Sorry. Had to be said. After all, it’s Blasphemy Day International. (Wikipedia)
In fairness, I feel the same way about Christianity. About all religion, actually, but also about superstition, and even about the donkey-ball-sucking broadcasters who pour out all this recent ghost-hunter swill on TV.
If cigarettes damage your health, and now require warning labels, shouldn’t things that damage your ability to think have warning labels too? Continue reading “Mohammad Sucks Big Sweaty Donkey Balls”
And the payment isn’t just the money, it’s all the mind-stuff and mind-time you give to it.
In timeshare terms, the Lottery lives in your head in all that time you spend dreaming about what you’ll do with the money. The time you spend deciding which tickets to buy, and then buying them, scratching them, suffering the small disappointments, and the small seductive wins. Continue reading “Whoring Out Your Head – Part 4”
And it’s not just Subway, is it?
If you’re like a lot of us, you “sell” some of your mind-time to … lottery tickets. TV. Advertising jingles. Song lyrics. Politicians. Talking heads on Fox News. Preachers.
In each case, you let them into your head. And there’s a little bit less mind-stuff, mind-time, in which you can be you.
But again, just how serious is all this? Continue reading “Whoring Out Your Head – Part 3”
Now picture this: It’s not a timeshare cabin, but your own mind.
What more essential thing could there be to being you? Your mind is where you do everything that makes you you. Your mind IS you. It’s all of you there is. It’s the part that feels and thinks and learns.
In the timeshare theme, your mind is both the thinking you do, and the time in which you do it.
Imagine that you “sell” a small part of it. Continue reading “Whoring Out Your Head – Part 2”
I have never in my life bought a Lottery ticket. And I never will.
Oh, I’ve had a few of them given to me, so I have to say I’ve owned a couple. But every time I’ve given them to someone else rather than scratch them.
I also never use coupons or special deals when I shop. I never enter contests. And though I love to go to the nearby Saratoga Race Course to watch the thoroughbred horses run, I never place bets.
I also, as you probably know, don’t go to church. The reasons for that are numerous and varied, but ONE of the reasons is the same as coupon-and-lottery reason.
It all has to do with something I call “mental access time.” Continue reading “Whoring Out Your Head – Part 1”
This was just a weirdly cool weather map from today, Sept. 28.
Rain in almost every eastern state. Not all one storm pattern, but multiple storms scattered around like spilled popcorn.
Apparently this is a week or so old, but I missed it when it first came down the tubes.
Elizabeth Warren, candidate for one of Massachusetts’ U.S. Senate seats, the one currently held by Scott Brown, recently said something fantastic:
I hear all this, oh this is class warfare — No! There is nobody in this country who got rich on his own. Nobody. You built a factory out there — good for you. But I want to be clear. You moved your goods to market on the roads the rest of us paid for. You hired workers the rest of us paid to educate. You were safe in your factory because of police forces and fire forces that the rest of us paid for. You didn’t have to worry that maurauding bands would come and seize everything at your factory… Now look. You built a factory and it turned into something terrific or a great idea — God Bless! Keep a Big Hunk of it. But part of the underlying social contract is you take a hunk of that and pay forward for the next kid who comes along. Continue reading “Elizabeth Warren Nails It”
If you ever really want to curse someone, “May you have to move” would be a good one.
I’m moving from my little wild paradise, where I get to see things like this …
gray foxes
red foxes
whitetail deer
wild turkeys
raccoons
and even this and this and this …
all photographed right in my own back yard, not to mention this and this just a short stroll away …
… to a place in the city.
It’s a nice place, in the historic section of a historic eastern city (for instance, the bronze plaque on the front of my building dates the structure from 1824), plus there’s a statue of Larry the Christian Indian a half-block away (more about him later, I think) and a boatload of historic events and attractions, and I’m happy to be here.
But moving!
Moving everything you own, using a small pickup, with not much help, and to the third floor, up a narrow staircase!
Oh, please, never again!
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BTW, that’s also why blog output has been limited lately. I’ll be back on the job soon, I promise.
— Meanwhile, do YOU have a recent moving story?
The body lay sprawled under the high school bleachers on a Sunday morning. Time of death, roughly midnight. A teenaged boy. Just some idiot kid.
Cause of death? The coroner would have to do some tests, but I was pretty sure I already knew. I could see ashes on his upper lip, and around his nose. Nearby was an upended oil drum, and on the surface some bits of paper and ashes.
The kid was a Bible snorter. Continue reading “Cop Story”
Do you know the really great thing about being a sociopath?
The really great thing is that you can knock down a 6-year-old and take his ice cream.
And then you have ice cream! Man, what could be better than that? Free ice cream! Wow!
Oh, uh … you think there’s something wrong with that? Ah, I see your problem: You’re normal. You have the disadvantage that you think it’s wrong to take some kid’s ice cream and leave him crying, just because you can. You probably get all bent when you see injustice. Cheating, lies, theft and cruelty actually bother you.
What a pussy — sociopaths love living among suckers like you. Continue reading “The Enemy”
