Dear Fellow Smokers:

Being one of you, I’m the first to recognize our right to partake of ye olde coffin nails. Because we’re Americans, and therefore free citizens, we have the God-given right to poison ourselves over an agonizingly-long period of time (decades, usually), and at great personal expense. Why we do this is beyond me, but still: a right’s a right, even when it’s self destructive and just plain dumb.

However, I have a difficult time standing up for any of my fellow fag suckers when some of us do the most socially-retarded and inconsiderate crap.

The. World. Is. Not. Our. Ashtray.

If you want to put your cigarette butts on your car’s floorboard, or on your front lawn, go right ahead. If you want to throw them into your toilet, be my guest. Stick them up your nose for all I care. Your property, your rights, right?

However, don’t do stupid crap like, oh, throw the butt into the windshield-washer-fluid bin at the gas station. That’s just disgusting, to look into that bin and see hundreds and hundreds of soggy, gross-smelling bits of tobacco floating atop the scummy water…along with a bloated, brown filter. Do you really think that ANYONE wants to clean his or her windshield with that crap? Would YOU want to clean YOUR windshield with it? No and no. Use an ashtray.

Speaking of ashtrays: What in the world is wrong with the smokers who dump the whole thing out BESIDE the trash can? Are you insane? Are you the world’s biggest jerk? Or are you just too stupid to understand how to perform such complicated tasks as upturning your car’s ashtray over, instead of beside, the proper receptacle?

Finally, if you’re in a position that encourages you to bum cigs off other people, don’t be picky. Either accept my non-filter, all-natural cig or go buy your own. Quit giving me the cat-butt face when I generously offer to help you out…or quit mooching.

Ted Kennedy; Legacies

When the media broke the news of Ted Kennedy's death earlier today, I thought about legacies.

We each leave some sort of legacy - even those of us who aren't popular, or big on doing or saying lots of things to lots of people.

What sort of legacy will we each leave when we die? How will people remember us? What will they say to each other about us when they find out that we're gone? What, if anything, will be said about us twenty years after the funeral?

It's just one of those things that came to mind today, that's all.

VBS...over...finally...

Vacation Bible School is over! Yay! Our church is very small, and had only about a dozen kids every evening, but we’re all exhausted anyway. My feet are worn right out from standing in the kitchen every evening for a few hours straight, and I will be thrilled if I never see some of those bratty kids again.

We had Spoiled Brat, the nine-year-old who resorts to bawling when she doesn’t get her way. She threw fits throughout the week because the adults kept telling her “No” – and most of us made it stick. She wasn’t allowed to get into the dunking booth on Family Night because she’s too small. When she tried to get in after being told “No” more than once, by more than one adult, someone saw her and told her to get down. She was bawling before her feet touched the grass.

There was Jerk, the ten-year-old brat who went into the kitchen after I’d already closed down everything. He’d been given a sno-cone during his snack break, just like everyone else, but wanted another one. Having been told “No” already, he decided to sneak in. I caught him with the bag of ice out on the counter and a Sytrofoam cup in one hand.

Even if I didn’t care that he was trying to pull an end run on me, we were borrowing an industrial sno-cone machine. Those suckers, in case you don’t know, are pretty sweet. They have lots of sharp blades inside and a large, electric motor to turn them. Like I really want to hose Jerk’s blood and bits of finger and bone out of the sno-cone machine.

Most of the helpers had at least one run in with Monster from Hell, the ten-year-old boy who did everything he could to piss off everyone. He trash talked his age group’s leader. During prayers, he stepped on peoples’ feet and made faces at the adults. When he wasn’t busy doing these things, he was running around like a monkey on crack, finding small objects to put in his mouth. The adults finally had enough when he started putting brads – the metal bits that you use to put pieces of paper together if you want to, say, make a fake clock with movable hands to teach your child how to tell time – in his mouth. Like anyone at the church really wants to rush this monster to the emergency room for surgery.

None of this seems too bad, I know, but we all put up with it every night for a week straight. All of the bratty kids were pulling their stunts at once, too, which made it kind of difficult to keep an eye on everyone. All of the helpers had both hands full pretty much nonstop, and it gets tiring after the first evening or so.

But to be completely honest, I’m not annoyed at the kids so much as I am at their so-called parents. I’m not a mother, and have no desire to become one later. But I know many, many parents, and the ones who really love their kids take the time to teach them that “No” means “No.” The kids who are truly loved are taught to obey their parents, and to be respectful. They’re taught that they aren’t special enough to circumvent social courtesies like waiting their turn and throwing away their empty cups after snack time. Their parents really care about them, and this is evident by the fact that these adults spend so much time and effort teaching the kids how to be functional, welcomed members of society.

Then you have the parents who just don’t care enough about their kids to do much beyond yelling, or making threats that never stick. I saw a lot of these unloved kids all week long, and I feel a little sorry for them even though they did nothing but tick me off.

My sibs and I are blessed because Mom loved us so much when we were kids – and she still loves us. She spanked us when we disobeyed her. She took away things that we loved when we didn’t do what we knew was right. She told us that she loved us at least once every day, and she made sure that we all had everything that we needed. Mom did a lot of great things for us all, but I think that the best thing she did for me personally was to make her “No” stick almost every time.

Emo Cowboys

I had no idea, until earlier today, that there is such a thing as an Emo Cowboy. Now, though, I’ve seen it with my own eyes (which, by the way, are bleeding, thank you for asking).

The Emo Cowboy look involves clunky sneakers (no color but black will suffice), skinny jeans, a giant t-shirt, and a miserable frown. A pale face is, of course, a plus.

Add a knee-length, imitation-leather duster (black, of course), and a felt cowboy hat (sans hatband and, naturally, black) to the ensemble and you’re near the goal. To go from Cowboy in Sneakers to Emo Cowboy, you must let your dyed-black hair grow out, then chop off the left half, leaving the rest free to obscure your right eye. You earn extra points if your unnaturally-dark hair is naturally curly, creating a depressingly-dark corkscrew over your hidden eye. Then, cover your lonely, exposed eye with mascara a la “A Clockwork Orange.”

But be aware that, if you’re shuffling along the sidewalk in our little, redneck town, with your sad little head down, wearing your Emo Cowboy getup, people are going to gawk. This is particularly true if you’re a) seemingly of the male gender, and b) wearing what is clearly a female’s cowboy hat.

I would have gotten a picture, but I just couldn’t – I was a little too far away for my camera phone to be of any use, and I would have had to shoot through the car’s side window, which wasn’t exactly clean. Oh, well.

P.S. I did a bit of research and discovered that "Emo Cowboy" is a phrase describing an emo kid who wears a bandanna around his neck. Sadly, the Emo Cowboy I saw earlier today sported no bandanna...but he WAS on his way to Walmart, where he could fix that little problem if he felt the urge to do so.

Goodbye, Mr. McCourt

Frank McCourt died today at age seventy-eight. He's already missed.

"Angela's Ashes" was one of the first truly-wonderful memoirs that I read - and McCourt's amazing, detailed, hilarious writing made it easier for me to see the power that creative nonfiction can possess.

Thank you, Mr. McCourt, for the fantastic writing.

Dear USPS Employees:

When I retrieved my Undergear catalog from my Post Office box, I noticed that the seal had been broken. You know: that small, round sticker that secures the pages for mailing? Yeah, that seal. Broken.

I also noticed that there were a few crease marks, where someone’s thumbs had been turning pages. Obviously, at least one person saw my catalog and, before I could get up to the Post Office to grab it, decided to take a look.

It’s okay, ladies. I totally understand. The man on this particular catalog’s cover is smokin’ HAWT. I would have totally checked out the rest of the pages too if I were one of your coworkers and had a few free minutes to revel in the eye candy.

P.S. Judging by the intensified crease marks on page 20, I imagine that you really, really liked that page. Yeah, so did I. Whoever you are, at least you have good taste.

Why I'm Going to Snap Soon

Yesterday, while I was out shopping, I saw a poster that convinced me that I am really going to snap soon. It totally won't be my fault, either, because crap like this is going to turn any rational, decent human being into a raving, drooling nutcase.



This picture isn't that great, but you might be able to make out the gist of this "art." Basically, this poster, designed to resemble a cell phone, offers a rather-extensive glossary of text-message abbreviations, misspellings, and other crimes against the English language. As if your average 12-year-old needs to hang a reference guide to English-language butchery on her door or wall, right?

What's next? A thumb exerciser so that the tweens can build up muscle strength for extended sessions with their cell phones? Maybe I shouldn't take this sort of thing so seriously, but we're talking about the deterioration of our communication skills. When high schoolers fail English exams because they use textspeak in their papers (which has really happened in my town), I tend to worry about this nation's future.

Anybody who buys this poster without fully intending to take it to the range for a little rifle practice shall incur my unholy wrath.

Punctuation Ban in London

England's oppressive nanny, a.k.a. the government, loves to ban things, like firearms. And crossbows. And swords. My thinking is that this not-so-free nation is going to eventually outlaw pointy sticks, because their socialized health-care system can’t afford to pass out eyepatches to all the people who are too stupid to keep their sticks pointed in a safe direction at all times. Liberty? Please – not in England, where there are plenty of security cameras watching all the citizens and tourists.

But what’s hilarious, in a pathetic way, is the recent move to ban the apostrophe. No. Really. It seems that the powers that be in London are tired of arguing over the lowly apostrophe's place on road signs. So, they’ve decided to stop using this particular punctuation mark, regardless of whether that’s the grammatically-correct choice or not.

One Councilman, Martin Mullaney, offered the Stupid Quote of the Century about the decision to ignore proper grammar:

Apostrophes denote possessions that are no longer accurate, and are not needed," he said. "More importantly, they confuse people. If I want to go to a restaurant, I don't want to have an A-level (high school diploma) in English to find it.

That’s right, folks. Finding streets is too "hard" when the signs contain apostrophes. The person who said that? A government official. This is just more proof that governments are full of morons.

Then again: this grammar-related insanity isn’t a huge surprise. The United Kingdom is known for moronic reactions, such as last year’s outrage over a citizen choosing to spray paint a wall specifically erected for…spray painting. (You know, that graffiti-wall idea that so many ‘hoods have tried in the past? Yeah, that thing.)

When I Rule the World, Part Three

When I rule the world, stupid people won't be allowed to drive.

Today, when I was trying to pull out of my parking spot at the dollar store and onto the main aisle in front of said store, I had to come to a nice, slow stop. Why? Because I noticed, in plenty of time, that a moron of the highest order was backing out of her spot right in front of the store (and right in front of me) without looking to her left-rear side. The psycho hose beast never so much as glanced in that direction. Instead, she craned her neck and head to the right and stared in that direction as she gassed her little crapbox right out of her spot and into the aisle that I was attempting to occupy.

Clearly, the half-wit (minus about one-fourth wit) was not using her mirrors to check out her left-rear side, and she definitely was not directly looking that way. Technically, she did have the right of way. I'm fine with that. But even though she was supposed to back out first, she should have been paying attention. Just assuming that everyone else will look out for your little crapbox...well...that's how accidents happen.

My conclusion: some people are stupid, and those with a terminal case of this nasty disease should not drive.

When I rule the world, all the morons are losing their licenses. I'm running those suckers through the industrial shredder and telling people that they're going to have to sell their land yachts and buy Segways. And if they're particularly stupid, they won't be allowed to operate their new wheels without first shrouding themselves in bubble wrap and putting on helmets.

I Want My Thirty Minutes Back

I want my half hour back because I paid for it fair and square.

Today, the first day of classes, I showed up about ten minutes before my 11 a.m. class. Instead of an open classroom door, my fellow students and I found a sign informing us that class would begin at 11:30 instead. Why? Because today was Inauguration Day, and the ceremonies began at 11 o'clock our time.

Yes, that's right, folks: I stood around for an extra half an hour this morning, waiting for my class to start. There was no good reason to delay this class. It's not like my instructor can't, you know, pull up the video coverage on the Internet, or watch one of the many repeats that so many TV stations are airing. And goodness knows that she has access to a VCR, or some other recorder that would capture the broadcast for her to view on her own time.

She just had to watch this epic event live, even if it meant dicking me out of half an hour of my life. Oh, yeah, and those thirty minutes aren't refundable, by the way. I can't just claim credit for them at the end of my life or anything like that.

This is an English class, by the way. It's not like the political-science professors let their students out to watch, you know, a government/political event. My class has zip, zilch, NOTHING to do with Inauguration Day, the ceremonies, the President, et cetera, but my half hour was ripped off all the same.

If I wanted to watch TV, I would have either stayed at home or gone to one of the "watch points" set up all over campus, including right across the walkway from my classroom building. Plenty of other people on campus did one or the other today. It's not like we had no choice but to be in our 11 a.m. classes today.

But no - we couldn't just have class, which is what those of us who showed up wanted. Instead, we all had to occupy ourselves for an extra half hour, waiting for the ceremonies to conclude so that we could get on with what we're paying to do (learn).

I'm so glad that I should, God willing, graduate in December. I've had just about enough of academia and all its collective insanity. I'll be taking my school-logo baseball cap to the pistol range right after I walk - to give it a proper, .45-caliber sendoff and all.

Today was the first day of classes and I'm already sick of the whole thing.

Strangeness Abounds

The other night, Youngest Bro and his girlfriend went out for dinner. They got pizza, but didn’t eat the whole thing. The leftovers stayed in the back seat of YB’s car, along with their bread sticks, while they went into Walmart to do whatever it is that you do in Walmart when you’re out on a date.

When YB and The Girlfriend went back to the car afterward, they noticed that one of the car’s doors was slightly ajar. Further investigation revealed that the door was open because a pizza thief had opened it, swiped all of their leftover food, and left – all before they returned to the car.

The good news is that The Girlfriend’s purse was not on the floorboard, where she normally leaves the thing when she goes into a store. That night, for whatever reason, she decided to secure the purse in YB’s trunk before going into Walmart. Good for her.

The family and I agree that, if the person who swiped the pizza and breadsticks was hungry, then it’s a sad situation indeed. If that’s the case, our prayer is that the individual is able to find a job, or whatever he or she needs to obtain food without lurking in parking lots, hoping to get lucky. We’ve been hungry before, and don’t want to see other people in the same situation.

On the other hand: if the theft was one of those random, jerky things that delinquents do when they’re bored, we all hope that the sack of crap gets diarrhea for a week straight, with a burning bunghole that doesn’t quit.

The next day, my oldest brother called home to tell us that, the night before, he had stopped at Walmart – the one in his entirely-different part of the state – because he saw a car catch on fire in the lot. He jumped out of his truck to be sure that everyone in the vehicle had gotten out okay. In the middle of doing this random, decent thing, OB heard the distinct sound of his pickup leaving the location.

He turned around to see it being driven off. Because he, not thinking about anything but the people in the vehicle that had just caught on fire, didn’t turn off the engine and take the keys with him. I wouldn’t have either, I don’t think.

The good news is that the police found the truck a few miles away, unharmed. The bad news is that they couldn’t find the keys. OB’s keychain had his truck and apartment keys on it. His insurance card, in the glove box, has his address printed right on the front. So, he’s having both his truck and apartment locks changed.

This is just weird, though, folks, because both of these things happened on the same night, in different parts of Texas, but to the same family. Weirdness. Is it a full moon? Halloween? Or just another one of those weird spells that happen to some people?

Weird Conversations with Mom

My Mom and I really need to get out more.

Mom: I have two choices for you.
Me: I choose “Cleveland.”
Mom: “Cleveland” is “Do the dishes.”
Me: Then I choose “Springfield.”
Mom: Good. “Springfield” is “Make dinner.”
Me: “Austin.”
Mom: “Do dishes and make dinner.”
Me: “Los Angeles.”
Mom: “Clean the bathroom.”
Me: Fine. “Akron.”
Mom: “Clean the kitchen.”
Me: Which option is “Go play online” anyway?
Mom: None.
Me: I give up. I’ll go with “Springfield.”
Mom: Good choice. The good knives are in the dish drainer.

Another Huge Thanks

A big thanks to Bayou Renaissance Man for the linky goodness. Thanks!

Katrina Whining Resumes

So I was watching the local news yesterday and saw a whole bunch of people whining about George W. Bush's responses to Katrina.

I wish they'd aired the charity fundraiser clip of Kanye West blurting out that Bush hates black people. That should have been MTV's Video of the Year if you ask me. Kanye West uncovered the cracker conspiracy! He figured it out all by himself! Give that man a Grammy or something!

It's really amazing, though, how a bunch of able-bodied, sane people can stand around, pointing fingers, when they were the ones who chose to wait for Katrina to demolish their lives - instead of, you know, getting out of there before landfall.

Oh, right. They had only a few days to evacuate before the storm hit. That obviously wasn't enough time to hop into the car, or even put on the bug-out shoes, and make tracks. Silly me, thinking that people who live below sea level know that they need to have a plan for avoiding buttloads of water.

Stuff That Rocks

Tonight, let's talk about Stuff That Rocks.

One: Sonic has a dollar menu. The Jr. burger? Worth a dollar plus tax. Yay! Now I can afford to grease up my arteries a little more often. Thank you, Sonic, for making your killer burgers more affordable to us po' folk.

Two: I just picked up another David Sedaris book (not his latest, but that will come soon enough, I'm sure). If you like creative nonfiction, you should read this guy's collections. He's hilarious.

Three: Japanese people trying to teach other Japanese people how to speak English. This video...oh, man. I had to capture the audio and make a ring tone, because it makes me laugh so hard every time I see or hear it.

Book Censorship Sucks

I love reading. Literature and I get along fantastically, especially when I’m reading something that’s controversial, or even banned. The book's usually a pretty-good read when a large group of people are offended by it, for some reason.

Why do we ban books? Censorship isn’t the American way of doing things now, is it? Since when have we put our personal liberties into the hands of a few shrieking protesters?

I completely support a parent who wants to know what his or her children are reading. This is good parenting, and I’m not going to suggest that anybody interfere with it. Children might not be able to handle some of the things that my favorite writers have addressed in their books, so their parents should have full control over what their kids read, and when. You know your children best, so you’re the most-qualified judge of when they’re ready for Harry Potter, or whatever other books are on the shelves, right? Right.

However, parental censorship begins and ends at home. No parent has the right to tell the school or public library, or the local book stores, what can and cannot go on the shelves. That type of censorship – the attempt to make everyone else in the community adhere to one person’s standard – is unacceptable.

By all means, require an adult library card to check out Stephen King novels. That’s fine and dandy, because children are their parents’ responsibilities. This system was in place at the library that my Mom and I visited every week when I was a child. She would check out the books for me, or give the librarian permission to check them out to me. I had to have Mom’s authorization, which gave her the parental control that she needed.

That’s fine by me. But had a protesting parent challenged the Stephen King collection, and removed his books, I would not have been able to check them out. That isn’t fair at all, because I have just as much of a right to my favorite books as anybody else does to his or hers. Parents who don’t want their kids to read Stephen King, or J.K. Rowling, or whatever else, are free to prevent their kids from reading those books. But they don’t have the right to make the literature inaccessible to anybody else.

If one person has the right to challenge a book, and then have it removed, then we all have that right. Eventually, there won’t be any books on the shelves at all, because every single piece of writing out there is capable of offending somebody. If one person has the right to remove an offensive book, then everybody has that right, which eventually empties the libraries and bookshelves. Then everyone’s miserable.

The worst part of all this censorship crap, I think, is the fact that people like to go on shrieking tangents against certain books without knowing what the literature is really about. Look: if you’re too thick-headed to see the anti-slavery message in “Huckleberry Finn,” just be quiet. You embarrass yourself when you go on your “This promotes slavery!” tangent, which is so far from the truth about this literature that it makes me sick to my stomach.

Go read the book, then think about the characters and their actions. You should, if you think about this hard enough, realize that Twain/Clemens was writing anti-slavery messages. This is a fairly-easy concept if you think about it for a few minutes. The next time you want to shriek about a book that bothers you, go read it and ponder its contents for a little bit. You might surprise yourself.

Illogical Anti-gun Arguments

People who are terrified of guns confuse the snot out of me. When I ask them questions about this, they inevitably tell me that they're just fine with cars, knives and swimming pools. But all of these things - these everyday tools and objects - can be deadly. Far, far more people die in car crashes every year than in shootings. But people who would like to take away our firearms have no problem with 16-year-old, reckless speed demons flying down the road in souped-up sports cars, which are designed to go really fast (and, therefore, are more likely to lead to serious injuries, or even death - speed kills, you know).

We don't lock up our butcher knives. If you have children and knives in your home, you're not considered irresponsible, and nobody's afraid that your kid is going to knife himself with your cleaver. People use logic, and reason that you surely keep an eye on both your child and your tools. People who are terrified of guns tell me that knives are not significant safety risks to children, because parents keep the knives away from them - and teach those kids to give the tools a wide berth.

That's exactly what parents teach their children about firearms. Gun owners tend to keep the firearms secured, and teach their kids about gun safety. The NRA has a program designed to teach kids to leave the room if they see a firearm. That's simple enough for even very-young kids to understand, and it's an excellent supplement to what parents are teaching those kids. The gun-owning population takes more precautions with firearms than we do with knives, as far as kids and safety go (remember: we don't padlock our knives in fireproof, childproof cabinets), but people just don't want to accept this. They're still convinced that parents are leaving loaded guns on the coffee table while they go take a nap, with Junior toddling about.

Parents with swimming pools put up fences and/or pool covers. They enroll their tiny children in water-safety courses, designed to reduce the risk of drowning. As soon as the kids are old and mature enough, they're taught how to swim. All this time, their parents also watch them - because you cannot be too careful with children and water. Parents are aware of the fact that a young child can drown in just a few inches of water, and act accordingly.

But if a Mom enrolls her ten-year-old son in a firearms-safety class, she's trying to turn him into a killer, or a soldier, or something. She's not merely ensuring that her child knows how to safely exist around firearms - because he's proven that he's mature enough to absorb, and apply, this knowledge. Oh, no. She's somehow irresponsible by letting him anywhere near a gun even though it's in a safe, controlled environment with more than one well-trained adult teaching him. Even though the firearm is secured again when they return to their home, there's something wrong with this situation.

Then the terrified-of-guns crowd insists that these well-trained, adult instructors aren't trained enough. Despite professional certification, which comes after many, many hours of training and other experience, these people object. Never mind the fact that these parents sometimes send their own kids to public schools that are struggling to keep teachers - and, as a result, are passing out emergency, in-district certifications. These "teachers" aren't really teachers, and they aren't necessarily well trained. Where I live, some people who barely finished high school have been given substitute-teaching gigs. But let's not question the people in charge of teaching everyone's children for eight hours a day. Oh, let's not do that at all.

Nobody wants a waiting period, or "may-issue" licenses, for purchasing motor vehicles. I've yet to meet any person who believes that the government should have the ability to, for no particular reason, deny someone the privilege of driving. Having a license is not a right, no matter how easy that thing is to obtain. If you're a warm body, you can get a license to drive - and if you can pay for it, you can drive off the lot with a car immediately after signing the paperwork.

But we should have waiting periods before we walk out of the gun shop with our new firearms. We should have licenses just to purchase guns...or even ammunition. We should have to prove that we have a "good reason" to desire a firearm. Nobody cares if I want to zoom down the road in a couple of tons' worth of steel and plastic, but people are very upset at my desire to legally purchase a three-pound piece of steel and plastic: one that's far less likely to kill another person than the car is.

When I say that we should restrict the First Amendment in the same ways that we've restricted the Second, I'm some sort of Communist. How dare I suggest that each American must apply for a license to exercise Freedom of Speech? How can I suggest that we encourage the government to inspect our speech - to ensure that whatever we want to say is not too long, or too short, or too scary sounding? And what sort of nutjob am I for suggesting that the government should have the right to deny, at will, an application for permission to practice religion?

I suggest that we should have government-mandated training classes, and licenses, before we may purchase a chainsaw. Suddenly, I'm the one who isn't making any sense. Why, we have a right to own chainsaws. Our Constitution and Bill of Rights say no such thing, but we Americans take the right to our tools very seriously: so much that we're upset by the very thought of "safety training" or "licensing" requirements to go clear a section of our land, or cut down trees for the wood-burning stove.

But those types of infringements are just fine if we're talking about firearms. The Second Amendment isn't as important as the First, apparently: probably because the Right to Keep and Bear Arms bit is the second-place finisher. People just aren't kind to you unless you come in first, I guess.

Israel and Hamas

Yahoo! News tells me that Israeli's launched a large-scale (for them, anyway) retaliation against Hamas. Israel's countering the rocket attacks that have been coming out of Gaza: a section of land that Israel unwisely gave to the terrorists a few years ago in the hope that this would appease the scumbags. More recently, Hamas started yet another round of bullshit in defiance of a peace treaty that both sides had agreed to uphold. They started this crap, and now they're whining because they got their asses kicked. Apparently, it was okay for them to spend weeks launching rockets into Israel, but it's not okay for Israel to a) warn them to stop, then b) take action.

Israel's been warning them for days that this was coming. Any of the boo-hooing over dead civilians is crap, because they knew that Israel was coming. The civilians had a few DAYS to get out of the way, but chose to ignore the warnings. They were sending their children off to school, as if this were just an ordinary day. If they're that stupid, then they deserve what they get. If Israel announced that they were sending somebody to kick ass in MY neighborhood because terrorists were using this area to launch an offensive against them...I'd grab my stuff and leave immediately.

I know that many Muslims do not believe the "let's go murder all unbelievers!" garbage that the Islamofascists embrace. I know that a good number of Islamic leaders do not teach that crap. But those who do teach this, and those who perpetuate the terrorism, believe with all their rotten hearts that they're heading to eternal rewards for murdering as many unbelievers as possible. They believe that 72 virgins await them in their heaven. They believe that their god will reward them, for eternity, for killing men, women, and children.

When you're dealing with a group of nutjobs who are not afraid of death - who, in fact, welcome death because they're convinced that eternal rewards await them for yanking the rip cord on the bomb vest - you can't negotiate or reason. You take a few cents' worth of ammo and send them to meet God. That's all you can do in the face of such murderous insanity. This is how you preserve innocent life: by taking out those who would destroy it.

And yes. I am a big, fat warmonger. I am 100 percent in favor of killing terrorists. Personally, I wish that they'd all go to one area and shove out all the civilians who disagree with them. Then somebody could drop a nuke on that region and be done with the problem. Unfortunately, anti-terrorist measures aren't that simple. Too bad, really, because nuking them all in one spot would be simple...and oh, so cool.

Fashion That Makes My Eyeballs Bleed

When you're running to the nearest clothing shop to express your individualism by racking up credit-card debt purchasing the same crap everyone else in your part of the world is buying, try not to dress like a complete idiot. If you're shopping without assistance, it is assumed that you are mentally and physically capable of not looking like a tool. However, this theory of mine - that those who can shop, can do it well - is frequently proven wrong. Because, ultimately, we humans are merely trained monkeys were fashion goes. Monkey see L.L. Cool J rolling up one jeans leg...monkey roll up one jeans leg.

The nice thing is that, because these shoppers aren't mentally handicapped or otherwise in need of special treatment, I'm free to openly, viciously mock them. When you're free to choose your own clothing and accessories, you're free to be the subject of my ridicule.

Hence, this photo essay.

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The baseball cap: headgear designed to give your eyes some shade, but ignore your delicate, tender ears. Rolling the brim of your brand-new cap is a must. If you don't, you look like a tool. Ask any baseball player and he'll tell you the same thing, because that's God's honest truth, right there.

However, some designers noticed that some people are too frickin' lazy to spend a couple of moments adjusting their brims. This led to the creation of baseball caps that are, by design, flat brimmed. Gangsta rappers and emo kids are particularly taken by these monstrosities, which is no surprise considering that neither group is known for hard work - or even light work, like spending five minutes making your new cap presentable.

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Speaking of headgear: let's talk about the hair that said caps, hats and beanies cover. Your hairstyle is a wonderful way to express your personality, provided that you have one.

However, your haircut should not interfere with everyday life.

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And now, with that series of atrocities behind us, let's move on to pants and shorts. There are many ways to cover your legs and, hopefully, your butt crack. Sadly, many of the commonly-accepted methods in use today are just wrong.

Take, for example, sagging pants. If you cannot figure out how to operate a belt, you are mentally retarded. Why are you out in public without your caretaker? Does the State know about this? Should I call Social Services for you?

Skinny jeans, though on the opposite side of the "How do they fit?" spectrum, are equally annoying. Hipsters just love the testicle-crushing, calf-hugging idiocy of it all.

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Final thought: If your top's color is comparable to anything that you've ever found in a baby's diaper...you're doing it wrong.

My Own Annoyances

Tweaker's post about pet peeves got me thinking about one that really drives me nuts.

Mindless rumor spreading drives me insane. Yes, I do know that we all sometimes get our facts wrong. That's part of being imperfect human beings. In fact: I'm probably going to get something wrong in this blog post, despite my careful research. Hey, I'll accept the consequences, because it's my own fault if it does happen.

However, I get frothy around the mouth and take up the challenge of verbally tearing apart somebody's crappy argument when I hear him/her spreading crap without even pausing to consider that it could just be yet another rumor. Oh, boy, do I ever love ripping the myths to shreds with a curious look and a, "Where'd you find that information?" Hee. People can't openly admit that they heard it from some guy or gal they know, so they say nothing. Unless sputtering counts. Hee. Man, I love that dazed look they get when I call shenanigans on their "facts."

Many of us have some sort of access to the Internet, which contains the sum of all human knowledge if you know how to type a few key words. But people can't even visit Snopes.com to confirm that the crap they're spreading is true, can they? Nope!

One example that's been bugging me lately: the myth that actors and actresses must wear incorrect uniforms, or intentionally foul up other aspects of their work, when representing the U.S. military. They, according to the myth, must do a few things wrong because, if they don't, they're guilty of impersonating military personnel. This, people say, is why you see so many movies and TV shows with actors and actresses wearing the wrong service's awards...or sporting incorrect rank insignia...or saluting the wrong way.

Nope! The law states no such thing. In fact: actors and actresses are specifically mentioned in the law - as people who are allowed to portray military personnel without accusations of impersonation. Don't believe me? Check this out.

Specifically, scroll down and hit this section, which addresses exemptions like this:

(f) While portraying a member of the Army, Navy, Air Force, or
Marine Corps, an actor in a theatrical or motion-picture production
may wear the uniform of that armed force if the portrayal does not
tend to discredit that armed force.

In other words: the law does not, in fact, require actors/actresses to "intentionally get some things wrong." The people in charge of TV, movie and theater might foul up in honor of tradition, or because that's what they were told to do; however, there is no legal requirement involved. (My guess, honestly, is that the people in charge of costumes just don't know enough about military uniforms, customs, rank, et cetera to get things right.)

Oh. And this bit o' the law took me just a couple of minutes to find, if that long. It's not like I had to go to a law school, sweet-talk my way into the law library, and pore over book after book until I found what I wanted. With the Internet on computers and cell phones, among other devices - and in public libraries and schools, too - we don't have an excuse for believing every stinking thing somebody tells us.

Then again: before the Internet, people managed to find out what they wanted to know. We had fact checking and research long before we had this magical connection to the rest of the world. So, really, even if somebody doesn't have Internet access, he or she can still go get a book.

Question the answers, folks. That's the best way to avoid looking silly...and keep me from giving you that curious look and asking you to cite your source.