is getting bullied by school girls, calling her names and filling up her locker full of tampons, of all things.  My sister didn't put up with it, of course.  She went to the principal and told him to get something done about it or else.  Because of her being pro-active, it has stopped.

These days, there are more and more school departments or people you can go to if you're on the receiving end of bullying, but more, clearly needs to be done about it.  Kids shouldn't be killing themselves and feeling like they're not worthy of the respect they should be given during the time they're in school or out of it.   

I read a lot of books when I was young.  I also wrote a lot of stories, mostly about my parakeets, cats and my dog.  A lot of vivid imagination and descriptive wording (not so much that it was shocking and it was never vulgar) went into them and I was told I was a very creative writer by my English teacher.  I liked the compliment as they were few and far between.  Unfortunately, I had a teacher who thought I had too vivid an imagination.  I never wrote anything perverted, if that's what you're wondering.  I was just a kid.  The teacher's name was Mrs. Patterson.  She was one of two or three teachers who wasn't a nun at the school by the old church- but she did fancy herself as an amateur psychologist.  She really thought she knew a lot about psychology.  The bitch even tried to suggest to my parents that there was something wrong with me.  My parents were young and didn't know any better (I was their first kid) so they tried to convince me there was something wrong with me, too and that I should seek counseling.  I think I was like ten years old at the time.  It was around this time, I found out I was half-deaf, due to all the ear infections I had as a kid.

I had a fit, cried quite a bit and it really caused me to question adults and their fucked up motives.  Before that, I was questioning the motives of adults because of all the violent news of the Vietnam war that would be shown on TV.  Even at the ripe old age of ten, I knew it was wrong and I thought, quite often, what kind of mess of beings have I been thrown into, without permission.  These fuckers are nuts.  Well, I didn't think in exactly those words I just used, but it close enough.  I did think adults and kids were really messed up- not just because they bullied me but because they seemed to be preoccupied by violence- on TV and everywhere else.

This is me, when I was a kid ( had blonde hair until I was six), plus another pic of mom and I, when I was older and we were fishing at the time: 

Later, I went to high school, joined Drama Class, wrote articles for the school newspaper, continued to write serious and humorous stories, acted in plays, had a poem published, went to a lot of parties, got drunk and fried and really started opening up to people and getting pretty wild, in general.  My personality changed quite a bit in high school.  I was the one who started trends without even meaning to do that.  In reality, just as I do today, I just do whatever I feel like doing- within reason.  I'm not a serial killer.  And I don't sodomize animals on Tuesdays.

I've never tried to be rebellious or a non-conformist type of person.  One friend suggested that I was trying to be that way on purpose once.  That made me laugh and I replied, "If you know anything about me, you know I'm honest about what I say and about my own actions- to a fault."  And he said, "Yeah... you're right," after thinking it over for a little while and recalling the years of our twenty year friendship.  I just feel like doing whatever fits for me.  The need, as it did when I was kid, to fit in, doesn't work for me.  I'm my own person.  To each person, I believe, they should go his or her own way.  To the rest of those who blindly follow without questioning, fuck 'em. 

Inquisitor Kelly:  Would you say adults who were bullies or even adults who weren't bullies when they were children, but are now, don't understand what effect they have on people?  And perhaps, in fact, don't give a shit about what effect they have on people? 


      

Honest Kelly:  I think there are many people or groups of people who fall under the category of "Bullydom."  It's funny you should ask me this, Kelly.  But maybe it isn't so odd, since you are, in fact, me.  I wanted to do a blog post on bullies for a long time now.  And now... look!  I finally made it here.  Looks like the subject is being intertwined within this interview, after all.  Ha ha ha.  I'm laughing to myself, literally, I suppose.

There are, indeed, adults who are bullies.  Sometimes they are parents who really shouldn't be breeding, having children and shouldn't be brainwashing them with their own distorted viewpoints, neither should there be bosses who abuse their hiring/firing, pay raising/lowering power, police officers that abuse their authority and corporate entities that squeeze money out of the middle class and the poor for their own profits and gains.

Corporations can be the worst of all evils and of all bullies because they try to control and bully us in our short, precious lives here on Earth by pushing us into corners we have no escape from.  Sometime, you might feel a temporary escape by taking an anti-depressant (which makes your misery profitable for big pharmaceutical companies) or by doing cocaine, drinking booze or worse (which makes it profitable for drug cartels and, in turn, for the DEA and law officers- if you do your research).

Let's face it!  If we didn't outlaw drugs, there would be a lot of space in those jails and prisons and then where would the states and the government make their money?  Hell, we might have to actually put it into schools to educate kids, pay teachers what they deserve, hire and keep firefighters, fix roads or some other practical purpose.  God forbid!

I see, in the future, tobacco products becoming completely illegal within the next twenty years.  This will be great news for organized crime and others.  Just like it was when they made weed illegal.  Read that entire story here.  It will either disgust you or shock you or both.  Or maybe you just don't care.  A lot of people don't care about their privacy and personal freedom, either.  Look around!  There are sheeple, everywhere!  People have always had the (un)natural "talent" of being able to ignore being shit on or becoming obedient slaves to a centuries old man made system. 

Btw, marijuana, being made illegal, was great news and carefully planned by folks like our government and rich, white assholes such as Harry J. Aslinger and William Randolph Hearst.  Both had vested interests, for their careers, to make weed out to be an addictive drug, capable of killing and driving one insane.  Nonsense!!!  

The silly 1930's flick, Reefer Madness, was nothing more than a propaganda film, intended to scare the public.  Instead, it's watched today as if it is an absurd comedy movie. Good ol' propaganda!  Kind of like drawing people into a war with a country, in the name of patriotism, that we have no business in being in- except to drum up business for rich white people in corporate hierarchies.  They have what we want!  Let's wage war on them!  We'll set up our democracy there, afterwards, to keep the profits rolling in.

Well gang, I'm getting pretty tired.  I have just enough energy to do a quick re-read of what I've written, take a quick piss and hit the bed sheets with my exquisite self.  I think I will continue the second part of this interview another time.  Hope you enjoyed it.  I have more to say, since I'm a rambler, but it will have to wait.

Asmodeus' Astounding Circus (The Final Chapter)

Ah yes, long time, no see, everyone.  But I'm here now, for the moment, to delight and enthrall you all with the long overdue ending to a short series about a circus.  If you haven't read any of the installments or even if you need to re-read these fine, literary masterpieces once again to jog your memory on the storyline and characters...  Here are the following links to help you out in making even the slightest sense of past and present events and be entertained as all get out.  Woo hoo!

Auditions For The Circus

Second Round of Auditions For The Circus

Ringmaster Gregario excitedly went up to the circus ticket booth and asked, "So how many tickets have we sold for the big show?"

There was a line of adults and kids, eagerly waiting to step inside the big circus tent and be seated.

Trixie, who had before been a bubbly, beautiful blonde college girl went through a transformation, of sorts, after the circus owner, Asmodeus, escorted her away after her audition, many months ago and took the twenty something year old back to his own private mansion.

Being a demon (a fairly horny one, at that), Asmodeus had mesmerized Trixie with his charm and evil influence to seduce the giddy blonde.  Soon, Trixie found herself taking off her clothes, revealing her perky breasts and shaven pussy.  The demon circus owner took Trixie by the hand and easily grabbed her with one  powerful arm and tossed her on the bed.  For three nights straight, they fucked without a break.  The experiences Trixie endured caused her to almost lose her mind, completely.

Answering Gregario's question, Trixie slowly looked up from where she sat and said, with slow deliberation and with menace in her tone, "The fuckers just keep coming to see the show."

Trixie giggled slightly, seeming to change in her mood, grabbing a big wad of cash and sales receipts from her cash drawer and thrust it up towards the ringmaster's face.

"See?" Trixie asked.

Gregario nodded approvingly at what he saw before Trixie. Without warning, Trixie viciously grabbed Asmodeus' most trusted assistant by the crotch of his black pants with her free hand.

"AHHH!" screamed Gregario, quickly backing away from the ticket booth and Trixie's grasp.

Several customers looked where the scream had come from.  This got the attention of a pack of red eyed wolves.  Asmodeus' personal pets looked up from the half eaten human skull they had been gnawing on and growled toward the attendees.  Gonza, the large muscle-bound Head of Security came out of the side of the tent and confronted the customers.

"We have a problem here?" asked Gonza, threateningly.

The customers shook their heads, showing they had no problems, but were still very obviously shaking with fear.

An hour later, everyone was allowed to go into Asmodeus' Astounding Circus and take their seats.

A troupe of clown midgets entered from a hidden side room, in a multi-colored vehicle, with a pentagram sign on every side of the car.  The car stopped in the center of the stage.  One of the car doors opened.  Soon, The infamous Blutarsky Brothers came tumbling out.  All of them had bulbous heads, had extreme toe fungus and were mentally impaired.  The crowd let out various sounds of surprise.

Ringmaster Gregario walked up to the center stage, in front of the family of disheveled clown midgets and cried out, into his microphone, "Ladies, gentleman and children of all ages, it gives me a special kind of thrill to present to you the most amazing acts you'll ever witness in your lifetimes!"

Gregario waved his hand and pointed to the clown midgets that had painted faces.  Some of them were crossing their eyes and shaking their heads.  One had a permanent smile on his face.  Luscious, the member of the group who had undergone a botched sex change surgery, courtesy of one of "her" brothers and his handy knife, in order to become a man, stepped out in front of his brothers.  Luscious had tiny breasts, thanks to hormone therapy and a couple of sewn upon hairless gopher butt cheeks, but the vagina of the clown midget was far from perfect.

Tension and anticipation filled the air.

Isa, the eldest member joined her son, Luscious, who was dressed in a small, sparkly pink tutu.

The old ringmaster handed Isa, the mother of the 7 performing midgets, the microphone.

Isa announced, "My name is Isa, mother of my Russian babies, the ones you may know as The Blutarsky Brothers.  Tonight, we will show you our talents and you will soon gaze upon us with wonder.  Watch and fill your ugly American hearts with joy!"

With that said, Gonza brought in a handcuffed and shackled blubbery man in a size XXXL sweatsuit.  He was sweating, profusely, and had a collection of bruises upon his face.  Gonza thrust the obese man on his hands and knees.

Ringmaster Gregorio took a flask of whiskey from his back pocket, downed a swig from it and put it back in his pocket before explaining into his microphone, "This man was found to be attempting to sneak into the circus tent without paying."

Gregorio tipped his big black top hat toward the man as the man groaned in pain.

Continuing, Gregorio said, "This man will be given something special for his efforts."

The fat guy whimpered as Isa and Luscious took their places.  Both clown midgets lay on their backs on either side of the trapped man who Gonza securely chained to a metal platform.  Luscious spread open her legs and pulled the bottom of her tutu off, slinging part of the costume to the side.  She had a tattoo of a snake on her cunt lip.  Isa took off her polka-dotted, over-sized clown pants and spread her legs, in unison, with her son.  A few moments passed before Isa's legs rubbed furiously together, creating sparks of fire.  Luscious mimicked her mother's furious leg movements. Meanwhile, a fast moving stream of fire, much like a flamethrower, came shooting out of their cunts as their tiny legs furiously kicked up and down.

In awe, the crowd was spellbound and became perfectly silent as the gluttonous man's head began to catch afire.  He screamed in agony.  Gregorio, Gonza and the rest of the clown midgets laughed, heartily.  In only a few seconds, the man was totally engulfed in flames, shouting for mercy and receiving none.  Soon, his crispy corpse smoldered for a moment before crumpling into a stinking heap of ashen flesh.

Gonza and Gregorio shoveled the victims smoking remains in a nearby metal garbage vat.  What wasn't completely crispy would be fed to the hungry wolves, later.

Nervously, the crowd applauded, fearing what might happen if they did not show satisfaction of the clown midgets' amazing tricks.  One man, however, showed no fear and announced his displeasure.

The man, famous for his many quirky and comedic movie roles, stood up and said, "I don't think that was right."

Gregorio put down his shovel and picked up his microphone. Into his mike, Gregorio inquired, "And who might you be to think yourself capable of judging what's fair and what's not?"

The film actor stated, "Steve Buscemi, that's who."

Gonza quickly retrieved him from the stands.  Buscemi struggled, frantically, and groaned in protest, desperately trying to free himself of Gonza's mighty grip.

Buscemi was chained to the metal platform, begging to be released, promising to give them substantial amounts of money if they let him go.

A clown midget named Jeepo appeared, did a cartwheel in front of the actor and completed an admirable back-flip, flapping his arms like a bird, before coming down head first onto the metal platform and bashing his head in, making a clanging, crunching noise that could be heard from the stands.  A pool of blood gathered on the platform as Jeepo moaned.  One of his clown midget brothers, Trotsky, came out, pulled down his pants and scratched his taint before dragging his injured brother off the stage.

Ivan, another clown midget performer, came running out.  Stretching his arms outward, Ivan stood still and shouted, "Ta-Da!"

Ivan turned around and looked at the chained actor in the middle of the stage.  The clown midget slapped his face, for comic relief and made a tiny "O" with his mouth to appear as if he was surprised at the actor's predicament.

Without hesitation, Ivan pulled his gigantic pecker from his neon green clown pants and pointed it toward Buscemi.

Ringmaster Gregorio asked the audience, "So do ya think Steve is going to have to do some suckin'?"

The audience collectively gasped.  Buscemi's eyes grew wider than they ever had gotten during the filming of his past movies.

Abruptly, Ivan took a firm hold of his meat sword and quickly shot bullets from his pee hole.  Each bullet went through Steve Buscemi's head as if it were made of facial tissue.  Blood and fleshy bits flew everywhere.  In a matter of seconds, there was nothing sitting on the actor's shoulders but a deformed pulp of bloody mush and some bits of skull mixed in.

The wolves rushed in, eyes red and glowing, and ate most of the actor's body, tearing his corpse apart.

Trotsky and another brother, Dragoff, came running out with their tarp.  Some audience members chuckled at the sight of their little legs moving so quickly.  Both brothers threw the tarp on Buscemi's disgusting remains and ran back where they came from, doing the occasional cartwheel, along the way.  Everyone applauded their comical antics.  Trotsky raised his leg and cut a fart so loud and with such force, the back of his  little clown pants exploded.

Unable to resist the current spotlight, Dragoff came back to the center stage and stuck the wooden handle of a bloody shovel up his rectum and balanced himself on it, straight up from the surface.  The sharpened tip of the shovel was embedded into the ground, several inches deep.

Ivan ran out and blared toward the crowd, "Ta-da!" After saying this, the clown midget promptly pissed his pants.

At that point, though, Dragoff sunk downward upon the shovel handle and found himself impaled upon it. Waving his arms like a pinwheel, his arms seemed like they blurred, in motion, to the audience.  Suddenly, Dragoff's colon was busted open by the wooden handle.  It didn't help that Ivan took the opportunity to jump on his back, hoping to share the spotlight.  A moment went by before the handle went all the way through Dragoff's small body and exited out of his mouth before plunging through Ivan's right eye socket.  Both circus performers screamed and tumbled, smashing forward into the hard, unforgiving ground.

Teeth, blood, bits of exploded colon and gore spilled forth in rivers from where they lay, motionless.

A teenager cheered and texted to her friend the act she had just witnessed.  She texted:

OMG!  I JUST SAW TWO CLOWN MIDGETS DIE BEFORE MY EYES.  THEY WERE HILARIOUS!

One audience member clutched his chest, unsure how much more he could take.  His wife, sitting next to him, patted her husband on the back and said, reassuringly, "It's going to be okay, honey.  These people are really multi-talented."

Asmodeus, demon in disguise and the owner of the circus joined Trixie, arm in arm.  Both of them had just made an entrance and took center stage.  Asmodeus noticed the man who was clutching his heart and politely asked, shouting toward him, "Do you feel a pain in your chest, sir?"

The man shook a bit, sweating and then said, "I'll be... fine."

With that, Trixie pulled her arm slowly away from Asmodeus' arm.  Like a frightening wraith, the once pretty, buxom blonde traveled up the bleachers and stood in front of the man who believed that he was about to have a heart attack.

Trixie curled her finger, slowly and beguilingly,until the man felt he should move his face closer to the pale woman's figure.  She was whispering something under her breath.  The man's wife said, "Go ahead, Sweety Pie," she coaxed, "The lady wants to probably show you a neat trick."

The man shuddered and nervously asked, "Are you a magician?"


Trixie lunged forward and stuck her forked tongue deep into the man's mouth, giving him a french kiss from hell.  Despite his extreme fear, the man achieved a sizable erection.  Trixie's long, snake-like tongue roamed around the inside of the man's trembling mouth.

Asmodeus suddenly ran up to the man, the wife and Trixie and then declared, "You're openly flirting with my woman!  How dare thee!"

Horns sprouted from Asmodeus' head and he quickly transformed into his real identity. The frightening form of a demon stood before the aroused husband.  Asmodeus' eyes glowed, red and fiery.  The demon circus owner clutched the man's neck and thrust upward, popping the victim's head off from his body like the cork of a champaign bottle.

The head bounced from one bleacher seat onto the next until it finally plopped in a young woman's nachos and cheese.  She was sitting in the front row, way down below.  Nachos and cheese flew everywhere.  Melted cheese and human blood splattered against her shirt.  Instead of wondering about or doing anything about the mess or the decapitated head, she immediately took an electronic device from her handbag and texted her friend about how a human head landed, suddenly, in her nachos and cheese and how hard it would be to get the stains out of her shirt.

Meanwhile, Asmodeus was still enraged about Trixie's transgression against him.  Instead of taking his anger out on her, however, he killed the man who had recently had a forked tongue dive into his mouth.   Asmodeus' big red arms steamed.  The arms of the demon rose above his head and the sides of the tent began to catch on fire.  Everyone screamed, panicked and attempted to escape.

Suddenly the wolves with red glowing eyes and bared fangs came pouring into the tent again and began dispatching each circus attendee, who made it to the floor, with joyful and hungry abandon.  Flesh, tattered clothes, phone gadgets, and lakes of blood could be found everywhere inside the tent.

Very few people got out alive that day and Asmodeus' Astounding Circus closed down for several months, disappearing without a trace, until it suddenly sprung up again in jolly old England.

Needless to say, the circus proved to be more popular than the Queen's Diamond Jubilee and the Summer Olympics being held in London, combined.

Asmodeus and Trixie are married now in unholy matrimony.  And Trixie is constantly having to remind Asmodeus, every night, to take out the garbage.  Gosh!

But that's another story.  

Cool Air Has Inspired and Enthralled

The taint is dry.  My brow is sweat-free.  I can actually walk around in something besides my Cousin Eddie outfits.

Happy to report:  The main AC unit has been officially repaired and installed in the wall.  Before that, the temperatures ran around 80 degrees F. in the apartment.  When the area around us wasn't getting pounded by thunderstorms and 40-60 mph wind gusts and hailstones, the temperatures rose to record numbers this time of year.  Not even summer yet and it easily would get up to 85 degrees outside.  Most of the time, I walked around in my underwear or boxers and a pair of sandals or black slippers.  Nothing else.  My wife warned me not to go outside, saying that I might get raped in my seductive get up.  Somehow, I didn't believe her.

Watch Cousin Eddie, in action, below, in National Lampoon's Vegas Vacation.  This is likely my least favorite "Vacation" movie of the series but it had it's moments. Methinks Cousin Eddie may suffer some anxiety disorder, at times.  I can't fault him for being a moron, though.  He's the entertaining kind of moron.  God puts 'em on Earth for our entertainment, I think.

Beats being around a boring moron- one like most of us encounter each day, on several occasions. This clip below is not the "shitter was full" scene of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation- but I like this scene.  Everyone and their butt mole has got that one memorized and it has been shown to death.  Hell, it's tradition for us to watch the Christmas one each year.  I still get a boner when the girl in the red bathing suit is on the diving board of the fantasy pool.  My wife ruins my mood by saying that when she flips her suit up in the air with her foot, she is cutting a pussy fart at the same time.

I also slap myself on my head to recall things.

Now I can come into this room, play games, make witty as heck comments on blogs and entertain myself by spouting off words of wisdom.  By the way, I saw the mentally challenged man again at the park.  He was still mumbling, frequently waving his arms up and down and made quacking noises.  He paced back and forth, every so often shouting, "Gimbiddy Goobey Blaaarghh!"

The mother or caretaker of this person was looking at the picnic table she was sitting at, perhaps thinking of a creamy fudge bar or slitting her own throat.  I know it's hard for people to take care of people when they're mentally challenged.  I feel for them as much or more than the mentally retarded folks they take care of- they're like the unspoken heroes and people don't say enough good about them.

At least, he, the dude I was just yakkin' about, wasn't like this other asshole in the park.  This old guy, The Curmudgeon, I call him. He was all stretched out underneath a shelter, sweating profusely, red in the face, swiggin' out of his bottle of whatever like he was thirsty or something.  :)  Anyway, he, of course, makes one of his negative remarks about how the weather is.  He doesn't miss a chance, whenever we pass each other in the park, while walking, to say how crappy the weather is or if it is a nice day, he'll say, for example "Gee, it almost feels decent today."

After he says something that I don't really feel like fully absorbing in my brain because I know how his mind works, partially, I ask him, nicely, if he is okay.  No sarcasm to my tone, whatsoever.  He breathes in, sort of okay, but his breathing is a bit ragged.  Based on this and his appearance, I had asked if he was okay.  If he needed any assistance.  Ever since I've had earlier dramatic incidents, this year, of people collapsing in front of me or onto me, in my arms, I'm a little anxious.  I'm ready to call 911 on his crazy, obnoxious, old ass.

But he says that he's okay and I walk on my usual path.  Apparently, he was "okay" because I saw him walking again.  I tried to say hello to him and get him to stop, briefly, to ask how he was but he ignored me and made sure I knew he was doing it on purpose.

I thought he was being silly, vain and stupid.  So I laughed each time as distance separated us when we walked in opposite directions.  The next day, he must have known he looked like an ass because of his attitude because he immediately engaged me in a conversation about trips he and his wife have taken to Hawaii and other locations.  At least, he isn't a total turd.

When people start conveying personal info, it's usually easier for me and quite a few people, I notice, to warm up to them.  They seem more human.  That's the lesson I take from it during my experiences of these kind.  People play odd games.  I like the straightforward, honest approach.  Why be something you're not?  Don't fear!  Show yourself-- flaws, talents, interests and all.

By the way, my neighbor, across the street, has a dozen flags in his yard.  Big flagpoles with American flags in his small yard. I don't know why he has them there.  Memorial Day is quite a long time from now.  I took a picture of his front yard-in case he kills me later on.  He reminds me of the Bruce Dern character of the movie "The Burbs."  The neighbor across the road from us is always sitting in his lawn chair in his open garage, watching the movements of all in the neighborhood.

  

True Tales of Perfectly Normal Kelly

Disclaimer:  The following stories should be read as if they were written by someone completely sane, always politically correct and sensitive of others' feelings.  They, most importantly, were written by somebody with a sense of humor.  Scared?  Don't be!  I'm here to hold your hand as you take this special journey with me on my latest incidents of pure, wholesome normalcy.  I promise not to give you that special smile, while we walk, that says 'I won't bash your head in with this bronze statue of Zues fucking a dolphin while the dolphin is porking a young handjob-maiden', I have behind my back, when you turn head away, next.  You don't know how often you come across that common stylish item in those fancy antique stores, worldwide.  

 I farted.

But less importantly, I was taking my daily walk at the local park other day.  It was a beautiful day, full of sun and a plethora of blooming trees and there was no one there to possibly bother me.  Sure, I'm certainly a social butterfly that desperately needs adulation and continuous attention until I'm nauseous of the sticky slobbers of a googly-eyed stalker smooching on my ass because the stalker glorifies me... but sometimes, I just need some alone time.  Like about 80% of the time.

Actually... I don't know what these guys are and what they're thinking.  My  ambition to find out where they come from and so on has been replaced by sudden feelings of ambivalence.  Like, I don't know whether to bash this one dude's head in with a gargantuan frozen elephant turd or become inspired and secure, knowing that the human race will come together one day, not give a shit about material possessions and place honesty and understanding at the top of their priorities.   Again, I farted.

Note:  Googly-eyed fish will target and viciously attack your taint unless you have properly cleansed it to the point where it no longer carries the bouquet of aromas made up of shit, piss or pork.  Because, you know they say humans smell like pigs or whatever... especially while they're burning.  Look it up if you want to debate me about this most interesting of subjects while I busy myself with not being the least bit sarcastic.


Join Facebook!  See the attention craving, crack-like addicts who won't stop commenting about that same boring shit, day after day!  Watch people watch other people because they hear they are celebrities and that means something ridiculously important!  Ya ever see a dumbass follow a trend to be more popular?  Ya ever see a monkey picking a nit off another monkey in a zoo or while you're out on safari?  Ya ever witness the increasing lack of creativity and open mindedness of anyone or mass of "anyones?"  :)   People remind me of that stuff and more.  Think about it.  And yes, I already know why they, the monkeys, pick the nits.  But think about redundancy, for one thing.  Jesus Christ in a snack pudding offering soul-saving bargains!  Just think!

As I was taking my daily walk in the beautiful park, I cut a fart (go figure, huh?) and I squirt o' wee bit of shit in my underwear, of course.  I don't care.  As long as it's not running down my legs and causing a pond of chocolate delight around my feet, I continue onward to the bathroom.

I go in, clean the little bit of poop juice in my underwear, wipe the stuff from my asshole, place a small wad of toilet paper between the spots in the soiled fabric and my buttocks and when I get myself together again, shorts pulled up and so on, I wash my hands, thoroughly, go out the door and am automatically confronted with a large, six and a half foot tall guy, walking toward me, only a few feet away.  He's wearing about a 5X sized purple shirt, walking towards me like a zombie, arms stretched out, forward direction.

No kidding about any of this.

He makes sounds with his mouth.  I'm dazed by this sight, this giant monstrosity of flesh and insanity and my semi-severe anxiety disorder kicks in overdrive.  Momentarily, I cannot move.

It sounds like he's saying, "Arburgagog Goalpostical Blarrrrrrrgh!"  But I'm not sure.  I was frightened and in shock.  I just know he wasn't speaking English.  I also felt shit start to rumble in my colon again, threatening to erupt from ye ol' blow hole.  In other more sensitive wording. I figured I was about to have a repeat performance of the other fiasco I just endured.  This sudden attack, that would have probably scared the shit out of most anyone besides me, made my head spin, wondering what carnival freak show I suddenly happened upon.

 I saw a shirt this other day.  He might has well as worn this shirt:

      

I have since learned, by actually being curious enough to find out what Doma Arigato means, that one of it's meanings come from the language of the Japanese.  Domo Argato translates, in English as: Thank you very much. In his case, I suppose it could also mean "Thank you very much for giving me the opportunity of giving you a heart attack and instant bowel movement."

I quickly came to my senses, before he was a foot away and darted out the park bathroom door entrance.  While walking, quickly, on my pained feet and scrambling away as if I was being chased by Bigfoot's deranged uncle, I realized four things.  One, I was successful in commanding my buttocks to keep in any fecal matter.  Two, I think the boy/man was autistic and had a "solid wall of retard" for a body.  Shhh... My sensitivity and naturally instilled political correctness is leaking out again.  And three, about as most importantly, his caretaker or mother or whoever he was with, obviously, was a middle aged, unconcerned person who saw what occurred and sat on a bench seeming not to give a shit about anything.  That could be considered a mistake if the mentally-challenged behemoth was going towards somebody with violent tendencies who didn't scamper away, trying desperately to hold his gravy shits back.  Four, I hadn't taken my Valium that day, yet.

I'm thinking about making a custom made shirt for myself.  It will read:  I'm a sufferer from depression and anxiety disorders.  Please refrain from allowing your own craziness and your human keeping responsibilities "entities" (like mentally retarded youngsters and unbalanced young men and women) and whiny brats to come within a solid yard from me or I will freeze up and/or go on a killing spree.  Thanks!

That might be a little too long and I know most people generally have a low attention span.  I might just go with:  Fuck off!  You people bother me! 


I'm okay with stress when it's not of the sudden shocking kind.  For instance, the other night, my wife and I were riding home in a gusty-as-hell, lightening filled, bucket filling kind of thunderstorm the other night.  I was driving.  I knew I wouldn't panic because I could see, before getting back out onto the interstate highway for the 30 mile trek back home, it was going to be a doozy.  Instead, I calmly drove the truck home, hands firmly and courageously stable on the steering wheel and slowing moved around the ponds of water on the sides of the roads.

As long as I know what's coming, I'm alright.

Yesterday, we had another thunderstorm.  It knocked the electricity out for four hours.  I took a nap in the middle of the thunderstorm.  They had tornado "watches" for several neighboring counties on the TV before I took my nap.  Note:  Four weeks ago, we had a dozen tornadoes ravage our state and a couple nearby states.  I wrote a blog post about it.  When I got up, it was starting to get dark.  I lit a couple candles to see the toilet, furniture that I could stub my toe on and so on.  Then I put on some sweat pants and looked out on the balcony.  Even though it was getting dark, it was beginning to hail quarter sized hailstones, along with 60 mph wind gusts and rain.  And about an hour later the electricity came back on.

Quarter sized hail is nothing for me.  I lived during the "148 tornado and baseball-sized hail stone incident" in 1974.  There was a tornado in our back yard at one point.  I didn't have anxiety disorder back then so I quickly ran to the window, against my screaming parent's will, to check out the very real tornado.  A couple hours later, my younger sister and I started to go outside and collect hailstones like Easter eggs, from the grass, putting them in our Playmate coolers to later store them in the freezer.  Of course, finding no practical usage for them, we threw them back out on the ground after a week.

In hindsight, I should have kept them, went up the big tree in the yard and threw them at cars that passed by our house.  Oh well.

Even though it's fascinating to watch hail, quarter-sized or larger, come down for some people and even me, when I'm in the mood, I am more concerned about my vehicles.  I was hoping it wouldn't damage my truck this time.  Not only is that truck a "deer magnet", but I was thinking that the hailstones might dent the body or crack the glass.

Other than this stuff going on, including a non working AC unit in 87 degree weather and other smaller problems, things seem to be getting better for me.

That's all I got for now.  Have a great weekend!  I'm sure I'll stop by your blog, soon, to offer you a cordial comment full that's sure to be chock full of whimsy and wit.  Beats being chock full of shit, any day of the week, right?  Later!   

Good Food on 420 Day or Any Other Day

The following is a fictional tale of intrigue and wisdom and stuff.

The three guys were sitting around the living room and enjoying their bowls of stew.  They had just finished smoking a couple joints only an hour ago and they were hungrily gobbling down the contents of their bowls.

Dave managed to stop eating for a moment and said, "What am I eating?  It's fucking delicious!"

Kyle, the dude who cooked the stew, said, without missing a beat, "It's unborn fetuses in a health-minded chunky soup.  The meatier bits were gingerly sauteed and I mashed the undeveloped eyeballs into a paste before adding the hearty broth that I shit from my ass this morning."

Dave nodded his head, understanding.  Then he added, "Well, it tastes great .  Hope you didn't go to too much trouble."

Dig in!

Kyle remarked, "Not at all, my good friends."

Then Kyle, Dave and Rick laughed, simultaneously, knowing that what was said simply wasn't true.  You know, the part about the fetuses, eyeballs and excrement juices.  But Kyle did cook the concoction.

It was actually Kyle's Slow N' Easy Deer Chili that they were eating.  A special recipe he had thought up the night before.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Here, let me give you the recipe.  You can copy it if you like.  But if you don't, I will gut you and use your intestines as a jump rope.  Ha ha.  I'm just kidding.  Look... See the smiley face?  :) People add these to the end of comments to let you know they're joking or that they're trying really hard to be cute or funny or sincere.  I have to add them all the time... on Fartbook, Twitter, sticky notes and sometimes this blog or wherever- because if I don't, some good, yet not particularly intelligent folks might get the wrong idea.  :)

Wouldn't want that to happen.  :)

In any case, if you don't want to eat the meat of Bambi, you can substitute ground beef, ground sausage, ground turkey or semi-fresh finely chopped unborn fetuses.  Also: You will need a Crock Pot or slow cooker.  Don't try making this with the hollowed out skull of a long dead hobo.  The ingredients simply will not fit and will not be cooked properly.

First, the ingredients to this simple, delicious recipe:


2lbs. ground venison
1 1/2  30 oz. cans of tomato puree
A big jar (roughly 24-28 ounces) of medium to hot spicy salsa
A bag of frozen chopped peppers and onions (or, if you're fancy, find the peppers and onions your own damn self and chop them up- fresh)
Add a 15 oz. can or 30 oz. can of chili or kidney beans (optional- depends on how much you want to fart later)
and a 1lb box of elbow macaroni or whatever pasta you want
Add about five to six tablespoons of chili powder 

The basic ingredients

Cook or boil what needs to be cooked or boiled (I hope I'm not making this too complicated for ya) and put it all in a Crock Pot or slow cooker.  Pour water into the mix til it almost reaches the rim.  Leave about a one inch space.  You don't want it to bubble over and make a mess.  I won't help you clean it up.  I'll be busy.  You don't want to know.  :)

Look closely, on the right and you'll see the Pillsbury Doughboy getting his wife, Poppie Fresh, brutally hard, up the ass.  His unique penis has the form and bend-ability of a long white elephant trunk.  But don't let their crazy, lustful actions shake and knock over your kitchen items!  Sometimes, I'll watch them for hours, go at it.   Envy is thy shame!

Lastly, stir it all up with a big fuckin' spoon or your big hairy arm.  Set the cooker on low for 6 to 8 hours. Put the glass cover over the slow cooker or Crock Pot.  Don't forget to take your spoon or arm out!  If you wish, after it's done, mix in a couple tablespoons of pepper sauce.


During your waiting time, be sure to catch up on some important projects you've been putting off.  Masturbate furiously to monkey porn.


And wallah... after it's done, eat up.

MMMMmmmmm.  It really is good.  And hearty.

Have a great day and night, everyone!