Dear [redacted] Hospital
Two days ago I was in with severe lacerations to my abdomen. You made me wait in the waiting room for four hours, which would have been alright given that the people already in the waiting room didn't have cholera. I could feel the sickness working its way into my wounds.
As if that wasn't enough. The nurse was terrible at her job. I am not a mannequin. But she thought she was making a dress and not stitching up a taxpaying American citizen. She finally closed the wound and I looked down and there were only a few stitches in there. I said don't you think that's too few stitches? And she said nothing. I said don't treat me like an illegal immigrant, give me enough stitches so that my wound will heal. Hell if you're only going to put four stitches in there I might as well tape it with duct tape. So she put more in.
There's thirty seven in there now. This cut isn't opening up for a long time. But you see the point I'm trying to make here, Mr. Hospital Administrator? I am an American citizen being treated like I just jumped over the border. My name isn't Javier. My name is [redacted].
Respond with a settlement offer. Or I'll be taking this to the Supreme Court.
Signed,
[Redacted]
Tuesday
So. I'm back. There was an episode with my administrator. A scuffle if you will. It turned ugly. I lunged at him with the intent to strangle him. And the little bastard kicked a table in front of me. I fell right through it. It's a glass top table. I had to get thirty seven stitches in my abdomen. And I broke my left arm. The good news is, the hospital has plenty of stationary for me to write things down on. Or had, anyway. I requisitioned a whole stack for my own personal use.
I'm writing this post in between letters to the hospital administrator. They treated me with complete disrespect, and I'm going to let them know about it.
As for my administrator. The communist little bastard. Sneaky like a Chinaman too. He may prove useful, but I'm keeping an eye on him.
I'm writing this post in between letters to the hospital administrator. They treated me with complete disrespect, and I'm going to let them know about it.
As for my administrator. The communist little bastard. Sneaky like a Chinaman too. He may prove useful, but I'm keeping an eye on him.
Out of Paper
[The following was recorded without [redacted]'s knowledge. It was a conversation between the two of us, after I confronted him about not writing for several days]
[redacted]: Look, I don't know where you're going with this whole blog thing. You seem a little too excited about it. You know, write, write, write. I'm not an idiot, alright? It means one of two things, you're trying to assassinate me, or you're trying to fuck me. Either one, I won't abide.
No, see, don't give me that. You've got that twinkle in your eye. That liberal twinkle, looks like a pair of rose colored glasses, well it ain't happening. If you're going to assassinate me, you'll have to assassinate my rifle here. And if its the other, well, good luck. Every try to wrestle a bear? I was state wrestling champion in high school. I've bitten people's noses off for less, don't think I won't maim you.
[I'm not here to kill you]
It doesn't matter. If you try anything you're dead. Want another helping of herring? Vita is a damn fine brand. Just the right acidity. No, see, you've got some communist tendencies. I saw what you were reading the other day. Went through you're little backpack, or whatever. I saw Dostoywhateversky Commie propoganda.
[They're just books. Do you have something against books?]
Don't sass me. I'm still about a cunt hair away from killing you, understand? But you know, you're young, so it's forgivable. Have you ever read the Constitution of the United States? Have you read the Federalist Papers? Hell it just goes to show that there's a lack of education in this country. Communist teachers handing out Maos book and that Russian guy. Marx.
[Do you think the President is a communist?]
You mean Hoop Dreams? Mr. I was born in America even though my name is Hussein? Mr. I don't have time to talk to congress about going to war because I've got a tee time and then some pickup basketball? He's a fourth generation communist. His sole purpose in life is to drive America into the ground.
[You realize how ridiculous that sounds?]
Well, you're young. And stupid. Maybe you'll see the light, maybe you won't. It's like that book. The Cave or something? Platonic something or other. Platonic Affairs? I don't know. The Beach, that's it. Where the people are all in the cave. They made it into a movie with DiCaprio.
[You mean Plato's cave?]
Don't sass me. I won't be made a fool of.
[inaudible]
I'll strangle the red right out of you.
[loud crashing noises. screams of pain.]
[end of tape]
[redacted]: Look, I don't know where you're going with this whole blog thing. You seem a little too excited about it. You know, write, write, write. I'm not an idiot, alright? It means one of two things, you're trying to assassinate me, or you're trying to fuck me. Either one, I won't abide.
No, see, don't give me that. You've got that twinkle in your eye. That liberal twinkle, looks like a pair of rose colored glasses, well it ain't happening. If you're going to assassinate me, you'll have to assassinate my rifle here. And if its the other, well, good luck. Every try to wrestle a bear? I was state wrestling champion in high school. I've bitten people's noses off for less, don't think I won't maim you.
[I'm not here to kill you]
It doesn't matter. If you try anything you're dead. Want another helping of herring? Vita is a damn fine brand. Just the right acidity. No, see, you've got some communist tendencies. I saw what you were reading the other day. Went through you're little backpack, or whatever. I saw Dostoywhateversky Commie propoganda.
[They're just books. Do you have something against books?]
Don't sass me. I'm still about a cunt hair away from killing you, understand? But you know, you're young, so it's forgivable. Have you ever read the Constitution of the United States? Have you read the Federalist Papers? Hell it just goes to show that there's a lack of education in this country. Communist teachers handing out Maos book and that Russian guy. Marx.
[Do you think the President is a communist?]
You mean Hoop Dreams? Mr. I was born in America even though my name is Hussein? Mr. I don't have time to talk to congress about going to war because I've got a tee time and then some pickup basketball? He's a fourth generation communist. His sole purpose in life is to drive America into the ground.
[You realize how ridiculous that sounds?]
Well, you're young. And stupid. Maybe you'll see the light, maybe you won't. It's like that book. The Cave or something? Platonic something or other. Platonic Affairs? I don't know. The Beach, that's it. Where the people are all in the cave. They made it into a movie with DiCaprio.
[You mean Plato's cave?]
Don't sass me. I won't be made a fool of.
[inaudible]
I'll strangle the red right out of you.
[loud crashing noises. screams of pain.]
[end of tape]
Politics
Here's what I've decided. There are two types of people in the world. People who support the Tea Party and then there's this other lump of idiots.
The title of this blog says it all. If you haven't guessed, I'm a supporter of liberty. I didn't mean to make this a political blog, but it has become increasingly clear that America needs a shove in the right direction, and I am here to give it to them. Enough about this stuff about my day to day life. It's election season.
I love the founding fathers. I sleep with an image of Thomas Jefferson on the ceiling above my bed. In my bathroom, I've got pictures of John Adams and Thomas Paine. They help me organize my thoughts when I start and end my day. Furthermore, I have the federalist papers scattered in various areas of my house and I read them from time to time. (I don't tell people this, but once, once, I dressed up as George Washington to have sex with my wife, which she poo-poo'd because she said it made me look to old. To which I said, that's the point. He was around hundreds of years ago.) This was my first wife, an idiot.
But I see too many people running around supporting that socialist, Obama. When did people stop caring about personal liberties and wanting to pay taxes. All of a sudden people want to make DC a state when it SAYS IN THE FEDERALIST PAPERS that DC is to remain a district. Why do we need to pay taxes? So Obama can take away our guns? So Obama can fly around in his jet and play golf anytime he wants? He's trying to turn us into communist China for chrissakes.
More on this to come. I've got the game paint on.
The title of this blog says it all. If you haven't guessed, I'm a supporter of liberty. I didn't mean to make this a political blog, but it has become increasingly clear that America needs a shove in the right direction, and I am here to give it to them. Enough about this stuff about my day to day life. It's election season.
I love the founding fathers. I sleep with an image of Thomas Jefferson on the ceiling above my bed. In my bathroom, I've got pictures of John Adams and Thomas Paine. They help me organize my thoughts when I start and end my day. Furthermore, I have the federalist papers scattered in various areas of my house and I read them from time to time. (I don't tell people this, but once, once, I dressed up as George Washington to have sex with my wife, which she poo-poo'd because she said it made me look to old. To which I said, that's the point. He was around hundreds of years ago.) This was my first wife, an idiot.
But I see too many people running around supporting that socialist, Obama. When did people stop caring about personal liberties and wanting to pay taxes. All of a sudden people want to make DC a state when it SAYS IN THE FEDERALIST PAPERS that DC is to remain a district. Why do we need to pay taxes? So Obama can take away our guns? So Obama can fly around in his jet and play golf anytime he wants? He's trying to turn us into communist China for chrissakes.
More on this to come. I've got the game paint on.
The worst day of my life
Two nights ago, I was enjoying my usual snack of Lays Potato Chips and Budweiser and watching a boxing match on TV. Boxing, for me, is one of the greatest sports around. None of those sissy uniforms and ass grabbing. Just two guys, glistening with sweat, in the best shape of their lives, pounding the living shit out of each other. I boxed myself, some, in high school, but some punk gave me a cheap shot to the knee when the ref wasn't looking, and I haven't walked well since (bobbing and weaving around the ring was out). Sometimes I wish I'd been born a hundred years sooner, so that I could experience the real bare knuckle fights in back bars that I saw on the History Channel.
Anyway, I got a call from my wife. (I can't believe this is going public). She hasn't spoken to me since our divorce, and I assumed she was still upset about the way I acted when she told me she voted for Clinton...because he was pro choice. Can you believe that absurdity? And I guess she didn't like the way I threw her stuff out on the lawn (including her cat, that used that opportunity to run away). I never liked that cat.
But she had some new tone to her voice. She said she'd been doing some soul searching and was in a good place. But she needed a favor. I thought she needed money, but what she needed was far worse. She wanted me to be her date. We used to be amicable. It was a fundraiser for her new job, and she needed a date.
Well, it turned out that it was some kind of conversion thing. It wasn't like a party or anything. It was a church meeting. There were a dozen people sitting around in a circle, and as I was able to figure out, they were trying to use the bible to convert some of these gays to heterosexuality. Which, of course, I was all for. But I was nervous, you know, being around the gays. My first instinct was to jump up and say, "Good god, you brought me here with these people?"
The IDIOT preacher took that as a sign that I was gay. And he started going on about all this nonsense. Before I knew it the whole crowd had me bent over a chair praying to God to make me straight. Even though I was already straight and they were idiots. No matter how much I tried to tell them that it was the men in the pink sweaters and capri pants that needed this treatment, that yes, my son may have been gay but that didn't make me gay at all (liberal media got to him before I could set him straight). They didn't listen. They started hitting me with the bible, saying, "Straighten up before God" "Release your grip on the collective male organ" or something like that.
The worst day of my life. I'll never speak to my ex-wife again. And I'll tell her kids to just give her sweater vests and donations of rain forest trees in the future.
Anyway, I got a call from my wife. (I can't believe this is going public). She hasn't spoken to me since our divorce, and I assumed she was still upset about the way I acted when she told me she voted for Clinton...because he was pro choice. Can you believe that absurdity? And I guess she didn't like the way I threw her stuff out on the lawn (including her cat, that used that opportunity to run away). I never liked that cat.
But she had some new tone to her voice. She said she'd been doing some soul searching and was in a good place. But she needed a favor. I thought she needed money, but what she needed was far worse. She wanted me to be her date. We used to be amicable. It was a fundraiser for her new job, and she needed a date.
Well, it turned out that it was some kind of conversion thing. It wasn't like a party or anything. It was a church meeting. There were a dozen people sitting around in a circle, and as I was able to figure out, they were trying to use the bible to convert some of these gays to heterosexuality. Which, of course, I was all for. But I was nervous, you know, being around the gays. My first instinct was to jump up and say, "Good god, you brought me here with these people?"
The IDIOT preacher took that as a sign that I was gay. And he started going on about all this nonsense. Before I knew it the whole crowd had me bent over a chair praying to God to make me straight. Even though I was already straight and they were idiots. No matter how much I tried to tell them that it was the men in the pink sweaters and capri pants that needed this treatment, that yes, my son may have been gay but that didn't make me gay at all (liberal media got to him before I could set him straight). They didn't listen. They started hitting me with the bible, saying, "Straighten up before God" "Release your grip on the collective male organ" or something like that.
The worst day of my life. I'll never speak to my ex-wife again. And I'll tell her kids to just give her sweater vests and donations of rain forest trees in the future.
Scorched Earth
Now they're saying Mexican smugglers started the fires in Arizona.
Click This Blue Underlined Thing, I guess is how it works.
I for one believe this has gone on far too long. First they're sneaking into this country, taking our jobs away from us. Then they start bleeding us dry with all the education and the free health care. Then we have to have stupid ass habla espanol menus when I go to the bank even though my bank knows I don't speak Spanish, and wouldn't want to, ever. English is just fine with me, thanks.
Now they're burning us down. When will Washington see that this is an act of war. Washington probably should have given them California when they had a chance, but now its war. We're off fighting in the deserts halfway around the world, and we're ignoring some serious enemies to the south. Don't you know that they support terrorists too?
Its like when I used to live in Texas. (Anybody that knows me personally knows that I give Texas a lot of guff for being a hee-haw inbred cesspool of intellectual decrepitude, but they aren't so bad considering the other states that are ruining this country...I'm looking at you California and Massachusetts). Anyway, I was living in this run down little house, with a tiny little lawn and a scrawny mesquite tree in the front yard. Mexican comes by one day says he can trim that tree for twenty bucks. I think that's a fine deal. I was younger then, and didn't realize that he was probably an illegal.
So I pay him the money. And next thing he's inside, wants a drink. I say sure, there's Lone Star beer in the fridge. He says he wants a Corona. I say that I can't afford imports. I'm starting to get angry now, he's disrespecting American beer. Disrespecting America is serious business. And I was always brought up to take what you get and like it, or else next time you're ungrateful little ass won't get anything at all. I say well, there's tap water there too you ungrateful bastard. He takes the beer. Then he asks me if I have anything to eat. I say shut the hell up I'm trying to watch my taped copy of Geraldo Rivera getting hit in the face with a chair. I hear the door slam. Then the next thing I know, I smell smoke. I think the punk is smoking a cigarette in my house. No, its worse, my house is on fire, and the little sneaky bastard immigrant set it. I evacuate the premises and the illegal is nowhere to be found...I figure he was off spending my twenty dollars on Coronas at the bar.
Click This Blue Underlined Thing, I guess is how it works.
I for one believe this has gone on far too long. First they're sneaking into this country, taking our jobs away from us. Then they start bleeding us dry with all the education and the free health care. Then we have to have stupid ass habla espanol menus when I go to the bank even though my bank knows I don't speak Spanish, and wouldn't want to, ever. English is just fine with me, thanks.
Now they're burning us down. When will Washington see that this is an act of war. Washington probably should have given them California when they had a chance, but now its war. We're off fighting in the deserts halfway around the world, and we're ignoring some serious enemies to the south. Don't you know that they support terrorists too?
Its like when I used to live in Texas. (Anybody that knows me personally knows that I give Texas a lot of guff for being a hee-haw inbred cesspool of intellectual decrepitude, but they aren't so bad considering the other states that are ruining this country...I'm looking at you California and Massachusetts). Anyway, I was living in this run down little house, with a tiny little lawn and a scrawny mesquite tree in the front yard. Mexican comes by one day says he can trim that tree for twenty bucks. I think that's a fine deal. I was younger then, and didn't realize that he was probably an illegal.
So I pay him the money. And next thing he's inside, wants a drink. I say sure, there's Lone Star beer in the fridge. He says he wants a Corona. I say that I can't afford imports. I'm starting to get angry now, he's disrespecting American beer. Disrespecting America is serious business. And I was always brought up to take what you get and like it, or else next time you're ungrateful little ass won't get anything at all. I say well, there's tap water there too you ungrateful bastard. He takes the beer. Then he asks me if I have anything to eat. I say shut the hell up I'm trying to watch my taped copy of Geraldo Rivera getting hit in the face with a chair. I hear the door slam. Then the next thing I know, I smell smoke. I think the punk is smoking a cigarette in my house. No, its worse, my house is on fire, and the little sneaky bastard immigrant set it. I evacuate the premises and the illegal is nowhere to be found...I figure he was off spending my twenty dollars on Coronas at the bar.
Monday (update, pt 2)
Seriously, how many guys own scooters in this god forsaken town. You try to make one courageous act of vengeance against a greasy Euro-trash scooter rider, and you make a mistake and take the wrong guy's exhaust manifold, and the next thing you know you've got a 300 pound black man knocking at your door wondering why you dismantled his scooter (Apparently he's got eyes on the street that watch over his scooter).
I might have a broken orbital bone. Good riddance, woman. Enjoy that filthy European.
I might have a broken orbital bone. Good riddance, woman. Enjoy that filthy European.
Monday (an update)
On second thought, I was a little angry. Let's see that little greaseball try to drive his scooter without an exhaust manifold.
Monday
Well, it's over between me and the lady. The one who got me onto this stupid thing to begin with, the whole reason I have to pay some half-wit to type this up for me. She was off with her mother for a week, and then she comes back talking to me about how she doesn't want to be involved with the police. She said that the police had contacted her (she was too naive to understand that in the Police State, they know everything), and she didn't want to be involved with it anymore.
With just a little surveillance (I worked in Defense for twenty five years), I was able to find that she was with another guy. I followed her around town, and she went into this red brick row house on [redacted] street, and comes out with some guy, and they get on a scooter and drive off. A greasy looking European (possibly Arab, he looked dark) who rides around town on a little motor scooter is better for her than an American patriot. But if that's what she wants, that's what she gets. I could see it was going south anyway. I simply could not provide the shock value she needed in the war against her mother. So she went and started seeing a terrorist (allegedly).
I'm still going to continue the blog. Even though my hand hurts from all this writing (three vicodin -- THREE --and a handful of aspirin this morning and I'm still aching), I feel that what I have to say is too important to let a little breakup ruin it. It's not like I've not been divorced twice. I have. And good riddance.
With just a little surveillance (I worked in Defense for twenty five years), I was able to find that she was with another guy. I followed her around town, and she went into this red brick row house on [redacted] street, and comes out with some guy, and they get on a scooter and drive off. A greasy looking European (possibly Arab, he looked dark) who rides around town on a little motor scooter is better for her than an American patriot. But if that's what she wants, that's what she gets. I could see it was going south anyway. I simply could not provide the shock value she needed in the war against her mother. So she went and started seeing a terrorist (allegedly).
I'm still going to continue the blog. Even though my hand hurts from all this writing (three vicodin -- THREE --and a handful of aspirin this morning and I'm still aching), I feel that what I have to say is too important to let a little breakup ruin it. It's not like I've not been divorced twice. I have. And good riddance.
Happy Father's Day
To all the American fathers, have a great day.
I have two sons, and they refuse to talk to me. One's in Africa, helping starving children grow up without ricketts, or something silly like that. Sent his own father a card for Christmas last year that said he'd donated some trees in South America in my name, even though he knows I support the logging industry. The other one's a closet homosexual in [redacted] trying to be a stage actor. He sent me a sweater vest for my birthday. A sweater vest.
Yeah, happy father's day.
I have two sons, and they refuse to talk to me. One's in Africa, helping starving children grow up without ricketts, or something silly like that. Sent his own father a card for Christmas last year that said he'd donated some trees in South America in my name, even though he knows I support the logging industry. The other one's a closet homosexual in [redacted] trying to be a stage actor. He sent me a sweater vest for my birthday. A sweater vest.
Yeah, happy father's day.
Knock, Knock, its the Police
We don't have heroes anymore in America. John Wayne isn't out there driving cattle or saving small towns. We've got a bunch of lesbians and cripples as heroes. Malcontents and criminals all of them.
Which brings me to the point of this post. The police came by my house, wanting to ask me about my possible involvement in that deal over by the library. Two fat, sweaty cops looking like they might spill out of their little blue uniforms and stain my porch. Why do they let cops get so fat these days? I tell you, I had a friend for twenty something years going back to when I was a kid. He graduated top of his class in the police academy deal. He was the most in shape man I've ever seen, and I've had drinks with Jack LaLanne. (People said LaLanne didn't drink, because of the health thing and all, but he guzzled gin, my god he guzzled gin). Anyway, someone shot him while he was checking out an abandoned building that turned out to be a crackhouse. Point is, he'd be ashamed of these two lumps of lard sitting on my stoop.
They said, "Are you.."
And I said, "An American? Yes, goddamnit wouldn't be anything but."
I went inside to get my copy of the Constitution that my son bought me when he went to DC, but they stopped me. They said I'd caused a disturbance the other day, that then later that night someone stuffed a bunch of shoes with big ball bearings and threw them through the library window. They said they put two and two together, pulling my library card (Fascism). The police state is despicable.
I told them no, get lost if they didn't have a warrant. I have rights. So, they'll probably be back. They've probably got me under surveillance. Some porker sitting in his squad car down the block stuffing his fat face with donuts and coffee. We'll see what happens.
Which brings me to the point of this post. The police came by my house, wanting to ask me about my possible involvement in that deal over by the library. Two fat, sweaty cops looking like they might spill out of their little blue uniforms and stain my porch. Why do they let cops get so fat these days? I tell you, I had a friend for twenty something years going back to when I was a kid. He graduated top of his class in the police academy deal. He was the most in shape man I've ever seen, and I've had drinks with Jack LaLanne. (People said LaLanne didn't drink, because of the health thing and all, but he guzzled gin, my god he guzzled gin). Anyway, someone shot him while he was checking out an abandoned building that turned out to be a crackhouse. Point is, he'd be ashamed of these two lumps of lard sitting on my stoop.
They said, "Are you.."
And I said, "An American? Yes, goddamnit wouldn't be anything but."
I went inside to get my copy of the Constitution that my son bought me when he went to DC, but they stopped me. They said I'd caused a disturbance the other day, that then later that night someone stuffed a bunch of shoes with big ball bearings and threw them through the library window. They said they put two and two together, pulling my library card (Fascism). The police state is despicable.
I told them no, get lost if they didn't have a warrant. I have rights. So, they'll probably be back. They've probably got me under surveillance. Some porker sitting in his squad car down the block stuffing his fat face with donuts and coffee. We'll see what happens.
Conspiracy?
I’ll dip a little bit into the past. I know this thing is supposed to be about me, but I’ve been thinking about the whole Kennedy assassination bit. Yeah, the kids probably don’t know who Kennedy was. But I grew up in ‘Nam. I know all about it. Listen up, kids. We had a communist president all the way back then…yes we did. I was three years old when Kennedy was killed, sure, but I’ve done the research. It would take a blind man not to be able to see what was going on.
Kennedy is still alive, running the country from a palatial estate on the coast of Cuba. Or at least he was as of 2002. He’s got a few sons that have taken over by now, I’m sure. The guy who was killed in Dallas was an actor named Henry Lou Griffin. The real Kennedy was in a movie theater in Brooklyn, waiting for everything to blow over so he could catch a flight to the Caribbean. Then he hopped a flight to Cuba. Why was Kennedy’s death faked? The government needed to regain control of its sheep.
The government wants to be big. They want to keep their paychecks and their pensions and retirements. Even though the people have spoken. Even though the people want a smaller government that can stay the hell out of our lives and let us get out of our own mistakes. See, a lot was going on in the 60s. (Kids, ask your parents, but then again, don’t, because they were probably a stoned pack of hippies). There were people who were ready to take the country and turn it back into the way the founding fathers wanted it. But the government decided they wanted to keep their job. They don’t want free markets, they want to be in control.
So they start a war in Vietnam, and pretend to kill the president. The people and their weak wills begin to buckle. Hey, maybe this revolution thing is wrong. Maybe we shouldn’t care about our rights because the handsome guy from Massachusetts just got popped. Except he wasn’t popped, alright? That’s just what they want you to think.
Anyway, that’s all for now, folks. I’ve probably said too much, but it needed to be said. I’ve been sitting on that secret since 1988. This blog thing might be good for me after all. I can feel my angina pains loosening up for the first time in years. And my feet don’t even hurt so bad anymore. Good day.
Barefeet (an addendum)
I apologize profusely to the [Redacted] Public Library. My actions may have seemed immature at the time, and I feel sympathy for the people who have to replace the windows that I smashed. Yes, I threw shoes through all of your windows. Didn't expect the windows to break, per se, but then I figured they were probably cheap imports and my surprise vanished. Yes, it is very hot outside. But this needed to be done for the sake of American liberty. Hopefully, I opened a few eyes to the injustices of our modern global society. In time, you will thank me.
Barefeet
If you want to see how bad a shape this country is in, then try to walk around barefoot in a library. Ha. See how far you get before some fascist comes up with his pencil behind his ear and tells you to put your shoes back on. It's a health code violation (Would you like to smell my foot? I clean my feet every day with bleach!). These people don't want to see your feet (Sure, like they care). It's a safety issue, you might get hurt (Give me a break).
Ha. Ha. Welcome to Obama's America. Welcome to the biggest joke in American history. Isn't it funny? Didn't think so.
First of all, the droves of people they claimed didn't want to see my feet were busy reading or picking their noses or being good little government loving slaves. They didn't even notice me, much less care that I was enjoying the way the carpet felt on my toes. Yeah, alright, I happen to like not being restricted by shoes and socks. You want to talk about foot odor, it comes from wearing shoes and socks all the time like some captive.
Safety issue? Here's the sissification of America at work. Right in front of your face. Strongest nation on earth? Not anymore, Jack. Not when we have laws that protect people from stepping on a pushpin. This is what we're paying our congressmen to do? We're so worried that someone might stub a toe that we have to enact draconian policies to protect them. If I stub my toe I take full responsibility for walking into a damned bookshelf (If I were so stupid, which I am not).
I tried to explain some things to the man. He wasn't listening. He threatened to call the police, I was creating a scene.
I'm writing this as a warning. There are people in this country who blindly follow stupid rules. We don't need these rules. The seeds of socialism have already taken root if we are quibbling over what I wear on my feet. The next thing, we'll be standing in line for bread. Ha. Ha. I'm not laughing.
Ha. Ha. Welcome to Obama's America. Welcome to the biggest joke in American history. Isn't it funny? Didn't think so.
First of all, the droves of people they claimed didn't want to see my feet were busy reading or picking their noses or being good little government loving slaves. They didn't even notice me, much less care that I was enjoying the way the carpet felt on my toes. Yeah, alright, I happen to like not being restricted by shoes and socks. You want to talk about foot odor, it comes from wearing shoes and socks all the time like some captive.
Safety issue? Here's the sissification of America at work. Right in front of your face. Strongest nation on earth? Not anymore, Jack. Not when we have laws that protect people from stepping on a pushpin. This is what we're paying our congressmen to do? We're so worried that someone might stub a toe that we have to enact draconian policies to protect them. If I stub my toe I take full responsibility for walking into a damned bookshelf (If I were so stupid, which I am not).
I tried to explain some things to the man. He wasn't listening. He threatened to call the police, I was creating a scene.
I'm writing this as a warning. There are people in this country who blindly follow stupid rules. We don't need these rules. The seeds of socialism have already taken root if we are quibbling over what I wear on my feet. The next thing, we'll be standing in line for bread. Ha. Ha. I'm not laughing.
The First One
So this is blogging. I don't see the big deal. Kids today need something better to occupy their time. When I was a kid we were worried about the bomb. Now there's no bomb. Terrorists are running all over, but the kids don't care. As long as they've got their face books and black berries. The whole thing seems like a scam to me. A big government scam. One day I'll be sitting on my couch watching John Wayne shoot some indians and the G-men will come knocking at my door. Big uptight dorks with bulky suits. They'll force their way in, despite the fact that I have certain inalienable rights set forth by the constitution. That's another thing these kids don't care about. Thomas Jefferson would roll over in his grave. Anyway, they'll force their way in. They'll nose around and find my guns, then take them away from me. Snatch them right out of my house. Then they'll take them over to the CIA who'll sell them to some African Warlord for opium or oil rights. Meanwhile, some small village in Africa is getting mowed down with my firearms. Genocide in Africa all over the news. Two weeks later some Amnesty International pipsqueak is coming by my door asking me to donate to save the massacred children in Africa. Talk to your government, I'll say. Those are my guns they took away from me and sold. I just signed up for a blog.
I'm only doing this because I've been seeing this girl. She's twenty-five and three times as flexible as either of my two previous wives. She's a fine kid, but she's always on this damned internet doing something or other. Oh, come on, [redacted] it's so much fun. You can tell people about your life. Well, I don't buy it, but like I said she's a good kid and I don't really want to hurt her feelings. She's still in this stage where she thinks progressive liberal thought can change the world. HA. She'll learn soon enough what a bleeding heart will get you. The heart can't work if it's bleeding. Bleeding hearts are terminal cases.
Shit, my hands hurt. I haven't written anything since grade school. I used to write poems for class until the teacher saw what I was writing. Censored in the fifth grade for being a patriot. Should have been more worried about those communist teachers and their damnable teachers unions. Don't expect too many of these from me. And don't expect me to tell you anything either. You're not getting my name. Anything I don't tell you is for my own protection.
See, I don't do technology. I grew up in 'Nam. In the 'Nam era where all those dope fiends were dropping acid. Magic Carpet Rides and Astral Planes and all that. I'll say it right now, the internet was concocted by some hophead, some acid dropping mama's boy who thought it would be funny to make it so everybody's lives revolved around this plastic box and this cyberspace mumbo jumbo. He thought it would be funny for everybody to be made to feel stupid for not knowing the right sequence of buttons to push to print a damned copy of something. Control Print Delete Alt Whatever. Shit.
I'm only doing this because I've been seeing this girl. She's twenty-five and three times as flexible as either of my two previous wives. She's a fine kid, but she's always on this damned internet doing something or other. Oh, come on, [redacted] it's so much fun. You can tell people about your life. Well, I don't buy it, but like I said she's a good kid and I don't really want to hurt her feelings. She's still in this stage where she thinks progressive liberal thought can change the world. HA. She'll learn soon enough what a bleeding heart will get you. The heart can't work if it's bleeding. Bleeding hearts are terminal cases.
Shit, my hands hurt. I haven't written anything since grade school. I used to write poems for class until the teacher saw what I was writing. Censored in the fifth grade for being a patriot. Should have been more worried about those communist teachers and their damnable teachers unions. Don't expect too many of these from me. And don't expect me to tell you anything either. You're not getting my name. Anything I don't tell you is for my own protection.
See, I don't do technology. I grew up in 'Nam. In the 'Nam era where all those dope fiends were dropping acid. Magic Carpet Rides and Astral Planes and all that. I'll say it right now, the internet was concocted by some hophead, some acid dropping mama's boy who thought it would be funny to make it so everybody's lives revolved around this plastic box and this cyberspace mumbo jumbo. He thought it would be funny for everybody to be made to feel stupid for not knowing the right sequence of buttons to push to print a damned copy of something. Control Print Delete Alt Whatever. Shit.
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