Adventures While Camping at The Gorge (Part One)

During the last week of September, I took off with my friend, Steve and went to Red River Gorge, which is located in east-central Kentucky in the Daniel Boone National Forest. We spent a week, there, thoroughly enjoying the quiet and serenity.

There are more than 100 natural sandstone arches and bridges in this canyon system full of waterfalls and rock cliffs. The beautiful wild flowers, mountains and valleys and unique plants only to this area can take your breath away and fill you with a force that is powerful and peaceful.

Many come to this place for the ultimate in relaxation therapy which entails nothing more than walking about the land, hiking the multitude of easy and challenging trails while taking in the inspiring sights of a full blue sky, a strong river and an endless sea of flora.

Our first day there wasn't awful. It was inconvenient. It rained before we got there and four more hours after we arrived.

Luckily, an insane man happened our way, at Koomer Ridge Campground, that sits inside The Gorge area. We were looking for a spot to pitch our tents. The dude had a scraggly beard on his narrow, well worn, leathery face and he more than slightly reminded me of Charles Manson.

The guy drove a small white truck that appeared as though somebody cruelly chopped it's ass off with a skyscraper-sized butcher knife. Hard thing to describe- this truck. A definite fail on the design. I took a picture of it at one point during the trip. Here ya go-

See that poor white thing in the middle of the picture with it's ass cut off? Yeah, that's it. It's not me I was talking about. Although some have said I am lacking in the ass department while there are others that just rave about my beautiful ass. Must be the curly auburn hair and two little dimples that are scattered about the landscape of my bottom. Oops. Just farted. Oh, and the delicate aromas wafting outwards, so I've heard, have been voted for the People's Choice Award.

No applause, please.

The guy pulled up alongside our brown pickup truck and made it look like we were riding in Mechagodzilla, our first day there.

Fortunately, their chaperon didn't interfere.

While the rain poured and "Charles Manson" spoke, we couldn't help but notice there were six tall white buckets, in the back of his "truck" that had flames rising up around 6 inches from the top of the buckets. On closer inspection, looking down and to the right, we saw that he was carrying burning wood in those buckets that were only inches away behind his seat.

We said to him, breaking into his rambling, almost in unison, "Did you know you're on fire?"

He nodded, casually and then said, "Oh yeahhhh, that's just the firewood I picked up and put in my arms in a bundle from a few camp sites down the road here. Then I put 'em into the buckets."

We were still looking at him in confusion for 3 reasons. One, it's pouring down rain like a mothertrucker and the wood is going to be thoroughly soaked, extinguishing the flames in a short period of time. Two, YOU PICKED UP FLAME-ENGULFED LOGS? And three, why would you put them in plastic buckets in the very near vicinity of the back of your small freakish truck? Ah, I can't forget the fourth one... Wouldn't it have been less difficult to completely put out the firewood before grabbing onto it?

As if in response to our confusion, he told us he was the campground host. I knew what that meant but it didn't really explain things. His job, as campground host, is to look after and clean up the campground facilities and answer questions people might have about the overlooks and scenic points at Red River Gorge and assist us in any directions and rules, pertaining to the Koomer Ridge campground.

We chuckled nervously and let the thing about the fire pass. It was his business whether he carried fire in plastic buckets in the back of his short shitty truck. I just wanted to move along, in case there was an explosion. We asked him where was the best double occupancy campsite that would enable both of us to put our tents on. The grizzled host told us what we wanted to know and we rushed away and not until we were far enough down the road, did we laugh at his expense. The guy actually seemed friendly enough and not once did he sneak into our camp site and cut off my head. So for that, I say he's A-Okay and a cracker jack of a gentleman.

Yes, indeed.

We went to the Hemlock Lodge, later, relaxing and drinking coffee, looking out the large glass windows as the rain continued pouring. We couldn't set up camp yet. It was both soothing and invigorating as we sat there at the lodge, hearing the drops hit the roof, crawl down the glass. We saw the lake below, the tall oaks and maples. Pure nirvana.

The pounding rain eventually dwindled into a drizzle and then a sprinkle. We headed off to our camp site and by the time we got there, the rain had stopped and we were able to set up camp. And we had a lot of stuff to unpack, too. Gas stove, utensils, flashlights, our meds, my insulin, backpacks, suitcases full of clothes, boxes of food, chairs, adult beverages (which aren't allowed) and who knows what.

Really. I can't tell you what else we had because I was inebriated or something about half the time we were down there. Nature, adult beverages, good talks and great walks throughout our time at The Gorge all swirled together like a fantastical realm of perfect balance and color-infused harmony.

Yeah, baby. Can ya dig it?

Here's our camp site, above and a few other charming pictures, below, taken during our adventures. Yes, that is me, pinching my frozen nips one morning. Oh, what a glorious time I had. :) I know you want to insert your own sick jokes here. And by sick jokes, I mean your dicks.

You sick freaks!

Just kidding, lady bloggers out there. I know you aren't hermaphrodites. Well, I guess not. Just going by the times I window-peeped on ya.

If you want to see more pics of my camping trip at Red River Gorge, I've got a photo album on Facebook that has 216 photos in it. If you have friended me, already, feel free to look at them. Quite a few are wallpaper worthy. If you haven't friended me, or don't do the Farcebook thing, well, what are you waiting for? I mean... Good Golly and Holy Buh-Jeezus! As long as I feel I can trust you somewhat to not rape, rob and sodomize me with a tractor mower, I will accept your friend invitation. I'm easy.

Stay tuned for Part Two of my Adventures While Camping at The Gorge, coming up tomorrow.

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.

I See That You Have a Horn Growing Out Of Your Head

I've often wondered how it would be to visit any bloggers who I've had the pleasure of interacting with for awhile now. Though it sounds like a quaint idea, this could be a dangerous action to take with serious consequences in the end. I mean- What if you surprise me by throwing me a party? Or a parade, in my honor, even? Or drug me and take advantage of me in my slumber? Gosh, my humble and modest self wouldn't know what to do except blush and act all embarrassed and stuff.

And let me tell you, when I start feeling a little disconcerted, I tend to break a mighty wind and juggle my brightly colored balls. Yes, I carry them with me in my Suitcase O' Fun. I just so happened to buy these balls off of a circus accessories type website one day. What? You didn't think I was talking about my own cojones, did ya? Nah! The only time my jolly, friendly trouser bells are brightly colored is when I paint rainbows on them. Makes me feel all peppy, festive and stuff.

So... when should I come over?

And then there's always the chance I'd come over and I would get the surprise of my life by finding out that you have a horn growing out of your head. Talk about your awkward moments. I wouldn't be able to look away, either. I mean- you might have a unicorn horn growing out of your forehead or have a kooky looking horn like this woman down below.

You could be eating a baby's leg, too, while I'm standing there, attempting to make conversation. Then what am I supposed to do? Tear the other one off and gnaw on it so you don't feel awkward eating alone, in front of me?

You could be a religious psychopath, too, pushing your beliefs in the powers of the Almighty Bullwinkle on me.

Or you could pretend to be normal for awhile and we're sitting there, all cozy and shit, in your living room and you suddenly jump out of your refried bean bag chair and shout, "Holy Toledo! I forgot to introduce my cross eyed, drooling retarded cousin, Alfonso, to ya." At that moment, Alfonso peeks around the corner at me, widens his retarded eye at me and stumbles into the living room with a bloody meat cleaver in one hand and his festering pecker in the other.

Running out the door without so much as a goodbye may be an act of rudeness to you, the generous host, but I would likely be inclined to do it. After all, I don't wish to take the chance that Alfonso gets too close for comfort and allows his pus-oozing pecker to drip into the cup of freshly brewed coffee you made just for me.

I'm all about good manners, you know, but you have to draw the line somewhere in the landscape of picturesque penile disorders.

Seriously, who's to assume exactly what to expect when visiting a fellow blogger. Still, since I'm curious about such things and I wonder if they're just as funny, interesting (in a good way) or intelligent as they portray themselves in their blogs, I would take my chances and do it. If there should be some awkward silence between us, at any point during my stay, I could handle it. There's no need to have our mouths yapping about, in a constant state of vocalization. In fact, that kind of thing can be just as bothersome to me as the quiet times.

And if you're somewhat crazy, in a non lethal way, I would likely get along better with you. I find people who are slightly touched in the head to be interesting and humorous. People who are too humdrum or try too hard to act "normal" cause me to become frustrated around them. Unlike the slightly unusual folks, they don't interest me and, in fact, kinda annoy the shit of me because they're boring me. I'm never sure if it's on purpose or just because they severely lack in the personality department.

I've actually left people standing at parties or other public places while they're still jabbering away about the most mundane of topics. You can look at this gesture as being rude but I look at it as being rude that they're taking up my time by talking about something that any ol' flesh and blood, conformist droid could and will talk about. Those that engage in that type of conversation should consider themselves just peachy-keen lucky if I come up with an oh-so-incredible excuse for leaving you with your jaw dropped in mid-sentence, too. I might offer an "I have to leave now to take a shit" or something smooth like "Your face gives me a stomach ulcer from hell."

Signs that I may be bored with those things you call words that won't stop popping, incessantly, out of your mouth would be:

Fidgeting from foot to foot

Falling asleep

Watching the clouds in the sky

Choking the living shit out of you

But, chances are, that since we are either interacting with each other between our blogs, exchanging fascinating messages on Facebook, twittering our twitters or trading emails, I will most likely enjoy your company in person and you'll be able to keep my utmost attention. Gosh, good news for you, huh? I can feel the radiant, heart-warming glow of your excitement from all the way over here. Oh, that's just a belch you just burped from all that rancid unicorn meat you've been eating. Ah, well. Sometimes we get mixed signals from one another.

So, like I said before... when should I come over? Heh heh.

Before, During and After Christmas

Mmm. Well... At least the ice age has taken a reprieve for the next couple of days. The temperature has finally reached above freezing temperatures. First time for that in almost a month. Right now we're sitting at a nice, balmy 43 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius). The ongoing monsoon we're experiencing, currently, here in the Midwestern U.S., is washing away the eight or so inches of ice and snow we got around the beginning of December. And this is the end of December. Ridiculous.

And yeah, I know people have it worse somewhere else... like in New York, for instance. It just seems like it's taken a goddamn eternity for the white shit to thaw out and for me to be able to walk five feet anywhere I go without risking slippage and neck breakage. With the advent of this current thaw out we're experiencing, I'll be treated to the sight of morons wearing shorts in these chilly, yet not sub-freezing temps. I've already seen a couple idiots wearing nothing but shorts, shoes and imbecilic grins at Wally World. This type of carefree simpleton behavior happens every year when we have even the slightest thaw out during the winter months.

For those reasons and more is why I'm not in my usual delightful mood and why I haven't been doing the blogging thing, lately. I've been too angry, depressed and seething with madness to do much on the computer except check out a few porn sites, humor sites and The Huffington Post website. It's a good thing my wife won't allow me to buy a gun, I suppose. God knows how many bodies would be lying around. Happy Holidays, everyone! And don't forget to go fuck yourselves silly! But not you, my cherished reader, not you. :)

Ah... As you can see I'm purging myself of the nasty negative thoughts in my head by sharing them with you. Isn't that nice of me? It's nice to share, they say.

Surprisingly, there was no carnage or destruction at my wife's Christmas family dinner this year. No mirrors or ceramic keepsakes were broken into a million pieces like last year. And the cat remained safe this year, unlike last year, where it was constantly being chased and whipped by a cat toy by my 3 little nieces. The reason for this is because (A) The cat ran and wisely hid under the bed when it heard my nieces menacing giggling when they entered the place and (B) Half of the time, while here, they were playing around with their little electronic gadgets or watching an insipid Nickelodeon TV show. The sound and sights of children shows drove me nuts time to time but at least everything, including the cat, remained intact.

The only bad moment happened while I was whispering to my sister about the eldest niece's boyfriend. My oldest niece is 17. Her boyfriend is 18 and weighs close to 500 pounds. I was explaining to my sister that the boyfriend has broken all the chairs, a heavy duty recliner and a coffee table with his hefty, morbidly obese ass by sitting in and on them, of course. He destroyed these fairly expensive pieces of furniture at my sister-in-law's and mother-in-law's places and nothing was said to the behemoth, as a result. I don't get that part, especially. I would have told the guy to pay for the damages, lose weight (at least for his own health) or something.

A week ago, I told my sister-in-law that the boyfriend wasn't allowed up to my place for the Christmas dinner because I was afraid he would actually go through my upstairs floor apartment and possibly land on and kill the tenants below. It sounds funny, but in his case, I think it could happen. Beside, I don't have anything he could sit on and take his weight without being crushed to molecules.

This same guy has had his picture in the local paper for entering and winning these all-you-can-gorge-on contests. One contest was for how many Twinkies you can stuff in your big fat face and the other was for pigging out on corn dogs or something like that. In other words, he not only engages in gluttony, he flaunts it, is proud of it and celebrates it by entering in these disgusting competitions.

When my mother-in-law overheard me talking to my sister, Christmas Day, about this dude, she got bent out of shape about it and started defending him. She told me how he had promised to marry my niece after he went through culinary art school and how nice he was and how he made her cry by saying all this wonderful stuff about her granddaughter and so on. With the rate he's going, I don't think he's going to live long enough to accomplish any of his goals.

I have asked my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law if anyone has ever warned him that being morbidly obese like that was a danger to his health. Both said, "No." They said that as far as they knew, not even the boy's parents have tried to talk to him about it or curb his weight with correctly portioned meals.

I said, "That makes me sick to hear that and I don't really have anything to do with him."

In fact, the boy's parents actually encourage their kid to go to my sister-in-law's place to eat all of her food when it's dinner time. And eat, he does. Everything. In. Sight. And nothing is ever said to him about that, either. Disgusting and amazing. I would have already knocked his ass out with a baseball bat, or at the very least, tell him to go graze in the back yard for nourishment. My tolerance for repetitious ignorant behavior is little to none. It's a good thing I don't have children.

Strangely enough, I've been told this enormous 18 year old kid's health is okay. For now, I'm guessing . Of course, it will be just a matter of time before he will eventually have problems with any or all of the following: Diabetes. Coronary Heart Disease. High Blood Pressure. Stroke.

To name just a few.

While I'm on the subject of diabetes and other health problems associated with that disease, another curious type of behavior has come to my attention. I know of two family members and a friend who have severe diabetes and a few of the other health conditions I mentioned and none of them seem to give a shit about it. They eat and drink whatever they want, no matter how much sugar and fat it contains. INSANITY.

Look everyone, FREE DIABETES! Come and get it!

If people want to kill themselves by ingesting whatever they want while having diabetes, they're going about it in the slowest, most torturous way possible- aside from disemboweling yourself with a small fork.

The truth is: Diabetes is synonymous with a gradual, often painful degradation of the body's parts and internal organs and ultimately- death will fuck you in the ass, as a result- with no lubricant. When you have diabetes, like I happen to have, just giving a "fuck it" attitude towards it and consuming what you want, guarantees all manner of horrible things to come your way. Like being hooked up to a kidney dialysis machine, for instance (no more caffeine for you, fucker). Or how about the lack of good blood circulation which will cause you to lose your feet and your sight. Does that sound like a good time? And healing from a wound or overcoming sickness, no matter how minor? Forget about it, baby!

Here's a funny story... As I was plunging an insulin needle into my belly a couple days ago, a friend knocked on the door. Since I knew who it was, I told him to come in. He came inside the apartment and was jabbering away about letting himself in until he noticed me slowly inserting a needle into my belly.

As I was cringing and curling my toes in discomfort, he asks, "Does that hurt?"

I didn't reply at first because (A) That's a stupid question and (B) I'm kind of busy at the moment and (C) If I don't focus on where I'm puncturing, I could bend the needle in my belly and tear open my flesh. I've done that last one a couple times, due to my wife causing me stress with inane jabber or the time when I was on the cruise ship and it lurched to the right while the needle slit my belly open. Good times!

Anyhow, my wife comes home from work and gives my friend a Christmas gift that I'm thinking he will likely take a pass on because he suffers from diabetes and has to take a couple pills for, as a result (no insulin yet, but he's working on it, I think). The gift he opens is a nearly two pound bag of gourmet chocolate caramel covered popcorn that has about a trillion (or so) grams of sugar in every piece. My wife thought he would like it because he likes sweets. I was just going to him a gift certificate at Lowe's or something but she thought of this, instead. Eh, okay.

Anyway, he opens the bag and instantly starts to gobble down the the contents of the bag with reckless abandon, diabetes be damned. I laughed, as i always do when I see someone doing something bizarre and I asked, "What about your diabetes?"

He said, almost incoherently, while munching and crunching, "My last blood sugar test result at the doctor's office turned out okay."

For now, I thought. He's very lucky in the way that he eats and doesn't exercise that his blood sugar counts haven't skyrocketed. I, on the other hand, watch what I eat and exercise and I'm forced to take insulin and pills for my diabetes. Go figure. Am I somewhat jealous? You bet. I'm not perfect by any means.

The last couple of weeks, I've been severely depressed because of mom not being here for the fifth Christmas in a row. She died in August of 2005 and I was closer to her than any other member of the family. The inner family fracturing, squabbling and accusing my father of killing my mother by my grandmother just adds heaping helpings of stress to my usual decaying mental health at this time of year. To counteract this, I would go out and take pictures of Christmas scenery in the town surrounding me. Only when I'm not around the usual negative people (family and friends) and outside, do I receive anything remotely describing peace. Sad, isn't it?

You can see these holiday pictures at my other website, Pics For Kicks. Going out and taking these pics is very therapeutic. And taking the holiday shots reminds me of the times, every Christmas, when my sister, dad, mom and I would go out, drive around at night and look at all the decorated holiday scenery in all of the neighboring towns.

To top off the near ending of the holidays, my dad slipped, fell and cracked his head wide open on the corner of a wall the day after Christmas. He's okay now but it scared the shit out of my sister and I. He fell at the assisted living place he's living in, due to taking his diabetes medicine but not eating any food with his medication. That will drop the ol' blood sugar to the basement. When I came to the emergency room, he was lying in the hospital bed, talking calmly to me, like nothing happened.

He looked fine but then...

As I sat down in a chair, he asked how he looked to me. All I could see at the moment was a tiny paper cut on his forehead. I said, " You look alright to me. Just a small cut above your nose."

I wondered silently why he had been rushed to the hospital.

But then...

I saw blood spreading on the pillow behind his head. I got up, walked over behind his bed and saw the four inch gaping gash in his scalp on the back of his head and almost fainted. Just then a nurse walked in and put a fresh bandage on his head. Five or so minutes pass and a doctor walks into the room, takes a stapler and staples the gash together with 8 staples.

Ca-Chunk... Ca- Chunk... and so on. He ended up staying overnight because his blood sugar was so low it wasn't even registering on the meter.

I remember the sound of staples going into flesh quite well since I had the same thing done to me when I was 21. Right after my double hernia surgery. I sat in a slightly leaned back chair as Dr. Frable Ca-Chunked Ca-Chunked twenty one staples between my belly and just above my crotch. He gave no warning he was about to do this. All he said beforehand was that he was going to check how the two wide incisions appeared. And then the surprise! Whoopee!

Good times.

Trying to fuck without literally busting a gut was quite the trick back then but I somehow did it. Back then I didn't have diabetes but I did have raging, horny hormones that made me do stupid things like trying to fuck not long after surgery.

Anyway, dad is back at the assisted living place. They're keeping an eye on him and making sure he doesn't go out and drive while healing. He's under strict doctor's orders. I'm sure today or any of the upcoming days he will be screaming and throwing the usual verbal insults at my sister and I, thinking we had something to do with this. Business, as usual.

Yep. Happy fuckin' holidays, everyone. I'm sure the new year will be just as delightful (sarcasm intended) as 2010, minus the honestly pleasurable reprieve of the week long Caribbean cruise we went on this past summer and the times I wasn't around family. During those times, I had nothing but peace.

Below, you'll find a humorous, truthful Christmas message from Bill Maher. After watching it, remember that Oprah Winfrey will or already has debuted her private network, OWN. Which, of course, stands for the Oprah Winfrey Network.

A Christmas Message from Bill Maher - watch more funny videos

Conditioning Techniques and Widespread Insanity

The first time you put your finger in a quickly rotating metal fan blade will probably also be your last. When you see the blood spurting forth from your digit like a geyser, you will have hopefully learned a lesson. And you will come away with not only a dismembered finger, but an association of the spinning metal fan blade with pain and the loss of something valuable. Like your goddamn finger!

In our everyday world, such learned associations or conditioned responses are realized in countless ways: A driver will brake at a red light in order to avoid injury or a ticket. Somebody eating shrimp and afterwards feel their throat closing up to an allergic reaction to shellfish will likely not eat it again and avoid it, entirely. A friend that steals from you will teach you not to trust that person again. And so on. These types of conditioned responses can only benefit you in the future.

These are normal, natural responses that prove useful in your life. Positive stimuli for your benefit.

And then there are the ones that aren't useful, beneficial, normal or natural. Such as: Phobias, superstitions, blindly following instead of thinking for fear of ridicule or punishment, addictions to drinking, gambling, money or anything self destructive for hollow, temporary contentedness.

People, I've always found, are an odd bunch. Even as a kid, I was an observer of society. The older I become, the more I see the flaws that get in the way of human progress. Often times, I wonder if we are devolving.

From youth to adult, we are conditioned by the commercials we see on TV or rhetoric we read from print or computer to act or feel a certain way. We're duped by ads, politicians, supervisors, friends, family and more. Conditioning techniques come in the forms of rewards and punishments. Do and act correctly, according to society as a whole and you may receive an award. If you refrain from doing what is expected or required- punishment may be inflicted in verbal or physical form.

There are only a few things that people are capable of that I can think of that are clearly acts that require punishment. Murder of an innocent human is one. Rape is another. Stealing, yet another. Telling someone a lie, in order that they do your bidding, is a good example, too. I'm sure there are more but I could be typing all night long. And that's not going to happen.

What frustrates me is the fact that people are not aware of these techniques that are used to ingrain these negative notions inside their minds. At least, that's the evidence that seems to be flaunted by most everyone. All they know is what they're told.

Religions, companies and governments are grand manipulators. Weapons they use that dig into your mind for their benefit the most? Words that instill fear so you do their bidding. Think about that, unless you haven't already.

It seems as years go by, while casually observing the public, friends, family and myself, of course, the will to think for oneself in this society has become disrupted and even corrupted. Has it always been this way with the human species? To think or act this way or else?

To be made a slave by any organized mass is the truest shame one can take on. When I see everyone in our society thinking and acting as expected or planned, it causes me to believe that we are not unwilling victims of widespread insanity but that we actually invite it, welcome it and wrap it around ourselves as if it were a warm, comfortable security blanket.

Caribbean Adventure: Stage Shows, A Belly Flop Contest and Coming Home

This is the last post about our Caribbean Cruise Adventure. Hope you liked the series.

In the middle of the week of our cruise, I came down with a fucking sinus infection from hell. My chest was congested with gallons of snot, I was running a fever and my throat was sore to the point of bleeding. Still, I carried on. I pushed through my physical woes and told my body to basically go fuck itself and that I was going to push forward, full snot ahead. I wasn't going to let a little thing like being sick as a dog get in the way of our good times.

One thing I did to take my mind off the mucous hacking, forehead splitting headaches and sweating like a crippled obese guy, covered in honey and surrounded by a village of starving Ethiopians, was to pop copious amounts of acetaminophen tablets and Valium into my gullet.

One night we went to a show on the boat that featured a comedian and an aerial acrobatic act. I had taken a Valium before going to the theater, which was bigger than I thought it would be. We take a seat in the very front row, an hour early.

After the hour passes, the curtains part and right away, a guy in tights is running wildly towards this bungee cord/rope thing hanging down from the ceiling and grabs the motherfucker like he just caught a crazed dragon by the tail. Meanwhile, there is his female partner, with a ton of eye make up and she's doing about a dozen flips, backwards, from one end of the stage to the other. The dude hanging on the cord is shouting something in a foreign language about this time and with the Valium pushing me into another dimension of reality, I'm not sure what to make of it. I thought I was hallucinating all of it.

With the sheer force of his run and his ability to shift his body just right, the acrobat takes the cord and rides it, flying around the entire interior circumference of the theater. Around he goes, feet going up, head going down. Now he's holding on with just his ankles. When he gets back to the stage he flips and lands back on his feet. This guy is a freaking monkey!

Before I can take a fuckin' breath, the dude runs quickly to the back of the stage and then runs even more quickly towards the bungee cord up in front. All eyes were on this crazy bastard. He clutches onto the cord and with only a shot glass worth of space to spare, he takes flight and barely misses the top of my wife's head and in that split second of witnessing him doing that, I'm thinking (A) If his foot hits the top of her head, he's going to goddamn scalp my wife and I'll never hear the end of it and (B) Wow! This is cool!

But I don't know which came first. With the Valium, who knows?

An hour of this entertaining show went by and the comedian that took the stage after the aerial act was funny but not as much as he thought he was and, in fairness, he did have a mind blowing act to follow.

During one of our days on the ship, we went to the pool deck and promptly learned it was a good idea to have sandals on your feet or you would suffer the blistering torment of the scalding hot cement floor around the pool area and the flesh-bubbling hot deck floor with the lounge chairs above the pools. I think I lost a pound of foot flesh during one of those days I forgot to wear shoes of some sort.

Anyway, on one of those days, they held a Belly Flop Contest. You could win either 1st, 2nd or 3rd prize based on how big a splash you could make with your portly flab pot of ugliness. You were also judged by the audience (the standing crowd) by the great technique you showed when leaping and slamming your bulging balloon of whale belly into the water.

Only six guys volunteered, even though the top prize was a thousand dollars. Not a bad reward, I thought, for thoroughly embarrassing yourself in front of a sizable crowd and having a huge red painful splotch on your belly from the hardcore impact of your overflowing gut meeting H2o.

It was all fun and games as one by one took their turns, making their crowd-pleasing splashes (not drowning anyone by the ensuing tidal waves) until one hairy old dude in a pair of loose swim trunks had his fifteen minutes of fame. He launched himself with all the dignity of coked up walrus and created a tremendous belly flop in the water. Everyone applauded.

There's always one bad apple in the bunch, as they say, and in this case, two very large fat white buns and butt crack was in this bunch and were exposed as the old fat dude grabbed the ladder and pulled himself up. Unfortunately, his ill-fitted trunks did not come up with him and everyone was treated to a sight that likely made everyone want to skip their next meal at the buffet that night.

I think I heard the cries of children and maybe a few of the unborn.

Now this pic isn't of the dude who had the wardrobe malfunction during the belly flop contest but it sure looks like him. This wasn't even taken on our ship. I just needed this for my post. This guy looks like he's been stuck on a cruise ship for about a month, however. All you do is eat and eat till your stomach bloats while you're on the boat.

The host, the cruise director of our ship, made a joke about his crack and proceeded, after milking some laughs, to move on to the next contestant. The old fat dude ended up winning the bronze and received a Royal Caribbean hat and a lifetime of future therapy as his 3rd place award. Hurrah!

It's too bad we couldn't throw darts at him.

The last day on our ship was a lot of limb-breaking, mind-numbing fun as we woke up exhausted and struggled with our cumbersome luggage at five in the morning, going down decks and walking from checkpoint to checkpoint. With documents, customs forms and passports in hand, along with carrying heavy luggage, we somehow managed to get from security checkpoint to security checkpoint, then shuttle bus to airport -without any problem.

That is until we reached Orlando International Airport. It was at the airport security checkpoint that we had our biggest problem. When we tried to get our carry on bag through the x-ray scanner, while emptying our pockets into a plastic tray, the alarm went off and a security person took us off to the side. I was hoping she wasn't going to do a cavity search on me because she looked like she was "on the rag" and her pussy cramps were pissing her off, plenty.

She took our "suspicious" bag and rummaged through it. Meanwhile, both of us voiced our surprise at the sudden situation. The security woman said she was looking for a container that made the scanner go off for whatever reason. I asked her if it was a can of shaving cream or the little bottle of rubbing alcohol. I pulled the lighter out of my pocket, at one point and asked, "Could this have set it off?'

She said, "No." None of the above.

I thought, briefly, how much fun I could have by asking her it was the bomb in my underwear that was setting the alarm off. Then I realized how severe lack of sleep could alter your judgement on what was stupid and what wasn't.

Finally, after digging out numerous breakable souvenirs and an entire rumpled suit ensemble, she found the dangerous culprit. It wasn't a lighter, an aerosol spray can or flammable rubbing alcohol that had to be disposed of... It was suntan lotion. She said I couldn't take it on board the plane. I said that's okay and to just throw it away. The lighter and the other things were okay but not suntan lotion. I don't get it.

I was already nervous about showing all the right papers at the right points and getting home alright without complications so getting rid of a fucking bottle of suntan lotion meant nothing to me in light of my goal.

In closing, we were picked up by my wife's parents at the CVG Airport and eventually made it home after several stops. After dragging our souvenir booty and hernia-inducing luggage up our apartment steps, we both collapsed on the bed, face first. My cat immediately jumped up, pranced between us and lay on my back. I didn't have the energy to shake him off.

Looking back, we had a lot of wonderful, exciting experiences which will stay in our minds for the rests of our lives. I wouldn't trade any of them for hardly anything. I'm sure I've left some things out but I feel like I've mentioned all of the main events that happened. If I didn't write everything that happened with words, I think I covered it with the pictures that were taken.

Speaking of pictures, here are some miscellaneous photos that were taken on the ship, ocean or the islands we traveled to and from.

Cozumel, Mexico

Orlando International Airport trams and terminals

This Caribbean adventure we took was just the kind of relaxing, learning and fantastic event we needed in our lives. I'm glad we did it and we will always treasure the memories this trip provided us.

Links to all the posts (except this one), from beginning to the end, in this series:

Back From My Caribbean Adventure

First Day Nearly Killed Me

Enjoying The Beach in The Bahamas

Grand Cayman Islands

The Top Deck Action

Inside My Pirate Ship... Argh!

Swimming With The Dolphins in Cozumel, Mexico

I've got a buttload of more photos of our trip on Facebook, if you're hankering to see more. My next post will be about sex and chocolate pudding. Ahoy!

End of The World Delight

Hey gang, let your old pal, Uncle Kelly, tell ya the tale of a lil' planet of long ago. It was called, oddly enough, Idiotica, and it was outrageously overpopulated with a bunch of wacky two legged creatures. They were called DumbAsses.

Now they say the DumbAsses on planet Idiotica started out as crazy turd-throwin' monkeys. But I don't know about that. I have my own theory that seems a bit more sensible. I think a bunch of messed up, drug lovin' aliens got bored one week and dropped by perfect Idiotica for a bit of experimental hooha. Since the aliens didn't poke each other in the porkholes anymore and they were gettin' tired of lookin' at all of the mountains, oceans and trees- I think they decided to break up the monotony of living on Idiotica with an act that would change everything on the planet. Yes sir, the aliens decided to make a new species of being with their advanced technology. Thus, the DumbAsses were emanated. The aliens, seeing what they created, were so embarrassed, they took off like a flea and didn't come back for a real long time.

So after the aliens left the DumbAsses to make decisions for themselves, the Early DumbAsses right away began playing "Take Mr. Stinky and Push Him Into The Taco of Love." When they weren't doing that, they would hunt down vermin, eat til their bellies bloat and hit each other with sticks.

Oddly enough, a lot of the inhabitants of Idiotica delighted in their worship of inanimate objects. The theory being- If ya sing your praises to a rock, the rock will give your people a head of lettuce and other stuff. Here's a sample of a couple of their prayers:

Oh statue of a god I just made up

Please tell me what I should do.

Should I take my first born

And drown him in the river

Or allow him to grow up to be a fine DumbAss like me?

Another one...

Oh big ol' shiny ball in the sky

You are so great

And look so good up there

Could you make it so we have enough beans for the winter

I love you

Later, the folks of Idiotica moved on to praying to deities they couldn't see. A lot of times, they would fight over their deities and beliefs and cause plentiful bloodshed for anyone who didn't believe what they believed. They even had festive events called Inquisitions where they would pick a disbeliever out from the crowd and slowly torture them to an agonizing death. Ha ho! They sure knew how to have a jolly ol' time!

It's been on record in the history books that one of the knights, during a holy war, had this to say, as he plunged his sword into the chest of an unarmed DumbAss, "Come-come, my good man. Cannot you see the practicality of believing in the glory of my god?" The unarmed DumbAss had this to say, "Ahhhh!" Then he died.

During the Industrial Age, The DumbAsses made something that would change their world for years to come. It was called pollution and they used it to slowly poison themselves to death. Hurray!

Another wacky thing the DumbAsses liked ta do was cut down trees. They weren't happy, it seemed, until they cut down every last one. When all the rain forests were wiped out, they noticed (a bit too late) that good clean air and oxygen was a bit scarce.

A lot of crazy things they did to pollute and ravage the planet also changed the weather. It was called global warming. Whew! It's gettin' hot in here. Can you kids say s-l-o-w-d-e-a-t-h?

The main objective of living on Idiotica, of course, was to get more moola (money). And enough was never enough for the typical DumbAss. And the more ya had, the more other DumbAsses seemed to respect ya. Which is funny and truly pathetic when ya think about it. Ha ho! Those crazy DumbAsses loved and worshiped those lil' green pieces of paper more than any other god on Idiotica. In fact, the whole ecosystem of Idiotica was forsaken for the Almighty Dollar. Golly!

Every so often, the DumbAsses of Idiotica would elect a new president, king or puppet. One country of DumbAsses, in particular, prided itself on being free. Free ta do what? The only freedom these DumbAsses really had was the right to vote for a new ruler every so often. They didn't get to make the laws of their land. They didn't get ta decide how much money would be ripped out of their paychecks to support their government. And many times, the DumbAsses' government would control the DumbAsses by telling them lies and forcing them to watch ancient reruns of Gilligan's Island or worse yet, The Jerry Springer Show. Excuse me now- while I puke up a Toyota.

And good gollykins but those DumbAsses enjoyed a good war. It would always be about land, religion, fossil fuels or the color of skin. These DumbAsses would kill each other like there was no tomorrow. Crazy fun for one and all! They wouldn't be satisfied until they had annihilated almost everybody in a big ol' murderous frenzy.

Now a couple DumbAsses would try to rally people for the cause of peace.

Peace. Peace. Peace. That's all they would talk about. They, of course, were killed instantly. Where did they think they were? On another planet or something?

The world wars that would be engaged in later were over food, water and the basic necessities of life. Strangely enough, instead of pulling together so that their species had a chance of surviving, they continued to kill and kill and kill one another. Imagine that!

Finally, the aliens came back to check up on the DumbAsses, ready to introduce themselves proper and such. But when they arrived, they saw that the folks on Idiotica had enough nuclear warheads and other high powered weaponry to entirely destroy their planet 50 X 3 plus 2 and decided the DumbAsses were intent on killing themselves and weren't worth their time and trouble.

With the advent of the predicted Final World War, the seas and oceans boiled while the lands of Idiotica burned with the fires of nuclear devastation. Alas, there was to be no surviving for any DumbAss due to complete widespread fallout and radiation. And did I mention fire? Woohoo!

What started out as a perfectly beautiful, life sustaining planet was eventually turned into a perfectly destroyed ashen rock of lifelessness. The End.

Gosh, you sure didn't see that coming. Did you? Ha ha! Well, this is Uncle Kelly, bidding you a joyous farewell and sweet happy dreams. Aloha, adios and goodbye!

Strange What Is And Isn't Accepted

What I'll be ranting about today is from the point of view of someone living in the U.S. This post will be about the odd general beliefs of American culture, though many of these beliefs are shared by the rest of the world's populace. Enjoy. Think. Scratch your ass. Or all of the above.

ACCEPTED

Corporate greed and greed, in general is perfectly acceptable. When this society hears of corporate greed as in the case of Goldman Sachs, the mortgage bankers who routinely screw people out of money, giving exorbitant amounts of money to their CEO's, it makes the news for a couple days. Then the public yawns, when some form of corporate greed is exposed and says, "Well, what can you do?" and keeps working to pay their bills, raise their families and repeats the routine the next day. It's an old story. Pathetic and true. Any outrage may last a day at the most, if there is any.

We're encouraged, in the U.S., from an early age to adulthood that the accumulation of money and material things is the normal course to go in one's lifetime. Money is the end all-be all of existence, after all. And the void in your life must be filled with crap bought at the store, mall or online. Having enough currency to be secure and have a safe place to live in is simply not enough. Enough is never enough for us. We're fat? Yep. Have too many toys, trinkets and electronic gadgets? Sure. The rest of the world hates us? You bet. Do we turn a blind eye to what we are?

Well... Is the sun hot?

NOT ACCEPTED

I'm surprised that the English dictionary doesn't define a deviate as someone who believes life can be enjoyed by experiencing the simplest of things. You know. The sight of a flowing river or mountain. Love. Peace. A drive through the country. Creating something positive. Sharing something of yourself.

Eh, I guess someone like that would be called old fashioned, out of place. A real nonconformist! A real nonteam player! You better hang that illogically thinking head of yours in shame, freak! Your kind is not welcome and you shall be shunned!

ACCEPTED

War. What goes with greed better or is more associated with that cultural disease than acts of war? Well, I mean other than vast, pointless loss of life, whether it's military personnel or civilian. War is accepted, sometimes thought of as patriotic, even, and happily used to rob someone of their land and/or natural resources. Doesn't matter what innocent people are killed. Those civilians' deaths may make the news that day or not. Doesn't matter to the public. You can tell because we allow it to happen. That's called encouragement.

War is often celebrated- with the giving out of medals to people who kill other people, parades, banners or news of a battle triumph. Often, it will be explained away as perfectly acceptable using various excuses to justify it with the history-proven reliability tools of manipulation and propaganda.

NOT ACCEPTED

Talking. Listening. Understanding. Peace.

ACCEPTED

Celebrity or wannabe-celebrity worship. We can throw youth in the pot, as well. Our society and our media glorifies the rich, famous, young, thin or those trying desperately to be any of those things. That type of societal sickness has always been a great source of ridicule for me. Who's responsible? Media. Magazines. TV producers/networks. Ourselves, for buying into that shit.

Reality TV is as far removed from reality as you can get. It is all poorly scripted hogwash. The attention needy fucks on those low budget (to the networks advantage) shows are advised to act this way or that but they can't even convincingly do that. If I want to watch fiction, I'll watch a real TV show. Give me real actors and a believable storyline, for chrissakes! Or give me an interesting documentary! Anything but reality tv slop.

Youth is overrated, as well. Most movies star young actors these days. Older, more believable and interesting actors have been pushed to the sidelines. Most commercials are geared for the 18-24 demographic with the unnearned spending money mommy and daddy gave to them. My motto: Fuck 'em! That goes for those who cater to them, in any way, especially.

NOT ACCEPTED

Not paying attention to any of them. They have no more value than the rest of us.

ACCEPTED

The narrow-minded religious beliefs of organized religions. You could easily demonstrate that this, too, can be connected to greed and war through the uses and sources of books, newspapers, Internet, simple observation and common sense. Try it. It's fun. But I can't be held accountable if your brain starts to hurt from thinking differently. Just sayin'.

NOT ACCEPTED

Believing in things that most people scoff at. Examples: Ghosts, Extraterrestrials, some things that can't be seen with your eyes, ESP, an afterlife (not necessarily a Christian version) and other phenomenon I could go on about but won't. If I did, I'd never finish this post.

Remember folks: There's no such thing as a 100% guarantee on what is real and not real. That goes for anything. What was scientifically proven or disproved in the past can be squashed like a bug tomorrow.

Keep your mind open for anything. And feel free to dwell upon anything I said. And let me know if your head starts to hurt. I need a good laugh.