If I were God...

You can't heal injured furniture with an ice pack

2012-03-08T13:27:00.001-05:00

I LIKE COLOR STUFF!

But that didn't stop my 2 year old from trying.

Ours is something like this.

I have to lay this one off on my wife. Every little kid wants their boo-boo's kissed. I'm sure we all get that. But at some point my little one fell hard enough that a kiss wasn't deemed soothing enough. My wife offered her an ice pack that fateful night and she nodded 'yes' probably without even realizing what an ice pack was.

My guess is it was just validation of a boo-boo that really hurt. Now she asks for one all the time. She can trip on the carpet, land on its softness and even though there's no visible scrape, bump or bruise, whisper through trembling lips "ne-ed ice!"

Fast forward to last night. She's coloring a Dora picture on a tray table while sitting on our tan soft fabric couch. It wasnt' long before the paper was on the couch and she was coloring there, which of course organically led to her coloring the couch itself. My wife caught her one thick twelve inch green line too late.

I'm not going to say I went ballistic -I am not an intercontinental cruise missile.

I'm not even going to say I yelled.

But I guess I must have been loud. She started crying. (Okay, so I yelled.) I lowered my voice and tried explaining that she can't color on the couch. But she just kept crying. What a baby, right?

My couch is a lot like this one.
Hot chick sold separately.

So I tried to explain that she hurt the couch and can't ever do that again. "Hurt" is something she understands. She also understands what one must get for a "hurt". She asked her mom for ice and I joked "For hurt feelings because I yelled at her?" But she went over to the couch and put the ice on its green boo-boo.

It was so adorable I couldn't bear to keep her in the punishment closet for more than two hours after that. That's quite a reduced sentence for cute behavior. (I never got sentence reduction when I was a kid. And I was cute as hell! How do you reduce a caning anyway?)

I'm kidding. Of course, I'm kidding. What kind of irresponsible parent do you take me for? Any true disciplinarian will tell you anything less than overnight in a punishment closet is too short to make an impression. A full 24 hours if you really want to be sure.

I promised her the day she was born I'd try my best to be a good dad, so 24hrs it is! Now that happened about 6:30 last night.... The closet door didn't get locked until 6:50 or so... what time is it now?

Gay marines, dumpsters and closet slaves

2012-03-02T12:42:00.000-05:00

They're not all part of the same story (though that would be interesting). These were just some of the fascinating news items this week that got me thinking.

THE GAY MARINE KISS UPSETS MANY

Hard to believe things like this are still an issue. The hubbub is no more than old fashioned bigotry rearing it's aged head again. There was the same outcry when interracial couples first publicly crossed the smooch barrier. That's not an accepted bigotry anymore and it's a bit immature of us as a culture that this still is.

Obviously there is love here, and they have every right. That's absolutely true regardless of who it make uncomfortable. On the other hand, Ewww.

I'm not a hypocrite. Don't you be one either. If they have a right to their feelings for each other

-which they do- then I have a right to my feelings as well, okay? Okay. To wit, my feelings are Ewwwwwww.....

THE DUMPSTER OF YOU DREAMS

Can't afford a 'real' place in these hard times? Just as there's 'if the world gives you lemons make lemonade' now there's 'if the world gives you dumpsters make a dumpsterdwelling.'

It puts me in mind of the old quote "The Lord helps those who help themselves." Which is either indicative of an empowering god who really believes in the 'rise above' ability of his creations, or a lazy deity who can't be bothered to get his omnipotent ass off the couchcloud.

If I were He, I'd have this invention become the latest hit in the micro-house market and let the inventor make some bank.

THE SLAVE IN THE CLOSET

Obviously the dumpster life isn't for everybody, but it beats being a slave in a closet. As the breaking story goes an immigrant from India came to live as a maid and nanny for the owners of this palatial mansion. These wealthy bastards then basically enslaved the poor woman, forcing 17hr days 7 days a week for the past 5+ years. When investigators got wind of this and began closing in the 'lady' of the house called the woman's relatives in India to enlist their help in persuading the victim to help in the cover up. The relative taped the calls and passed them on to the authorities.

It's the phone calls that really got me. This person was so used to wealth and privilege that although she understood what she'd done was illegal, she didn't really feel it was that wrong. Otherwise she'd be too ashamed to contact her maid/slave's family in India, much less try to enlist their support in a cover up.

There is such a thing as having too much money. That's what this story means to me. One can have so much compared to other people that one comes to believe they're above those other people and the laws of common decency as well.

The solution (if I were god) is obvious; have them switch places. As Sting sang so long ago Then you'll find your servant is your master

I'm a fan of divine justice, especially the poetic kind.

SO I WON AN AWARD

Lastly but not leastly I've just received a Lobster award from Angie of Angie Uncovered. (And when she says 'uncovered', oh boy!) It's my first award from a pole-dancer, and as such I was surprised, honored and horrified in equal parts.

Surprised, since I didn't even know that I was qualified for the coveted lobster. I can only assume it's for how well my generous tail tastes in butter.

Honored, because nude women don't usually take note of me until after I've climbed in the bathroom window and yanked the shower curtain aside.

Never accept a secondhard award like this
if they've never even bothered to wash the
lube off it first. Lesson learned.

Horrified, because well, it is a second hand award. Angie got it before me, and I guess her awarder got it from the person before her and so on back to patient zero. I'm not normally a germaphobe but this thing's been passed around more times than Lindsay Lohan at a biker rally. I bought a 55 gallon drum of anti-microbial soap to give it a full immersion treatment before actually touching it, and rinsed it off with water fired from my department's deck gun just to be sure. So, thank you Angie. (Use of the deck gun was free, but you owe me $87.50 for the soap.)

When you've really, really, REALLY gotta
hose something down -use the deck gun.

Brown Fat and Robots riding Camels

2012-02-22T10:13:00.000-05:00

I just found out today we have a second kind of fat (no kidding) - brown fat. You're likely thinking "Thanks jerkoff, that's all I need!"

Like I don't have enough problems already.

Not to worry, it's healthy and actually helps burn the white fat (or Fat fat). So, you know, GO BROWN!

[Now I'm curious how many hits for UPS I'll get for that.]
The other startling thing I learned this week was that arab camel racing enthusiasts are so rich they're buying robot jockeys to ride in these races as opposed to their old method of buying children from poor neighboring countries to be the jockeys.

Of course, they didn't do this on their own. It took international humanitarian outrage at all the children-buying a/k/a slave trading before they threw up their hands in frustration "What's the point of having all this oil money if we can't buy a few slave children to jockey our camel races? Next they'll be telling us we shouldn't stone women to death for adultery if they've been raped. What?! They're already complaining about that?!"

If I were god... I'd still let the children be the jockeys, but the slave traders would be the camels. I think a 5 mile course in the midday desert sun would make the point, don't you?

Camels ridden by mechanical robots race to the finish during a six kilometer race at the 12th International Camel Race in Kebd February 14, 2012. According to organizers, camel jockeys were replaced by mechanical robots in 2005 due to international pressure because camel owners were found to be involved in human trafficking, buying children from countries like Pakistan and India for their smaller frame and lighter weight to ride on the camels.

WHAT IF GOD IS CHEATING ON US part VIII

2012-02-16T13:02:00.001-05:00

Eartha finds out the hard way the difference between 'real' and 'true'.

I'm sure there are a number of people checking their scores and calling either their long-suffering mothers or local zoologists. But in case there are any 11's out there, I would gladly accept a Jolie or Knowles or even a Fox in lieu of an Aguilera. (I am reasonable, am I not?) Also, a new hot tub. Thanks, G!

WHAT IF GOD IS CHEATING ON US - part VII

2012-02-13T13:26:00.000-05:00

"OH, I see now! You insisted THOU SHALT PUT NO OTHER GODS BEFORE ME,
didn't You? But not a word that You wouldn't put any other creations before ME!"

It's been a while since the last installment, so let me recap the final paragraph of the last page so that the new pages make sense. I was speculating on other possible theories for God's absence.

Is He the Donald Trump of the Universe, developing properties all over the place, putting His name on everything, before selling His shares and moving on? If this were the case I’d love to have the ticker symbol. Not

Next time: The God Test

It'll only be a short wait, a day or two, to make up for my Super Bowl winning sojourn away from here. (In case you hadn't heard, THE GIANTS WON THE SUPER BOWL. AGAIN. see post below for details on how Ahmad Broadshaw brought the victory in for an ass landing.)

When Giants fall on their ass

2012-02-06T09:36:00.000-05:00

-they win the SUPER BOWL.

Ass me no questions, I'll tell you no lies;
I forgot not to score.

Giant running back Ahmad Bradshaw was not happy to have scored the go-ahead touchdown with about a minute to go in this very tight Super Bowl. As a Giant fan at home wearing my brand new Cruz jersey, I wasn't happy to see it. He tried to stop at the 1 yard line, squatted to freeze his momentum, and tipped ass first into the end zone anyway. History's only unwanted touchdown. Why? You don't leave Tom Brady that much time at the end of a game, not in the Super Bowl. He wins them that way.

Except against my Giants. Yes, my Giants. The defence held again and the Giants won the Super Bowl. A-gain. Sorry, Tom. I know that's twice now. That's gotta hurt. But he's already got Giselle Bundchen and three title rings. This one belongs to clutch QB Eli Manning and the New York Giants.

And if I were god, I wouldn't have had it any other way.

WHAT IF GOD IS CHEATING ON US? part VI

2012-01-25T12:52:00.002-05:00

Where rain really comes from.

I did consider putting up a post about the NY Giants going to the Super Bowl,
but maybe I'll wait until after they win it. Which they totally will.

WHAT IF GOD IS CHEATING ON US? part V

2012-01-19T08:54:00.001-05:00

Eartha's mother always told her "If a god seems too good to be true, He probably is."

In a day or three the theories will be plopped down before you like so many lumps of warm spam. And they will be spam-like in many ways. Tangy and different at first, but requiring a few grains of salt (or the doubt connotating condiment of your choice) just to choke 'em down, being of highly questionable origin and even more questionable worth.

Most will finish it anyway. And afterwards wonder why. Bone appetit!

The Giants have risen

2012-01-17T07:55:00.000-05:00

...to the occasion.

This is not a sports blog, but these rampaging monsters can no longer be ignored.

-either on earth, or above-

They go from city to city devouring all in their path, leaving only destruction and shattered hopes in their wake.
Word is, these hungry Giants are heading for San Francisco and will storm into town on Sunday.

It won't be pretty. Expect to see red bodies splattered all over the ground. It will not be for the squeamish.

They're merciless!
they're monstrous!
damn near murderous!
and they have my blessing.

GO BIG BLUE!!

WHAT IF GOD IS CHEATING ON US? part IV

2012-01-13T12:44:00.000-05:00

"God's love is everywhere" suddenly takes on a dark new meaning for poor Eartha.

Sorry it's been so long since the last chapter, hope this makes up for it.

WHAT IF GOD IS CHEATING ON US part III

2012-01-04T07:41:00.001-05:00

Eartha leans that apparently 'He is everywhere' can also mean 'He gets around'.

Sorry it took so long for this. I will try to be more regular with these. I'm still devoting every waking moment to reconstruction. The light switches are now in for the kitchen, outside light and inside lamp. No more flashlights to get certain places in the house anymore. The tiling which was creeping along can get pretty regular now and just yesterday we bought a brand new tile saw. It's got a sliding tray with an extension and miter slots. The blade is on an overhead swivel arm which also allows angle cuts. Things are just rollin' along now!

WHAT IF GOD IS CHEATING ON US? part II

2011-12-18T18:30:00.000-05:00

Eartha finds out she's not the only one to have god.

Next time; the question. (Hint: ok, it's only the title)
Hope you enjoyed it so far. As always, your comments and edits are most welcome.

WHAT IF GOD IS CHEATING ON US? part I

2011-12-08T14:06:00.000-05:00

(and just when she was finally cleaning up her act too)

[technical problem: The last line got dropped from the above text box. It should read "could you start in the Middle East?"]

I hope you enjoyed the first few pages. As a writer always willing to edit it would help me to know which parts of these critical first pages 'grabbed you', which bored you or if any part dragged or disappointed. Don't be too afraid or too polite to be honest people, thou shalt not lie.

Unfortunately technical issues have cropped up again and may delay the next installment. I'll try to get it sorted out this weekend so I can post the next few pages on Monday.

-NO PROMISES; after all I am not actually... (you know)

"Let there be walls!" and lo, there were walls.

2011-12-07T11:01:00.001-05:00

Yes, I know it's a very dark picture. I said 'let there be walls', not 'let there be light'. I shoulda said both.

So now there's walls.
Walls, walls everywhere's a wall.
Here, there and in the hall
unpainted still, but very tall
screwed in tight so they don't fall
can't you hear me y'all?
listen up and hear my calls
I'm up to my balls in walls

(and it feels good)

Not only have my drywall guys finished their job, but nobody's lost any body parts for over a week!
Now the baseboard heating can go in and be hooked up to the new furnace that's been waiting for days.
And then Lo! There will be heat. But there will be no post titled "Let there be heat". Let's be honest; these posts aren't very funny, and this blog hasn't been much fun since Irene gave us a bath. (Flood joke, still not funny)

So it's time to resurrect the funny. I while ago I promised pages from a book I finished last summer, mostly so I could just throw those up here quickly and get back to wiring/tiling/plastering/painting. I immediately ran into problems transferring the layout from its PDF format to Blogger. I could get the prose in easily enough, but the color-coded text boxes (packed to their little lids with humor, I promise) would not translate. I tried using my new Mac to take pictures of entire pages, which it did, but they would not digitally transfer over here. Nothing's been easy lately, my friends.

With my main focus on making my house livable by ~~Halloween~~ ~~Thanksgiving~~ Christmas, I didn't spend a whole lot on time on the solution (selfish, I know. No non-deity is perfect) But recently my brother Robinhood, who is every bit as sharp a techie as a marksman, was able to load a *discounted* version of Photoshop onto my new Mac, and using that I can now convert the pages with their text boxes into jpegs which Blogger takes to like Jerry Sandusky takes to little b-, oh never mind. Anyway...

Tomorrow: the first installment and (probably not too) eagerly awaited world premier of (drumroll please...)

What if God is Cheating on Us?

Then he CUT HIS FINGER OFF

2011-11-28T21:30:00.000-05:00

So I get home to find the cabinet guys nearly done, but the crown moulding we had ordered was not touching the ceiling as we arranged for in the showroom last week. I knew it was wrong the moment I saw it, but I did not 'hit the ceiling' myself. I told them and the three of us had an uncomfortable conversation before the main guy, a pleasant older fellow I'd dealt with before, called the showroom to bawl them out.

Then he went outside in the fading light to his table saw set-up in my driveway to cut extra pieces to extend the moulding up.

Then he came back in clutching his bleeding hand. His assistant grabs a towel, wraps it and off they rush to the hospital.

I continue on my own project in another room for another ten minutes or so.

Until the assistant comes back, breathless.

He needs a strong flashlight.

To find the thumb.

I. SHIT. YOU. NOT.

I swear to Me, the man cut his thumb off. Now we have to find it. In the dark. And of course, I do. About an inch or so of it, severed at or below the joint.

He grabs it with a gauze square they gave him at the hospital, puts it in a baggy already set up with ice and a gauze bed, and off he goes to help his boss get whole again. It's too early to know if they'll be successful reattaching it. His whole family went to the hospital and is with him. As I am not actually all-knowing and couldn't guess as to the protocol for this flavor of madness, I asked his assistant if we should go. He said not, he's sedated and not receiving visitors anyway. At least we know he's getting good care.

And that's where it stands. True story. Just happened. Swear to Me.

Let there be floor! said I

2011-11-28T15:23:00.000-05:00

And lo, there was floor.

And low, was how I had to bend to do all that shit. It took a while and was hell on my lower back, but the kitchen floor is IN. The cabinet guy is doing his installation today, so the B part of this post should show a much improved kitchen.

The kitchen tile, 18" x 18" Tavertino Beige porcelain, is meant for most of the first floor. The kitchen represents only about one fifth the square footage and four fifths of my aching lumbar region. The money saved on labor is substantial. The money spent on future chiropractors might be as well.

If I were God... I'd snap my freakin' fingers and it would be done.(possibly by the Swedish bikini team) But since I'm not, I'm going to have to think about it.

And so we build

2011-11-07T23:33:00.000-05:00

I've gotten bids from a number of
contractors. None of them looked
anything like this. Why is that?

After the flood we felt drilled
and the losses just killed
but the possibilities thrilled
and now it's to us to build
and so we build
AND SO WE BUILD

More than two months after 3 feet of flood water flowed through our home we have turned the corner on DEstruction and graduated to CONstruction.

Today was a big day in that process. We had already ordered our cabinets, and today we went to the stone yard and picked a light marbled pattern for our counter top. It'll be one piece, which is nice.

After that it was back to Home Depot, to submit a list of the most expensive materials we need to get into their 'bid room'. They had told me about their build room a month ago when I explained I'd be buying a shitload -I'm sorry that's wrong to say. I'd be buying a fuckload of building materials to rebuild my house. As it was explained at the time, their 'bid room' was a place you submit your $2500+ item list wish they would offer discounts on. So I spend the ensuing weeks building that list to exceed that threshold and garner said discounts. When I spoke to them on Saturday they told me they had recently changed the rules on bid room acceptance; it's contractors only now. Rather than argue with the innocent counter person I asked for a manager.

Everything a boy needs to rebuild his kitchen
(and make his wife happy) -almost.

I was in luck, he had been flooded also. He told me the rule was company-wide since management felt it was being abused and was originally intended for contractors only, but he would make an exception for me and let me in for one week. I took advantage and put in for 4K worth of materials, mostly tiling. They came back within minutes of my submission with $350 worth of discounts. That's 8% on top of their already low prices. We done good.

I had taken a tiling class there just the day before, so I collected enough of our selected tile, quick set and grout to do the kitchen. Our cabinets are due in later this week, and the tile should be laid before hand. (If you knew me at all, you'd know I'm a fan of getting things laid early) So it's all starting to fall into place. Finally. Yay us!

Halloween Snow

2011-11-01T09:19:00.000-04:00

The way home; BLOCKED

Going around the back way was only PARTIALLY blocked.

These are not the bottoms of huge fir trees, these are branches who
cracked under the weight of wet snow and collapsed outwards.
OR
An inebriated all-powerful being stumbled by and squashed them
-but I can't prove that.

Now my Weeping Willow will NEVER stop crying!

And afterwards He just shines His rays down upon His handiwork;
"Yeah, I taketh away too, beotch."

So flooding me out wasn't enough for YOU, huh? YOU gotta drop wet snow all over my 'burb while there's still leaves on the trees to catch it and break under the weight? Or maybe you though I'D break under the weight? WRONG. Whatever doesn't kill me makes me stron-
(what am I, crazy?)

Uh, let me stop right there for a timely disclaimer.

THIS IS IN NO WAY A CHALLENGE TO KILL ME.

And in closing, let me just say thank you for the snow, it's very pretty.

First Blogiversary! (feel free to send cash)

2011-10-21T13:00:00.000-04:00

It's been a year to the day that I published my first post here. As it was my first and given the blog's name I thought I was oh so clever calling it In the Beginning and styling it as a satire of Genesis I.

Hardly anybody read it.

I soon became a lot less self-impressed.

I had been under the delusion that my obvious genius would stand head, shoulders (and maybe even nads) above the rest, be recognized quickly, and go viral faster than Lindsay Lohan lands in court.

Other than the flu last winter, I have yet to go viral. (sadly, Lindsay's court appearances have instead. Hey, maybe if she was my blog... No, too many guys would be hanging around waiting to do my blog when it got drunk. So that won't work.) My goal was to build a huge following, a base from which to launch a humor book I'd recently finished called "What if God's Cheating on Us?" (If you think about it, it would explain a lot. A lot.)

But I kept writing anyway, for the fun of it. I'm glad I did. I cyber-met a number of cool people and talented writers whom I encourage everyone to check out; they're in the 'gotta read' section on the sidebar.

Though I honestly appreciate them all, there are two that deserve special mention. I looked back to the first comments I ever received, and it was Fred and Tessa bringing encouragement and positivity to this then fledgling effort. Thank you guys, you're good people and a good couple and it showed from the start. I want to thank everyone who took the time to write something back. I appreciate it, all writers do.

Also encouraging was the trickle of foreign countries that began dropping in. After the US, it was Taiwan and Norway oddly enough in that first week or so. I started keeping track, and one year later (after Mongolia and Cambodia finally show up) the number has grown to 98 and counting.

I didn't have time to blog much in the last seven weeks and I won't again for at least for the next month or two. Rebuilding and refurbishing our floodhouse demands attention now and writing and drawing takes time I just can't afford. On the other hand I don't want to abandon this space or my core readership either. (One should always try to strengthen one's core. Richard Simmons said that, ergo you know it's true)

So I thought why not just drop the book in here, a few pages at a time. Maybe it won't be terrible and maybe I'll get a few helpful comments and suggestions from you guys. What do you think? (insert encouragement & positivity below)

I kissed Snow White on her birthday

2011-10-19T07:47:00.003-04:00

(I get to do that, as her daddy.) My Kayla, previewing her Halloween costume.
HAPPY TWO TO YOU MY BOO!
Love,
Dad

So there I was, stealing my own damn car back

2011-10-10T13:57:00.004-04:00

I'm not saying god has it in for me, but it's starting to look suspicious.

After my house was flooded and gutted (old news, I won't rehash that) I've spent most of my non-work hours preparing and arranging for the rebuild. It was on one of these trips to floodhouse that the unforeseen struck again. (Unforeseen = GOD, maybe. Struck = ouch! Damnit!)

We were driving (myself, wife and 2yr old daughter) in our 1yr old Santa Fe and stopped at a light. It just happened to be directly in front of the dealership we bought it from last year. It just happened not go again when the light turned green and wifey hit the gas again. It gave us a threatening grinding sound, but no forward motion. So there we were, waiting on a tow truck. Once again out on the street, once again losing use of another major purchase. Wife weeping, daughter confused, me pissed (and scowling suspiciously skyward).

After being towed to the sister dealership's service center (the one we broke down in front of was just a sales showroom) we found ourselves carless. The then-helpful service manager, let's call him Crank -not his real name, but not that far away either- said they didn't provide loaners any more but offered us a rental and would only charge for 'a day or two'. After losing most of their fleet to the flood they had very little left to offer us so we drove off in a mud splattered Mazda3. It wasn't ideal for our needs, but it did go when you hit the gas so we took it.

The next weekend I'm in Wildwood, NJ, at the other end of the state for the yearly fighter fighter convention. It's been planned for a while and we needed the break so we went. My first morning down there I get a call from the service center. The part and labor are covered by the warranty. That's the high point; now follow me downhill.

I could use a license to kill right about now.

They don't stock that part because it 'never' breaks.

Nobody stocks it. Anywhere.

It must be fabricated.

IN KOREA.

It will take 30 days.

"And you can't keep our car that long unless you pay full price."
"What?! 30 days at $35/day is over a thousand. No way. Not gonna hap-"
"Then bring it back today, or we're charging you for every day."
"I'm 200 miles away in Wildwood for the weekend! I'm not trashing our vacation just like that. You can't give people same-day notice. And why does it take 30 days to get this @$#%& part? Is it coming from Mars?"
"Korea, as I said."
"By mule?!"

I did not give up our weekend, and we had a blast. I didn't even tell the wife all this until we were back.

Next day I called Hyundai USA and got them involved and though they couldn't/wouldn't promise reimbursement at the moment, they would contact Crank and try to mediate. A few hours later I'm on the phone with him and I'm very direct.
"I wasn't in a position to return your car on Friday, but I am today. If you plan on charging me for all these days-"
"No, no. Don't worry about it. We'll work something out. Keep the car. We'll work it out."

So I keep the car. And deeper we go...

The next day I get a voicemail from somebody in service. (It's day 10 now.) "We got that part in today, and we can start on it now."

Not 30 days after all? That's fantastic -if it's true. I don't tell the wife pending confirmation. I call service and get a nasal-voiced woman. "No, your part's not in. Sorry." Reaaaaaalllly...
"I received a voicemail saying it was. Can you go to the service area and ask them, please?"
"No, I'm sorry. I'm not located there.  This office is in a trailer outside the building."
"Yes, I've seen it. You're directly outside of and right next to the service garage."
"I'm sorry I can't leave the trailer."
I call Crank directly and ask for the story. He confirms that it is in and they're starting today. They might finish by tonight, if not tomorrow.

Two days later I get a call saying it's done and I can pick it up. Oh, and by the way the rental charge is $375. What now?! What happened to only charging for "a day or two" and "keep the car, we'll work it out"? They don't have an answer on the phone for me. I go there after work, around 7pm. Crank is gone and service is closed. Some sales guy opens the file and reads the strict instructions on not releasing my Santa Fe until $375 is paid for the Mazda3. He sees my face and says "Please, I'm just the messenger here. Why don't you talk to the night sales manager? Right over here."

That guys turns out to be a dead ringer for the fat Russian in 'Borat'. He opens the clear plastic envelope with the service paper, the rental paper and my keys. He slides them all out, reads the papers and comes to the same conclusion. I must have been smoldering like a tanker fire because he looked scared. I look down at my keys on the desk. They're right there. He sees me looking. After an awkward moment he leans forward and covers them with the papers "Why don't you talk to Crank tomorrow?"
"He's going to try to add another day on this bill."
"He won't, I promise! Just talk to him, please."
I leave without my car. It's being held hostage. Ransom: $375

It's about to get ugly.

I get Crank on the phone the next day and we debate back and forth and it's getting tense.
"You said you'd charge for a day or two."
"No, I said I'd knock a few days off. It's 13 days and I'm only charging for 10."
"You said we'd work it out. This isn't working it out. This is you picking a number you like and handing me the bill."
"I never said that. Look, you're lucky I'm only charging you for 10 days. Bring the rental back and get your car."
"I'm not paying $375. You said we'd work something out, so let's do that."
"That's the charge. I'm in business to rent cars here, I told you there are no loaners. You either bring our rental back or I'll call the police and report it as stolen!"

Now it's ugly. NOW IT'S ON.

He's threatening to call the police? I actually call the police. I get a detective from the local precinct on the phone, tell the whole story as honestly as I can because I need a solid answer based on the facts. He tells me that unless they have a lien or part ownership on the Santa Fe, or there's an unpaid bill on that car, that they have no legal right to withhold my keys -even if there's an unpaid bill on a different car. This confirms my own suspicions, which I earlier ran by a senior counsel at my law firm who also agreed. The detective said "If they give you a problem, you can call us and we'll send a car over."
"I don't want to call 911 for this, right?"
"Well, you can if you have to. If it gets hairy."

So I make up my mind. I'm on my way in their car to get my car. I've got a plan. A plan that could go horribly wrong fast. I dial the precinct one more time and hang up before it rings. Now they're the latest on my cell's "most recently called". Maybe I'll only have time for two keystrokes if it gets hairy. I'm not paying them $375. I just need to get my hands on my keys. That's 80% of it. And get out again, that's 180% of it.

I've got a plan.
I've got my words lined up.
I've got my timing down.
I've got 5 minutes until I'm there.
I've got more butterflies in my gut than there were Japanese torpedo bombers over Pearl Harbor.

I get in there and walk through their creepy abandoned first floor. It was lost in the flood, only half rebuilt and left sparsely lit. I pass through quickly and go up the wide spiral staircase to the battlegroun- I mean the second floor.

It's brightly lit, many people around; staff, salesmen, car buyers.
My mouth is dry, desert dry. Drier than any martini ever shaken not stirred.
I breeze past the night secretary and head for the men's room. I need water.
There's a water cooler there with a stack of those mini dunce caps they call cups.
I down about five. I knew Crank would be gone by now, that's why I came extra late. But 'Borat' is there and he waddles over to chat. Wonderful. "I read your contract and I'm sorry to say there is no loaner provision." I only smile and nod. I don't know how many words I've got and I'm not going to waste any on him. I go in the rest room. It's a one-at-a-time.  Quick splash on the face and I'm out. If he goes in then I have to move fast; he already knows the story so I'm better off with him off the floor. I leave and he goes in. Perfect.

Quick march across the floor to the night secretary. Wouldn't you know, she doesn't know where the late pick-up file is. I need the staff to be a little ignorant of the situation for this to work, but not that ignorant. It's at her feet. I point it out.

I know how the next part will go from the night before. She must fetch a salesman who would have the authority to release cars. He's going to tired, bored and hiding his annoyance. He's going to be surprised at there being a rental form behind the expected service form. And he is all of the above.

He takes out the paperwork with one hand but keeps hold of the clear plastic envelope still holding the all-important keys to my Santa Fe in the other. That's no good, but I wait for him to see there's two forms and not the usual one. It takes him a moment to get there, I see his brow crinkle a little. He puts the envelope down so he can hold one paper in each and peruse both at once. Perfect.

"It looks like you owe $375 here and-" And here we go.
"No, that's wrong. The Santa Fe is under warranty and there's no charge. See that there, zero."
"There is a charge on the Mazda which is in dispute. I'll settle that with Crank later. These (holding the Mazda keys at eye level between us) are your keys. Your car is now returned. These (and I pick up the clear plastic envelope, tilt it and slide Fe's keys into my waiting palm. I remember the soft swoosh as they slid down the plastic and the little tinkle as they landed) are mine."
I put them firmly in my pocket. Awesome. 80% there.
"Uh, um, just wait a minute, I need to check it on the computer." He walks towards a glass office. I'd like to bolt the other way but that would be so obvious. I march after him instead. He bars the way at the door. "You can't come in here. There's, ah, confidential customer information that you can't see."
"Fine."
He closes the door and disappears from view.
So do I.

All I have to do is leave. If God lets me. If He's not out to get me. I'll find out soon enough.

At a controlled pace I walk past the night secretary and glass offices filled with salesmen. Any second I might hear somebody call after me or a "stop that guy!". I've already decided to ignore it and keep going if somebody did yell.
To the stairs, unchallenged.
Down the long spiral, unchallenged.
Through the dark abandoned first floor, unchallenged.
To the wide double doors, unchal- LOCKED.

NO!! Goddamnit it! (Did God do it?)
Keep cool.  Peer around in the shadows. Small door in the corner.
Open. YES! Outside. Cool fresh air. 90% there.

And there's Fe, waiting like a faithful old dog, nose in against the fence. But the spots are slanted. Easy when pulling in from the street, but not enough room to turn around right there -nasal girl's trailer/office is there. (It's a shame she wasn't standing in front of it when I pulled out!) You can only back out of that space, and that leaves you pointed further into their lot. It's over 100 yards behind me to the only exit. Back out that distance in a dim lot with lots of cars on both sides to hit if I'm off? Can't risk a collision now. I could try going all the way around their huge building, but I've seen that way blocked. Tick-tock, better do something.
Quick decision made. I go further into their lot, find enough space to do a K-turn and head towards the front.

It's been over a minute, maybe more than two since that salesman closed his door. I doubt he was looking anything up. He was calling Crank at home. And what would he say? "Don't let that bastard leave!"

Pulling away from the back lot and past the building again. Nobody dashing out the door after me. I can see the 2nd floor and the spiral stairs through their big window. Nobody. 95% there.

Gotta admit, I felt a little like this.

Out onto route 23.

Three lanes, few lights, frequent speeders.

One thought: don't crash

Despite what the detective said, they could still call the cops on me and it's possible I might be cuffed and held overnight before a judge decides they are my keys and Fe is my car and I was within my rights. No likey jail.

I made a quick set of rules for this final leg:
No speeding.
No drifting in the lane.
No blowing any lights or stop signs.
And No Accidents.

Flashing reds and blues up ahead, half a mile. COPS.
Little hairs bristling on my neck.
Relax, could be anything.
Somebody else is pulled over. YES. Keep going.
One eye on on the road, one eye on the rearview, and one eye on heaven. -In case somebody tries dropping a plane, meteor, asteroid or something on me for good measure. Yes, I know that's three eyes. I'm a multitasker.

My floodhouse in town, which Crank has the address to, is not where we're staying. He doesn't have that address to give to the police even if he wanted to. That's my destination, I just need to get over the county border.
Driving... Driving...
A speeder zips by, his wind nudging Fe.
I will not speed. Not on this stretch. Not now.
The highway out of Dodge is just another mile. 98% there.
...99 and there's the ramp to 287 North
...100.

So maybe He doesn't have it in for me after all.
The flood, then the car, then the Crank -maybe it's all just the randomness of the universe.
So now I don't trust the universe.

Of course Crank tried billing my credit card for $375.
Of course I had to call and have it stopped.
He'll have to negotiate in good faith now, truely 'work it out' with me or he won't see a dime.

The bottom, before the bounce

2011-09-05T21:47:00.004-04:00

Our garage, as seen from our den

Our den, as seen from our garage

The remains of our den and garage, as seen from anywhere

Believe it or not, this is a kitchen

We're at the point where we're all about the process now. It doesn't hurt at all, and hasn't for days. It's much more of a worksite now than a home lost. The kitchen cabinets are out, the stove, dishwasher, refrigerator and even the kitchen sink are all out and on the lawn. The final section left was the workbench in the corner of the garage. I designed and built it myself a month after we moved in. I made and fixed so many things on it and with it over the last two and half years -more projects than I can count. I took it apart today and tossed the remains on the lawn -and felt nothing. I'll build another one after we're up and running again. Demolition had become just a job now, and that's a good thing.

Now we're just waiting on insurance adjusters and contractor's estimates. The former to give us our budget for the rebuild, and the latter to tell us how much we can get on that budget. The goal: a second bathroom. Not very big dreams for a would-be deity (See? I do know how to spell it!)

Of course, IF I WERE GOD...

There would be a another flood, a minor one -half inch or so, to wash away the dirt on the floors.

Followed by a minor tornado, a half yard high or so, to dry the newly washed floors.

Followed by a squad of Tolkien's dwarfs (renown for their construction skills) to rebuild my house.

Followed by a platoon of Elrond's elves (renown for their decorative flair) to paint and decorate.

Followed by a troop of sexy wood nymphs (renown for -mind your own business, Me-dammit!) because I swear to Me, I deserve it.

Worst. Diety. Ever.

2011-09-03T11:00:00.000-04:00

Perfect expression on my daughter's face, next to new shoes never worn, next to my parade cap worn exactly once,

on a solid oak bar I had just received but never used, in a yard full of other flood tainted now-garbage on our lawn.

Irene, you were the nastied bitch I ever regretted meeting.

Granted, mass flooding is kind of a God trademark, but not to his own house! That's like Wyatt Earp hunting down outlaws and shooting himself in the foot. Seven times -emptying his revolver, reloading, and shooting himself once more for good measure! This kind of incompetent mishandling of executive power hasn't been seen since the Bush administration. This is supposed to strike other people, elsewhere, in a different town other than mine. Not here. Not my house. And yet...

A yardful of memories, waiting for the trashman.

My lovely kitchen

Floodline at the door handle

My lovely bedroom

My lovely den

But it was in my house. 38 inches deep in the living room, kitchen, lower bedroom, bath, and den. We'll be gutting it out for days. Drywall and insulation must be ripped out up to 4 ft. The hardwood floor in the den must be ripped up. Fun times over at not-actually-god's.

There are very nice people in this town though and they've banded together to supply all the flood victims with hot meals, all manner of dry and canned foods and other supplies, use of the showers at both local spas, clothing, and volunteer work crews to help with the demolition so many need. A local mom and her 3 cheerful preteen kids showed up to help us rip up our soaked carpeting and padding. She had been flooded out also, but a team showed up at her place the day before to help her and she's paying it forward with us. So we'll all get through it together. If I were god and I were making people, I couldn't make them any better than these. So help Me, Me.

Kayla Khan, scourge of daycare

2011-08-24T10:01:00.001-04:00

KNEEL BEFORE KHAN !!

My nearly two year old daughter Kayla hit her first kid in daycare last week. With a toy.

There’s no way to prove for sure that my daughter is not a descendant of Ghengis Khan; ancestry.com does not go back that far. Alarmingly, I understand she struck from the east, as he did, and with little warning, also as he did, but I am fairly certain her attack was not aided by fast moving groups of mounted archers. (Thankfully there are no reports of the presence of mounted cavalry of any kind) This gives me hope she is not indeed a distant progeny of the elder Khan nor is she likely to sack eastern Europe and lower Russia in the foreseeable future. I am quite sure that kind of aggression would get her kicked out of daycare, which would be terrible as this one is close, clean, cheap and her aunt Betty works there.

Why does she line them up like that, and call for reinforcements in Mongolese?

And who the hell taught her Mongolese?

But she did use a weapon. I have a nagging feeling it may be my fault. I have HBO and can stream Netflix. As an infant she was in the room as I was watching all manner of unedited guy films, including Pulp Fiction. Nobody was close enough to hear what she was saying as she struck that kid, but I dearly hope she wasn’t quoting scripture like Jules “And I will smite thee with a furious vengeance…” I’d hate to think she was taking lessons from Tarrantino’s favorite hired assassin.

You CAN hold it sideways for extra
menace, but that's punk.

Jules was only (pulp) fictional, but Khan was real as death, which he and his heirs meted out liberally on their various bi-continental tears. Nobody could stop them either. They out maneuvered and outfought every European army that tried to stand against them. The only thing that stopped their epic onslaught was being called home. When old Khan died, three princes were in the army rampaging through Europe at the time and had to return for the election of the new emperor. That’s what saved Europe in the 13th century.

Daycare will have no such luck. The only think that will stop a rampaging Kayla Khan is being recalled by the sound of her favorite show, The Fresh Beat Band. It’s a live action song and dance show, quite gay, but kids love it. Once that’s on, she’ll run over to cheer for Kiki, her favorite. So heed this warning helpless villagers of daycare; once Kayla Khan yells “KIKI!” you’ve got a half an hour headstart to get the hell out of Dodge. That’s time enough to reach minimum safe distance if you don’t screw around.

You’ve been warned.

The day may come when only Kiki, on guitar, can save you.

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Uganda and Fox News

2011-08-14T00:05:00.000-04:00

Some things will never make sense to me, nor is their much chance of them ever being explained. This site has never before received visitors from Uganda -which as we all know is the true measure of international acclaim- but since I was interviewed by Fox News the other day about the Conde Nast/Twitter thing and threw up

-a quick post about it (gotcha! No, I didn't barf) I got 10 pageviews from, you guessed it: Uganda.

And I can't imagine why. Uganda? This is weirder than when Guam made me president. They were damn near crashing the server with all their hits. Things have since cooled off with them, they're down to -let's see- zero?! Oh, WTF Guam? Is this over Australia? All I did was take her to the prom. Nothing happened, I swear. C'mon baby, I miss you.

Anyway, UGANDA-

I didn't know they even got blogs in Uganda. Or the Internet. Or electricity.

Alright, I'm sure they have electricity. But this blog is in English. Maybe there's a few right wing fans of Fox News over there hungry for any snippet of their favorite western media outlet? Maybe they're fashionistas hungry for news on fashion publishing titan Conde Nast? Is Uganda a first-floor-only country jealous of our elevators and were following the elevator conversations angle of that twitter feed? I may never know.

If somebody in Uganda could give me a call and explain this, I'd appreciate it. -Borrow a phone from neighboring Kenya if you have to.

Okay, now I feel bad. I'm not anti-Ugandan. The Idi Amin days are far behind them now. I'm sure Uganda has plenty of phone service, with mostly nice friendly people building their country up and just trying to make a decent living -like regular folks anywhere else in the world. It can't help it if it's the Alabama of Africa. Peace, Uganda. Nobody stays Alabaman forever (except of course ...Alabama)

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So I was on Fox News today

2011-08-11T21:52:00.002-04:00

Fox news finally recognized my (not really) divinity and swung by to ask for pearls of wisdom. Finally, some recognition!

Actually it was just man-on-the-street interviews about the controversial new Twitter feed on Conde Naste elevator conversations. You'd think with the current ongoing stock market cataclysms, the 3 dozen killed in the chopper shoot down and the sub orbital counterstrike of so-called "rods of god" (more on this blasphemy in a later post; but spoiler alert- I DID NOT KILL ANYONE WITH MY ROD) and the unfolding saga of the Norwegian killer would be more than enough fodder for their broadcast, wouldn't you? But no, a cheesy twitter gimmick on par with 'people of walmart' seems equally newsworthy this of all weeks. I guess in the age of Jersey Shore and Real Housewives we can't expect better anymore. Oy

If you're not up on this non-story, somebody opened a Twitter feed of transcriptions of conversation fragments overhead on the elevators of magazine mega-publisher Conde Nast. Priceless nuggets like "If she didn't want to know if she looked fat in that dress, why'd she ask me dude? I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know!" So apparently they went for the dumb and offensive as entertainment.

Anyway, they asked what I thought about it so I told them "I think that you hear a lot of stupid people saying a lot of stupid things. But it's entertaining." Which if you think about it, is actually what Fox News is all about in the first place. So I guess this is the perfect story for them.

-LATE BREAKING NEWS

that feed is now silent. Somebody's trying to save their job.

Apparently "best of wife spanks husband" LEADS TO ME

2011-08-05T14:13:00.000-04:00

Not possible. This isn't that kind of blog!

Yet there it was in my statistics; 3 referrals for the search "best of wife spanks husband"

So of course I googled it to see what post of mine came up. After paging through 200 listings of everything from YouTube videos, to a Teenspank blog (yeah, I know!), to SexJitsu (Is it combat? Is it love? Is it as scary as it sounds?), to YahooAnswers (what was the question?), to SpankingLife (it's a lifestyle? Really?), to SpankingChannel (and it's got it's own network too? WTF!) and a host of others I still did not find my own URL. But I was mildly traumatized by sudden overexposure to the dizzying array of spanking resources out there. Who knew? And of course it begs the question "What the hell is wrong with people?!"

But it didn't answer the original question or solve the mystery. I found myself putting more thought into spanking than I ever though I would/could/should.

Now I've done some wild things with this blog;

Invented new creatures like the SquirrelDog,

gave breast enlargement to the masses,

told the secret to wealth & happiness,

gave away free rapture kits,

mapped the world for big boobs and dongs,

dated & dumped Mother Nature,

laid out naughty & nice uses for the body,

solved the birth control debate,

gave out tips for life AND the afterlife,

sent God on a bender,

and even shared the throne a few times,

A pretty eclectic track record, but I still couldn't recall any post that matches BEST OF WIFE SPANKS HUSBAND enough to fit amongst the swollen rosey buns in those scary Google listings. Yet, there were undeniably referrals leading back here. Had to be something, but what?

And it hit me like a smack on the ass, what if it's a drawing? Which of course it was.

Yeah, this was it.

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and the good Load said "Let there be pic!", and there was pic.

2011-08-02T21:45:00.001-04:00

This is of course to remedy the recalcitrant pic of my brother's Robin Hood arrow shot, which refused to show itself to any but me -a fine trait for a wife, but an insufferable one for a jpeg.

It's a little embarrassing, I mean, for a wanna-be deity who claims to deserve ultimate power to fail at the mundane task of posting a simple picture...

It's enough to cause the faithful to have doubts.

So please (actual) God, let it work this time! You're not teaching me a lesson here, are you Good Lord? I've tried my best to avoid blasphemy -in my very first post I called myself 'the good Load' See? Funny and self depreciating, not presumptuous or disrespectful. So, ah, can I get break here? Can you let it work? If it doesn't, I may lose the few followers I have <sniff>

Oh, how they howled with protest! I'm sure I heard a little old fashioned wailing and gnashing of teeth in the background too. Don't I deserve a little 'learning curve' leeway now and then?

Really people, is it any worse a mistake than say, trying to make seals and coming up with the platypus first -is it? Or first having coitus end with a sneeze, and watching His creatures become less and less fruitful, until He hit upon giving orgasms to His organisms. (I'll bet calling it something as decidedly unsexy as 'coitus' didn't help either.)

Anyway, after properly saving it to my hard drive and then uploading (rather than the faster copy/paste) it should be there for all to see -LIKE LIGHT ITSELF. If you can't see it, it's probably from lack of faith!

This is a real-life picture of an arrow stuck in the back of another arrow, -whether you can see it or not! Damn it.

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My brother is Robin Hood

2011-08-02T07:30:00.004-04:00

I’m not saying he steals from the rich and gives to the poor, or is a thorn in the side to the corrupt sheriff of Nottingham, or prancing and drinking about the forest with a band of other tights wearing merry men –but he might. I mean, I’m not with the guy 24/7. So it is possible. He is merry. And he does drink a lot of beer. Hmmmm. I shall have to look into that part further.

I should say he’s not actually my brother either, but my brother-in-law. He is a very cool guy, however, he does score us the best cigarz, and I’ve never actually seen him in tights. So I promoted him.

But I digress. The point is he hit this shot:

Amongst archers (and tights wearing forest dwelling merry drunkards) that’s called a Robin Hood. And he hit it so hard it drove the first arrow in another six inches. Gotta be pretty tough on the arrow; shot through the air against it’s will at what, 200+ mph, slamming headfirst into a target, dizzy (and doubtless concussed) but after a few seconds of peace thinking it “at least it’s over” then suddenly rear-ended at the same speed so brutally it not only splits your ass like a banana peel, but the guy’s entire head is embedded with a few inches to spare. Good thing it’s not actually sentient. He’d be in arrow therapy forever.

In case you’re wondering; this is not a staged photo, nor is it photoshopped. Any experienced archer will tell you that this can and does happen, but it’s rare. It’s analogous to golf’s hole in one; rare but it happens. I’ve done a Robin Hood shot in darts, but that’s kind of like saying you got a hole in one in miniature golf. It will not be on the evening news.

But this was not the sissified version of anything. This was archery and he nailed it.
Congratulations on an amazing shot my brother.

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Bigger Boobs the natural way

2011-07-27T09:08:00.002-04:00

I see I’ve got your attention. Although there is no proven natural way to up your cup under the <ahem> current administration, if I were god there would be.

Kourtney Kardashian would have only

needed the Miami sun to grow her bags
o' fun.

I’m not talking about some special lotion that you can rub in and hope for the best. None have ever proven effective. I am however an eternal optimist; and if you are too I’m willing to help you give it a try. Submit a full length pic of yourself, and photo ID with year of birth clearly visible- 18 and over only, (except Mississippi 16 and over) and after seeing how ~~pretty~~ in need you are I might be able to help you. If I rub one of these unproven lotions onto your nascent breasts long enough there's a good chance something will get larger. ;op

Private arrangements notwithstanding, let's get back to the big IF;

Some time in her native Barbadian sun

would have given Rihanna the same

healthy lungs to go along with her

great pipes.

A man unsatisfied with the size of his chest can work his way to a more impressive and attractive size on his own. All he has to do is a few weeks of bench presses for his body to respond and start to show an improvement the whole world can see. It’s his to earn and enjoy –and looks totally natural because it is. But if a man can change his physique without surgery and look great, why can’t a woman? Not very fair, is it?

It seems only right that women be afforded the same option and opportunity. If I were god I would give women the same fair shot at self improvement that men have. Yes, you could size your own breasts; I would make it possible, but not through workouts. That’s only good for muscles. The breasts are not meant to be hard or strong. They’re there for beauty’s sake. Like flowers. And like flowers you should be able to make your blossoms go into full bloom. And while we’re at it, why not let it work the same way?

Not much sun in England, but plenty
of rain. Posh can afford to jet to Rio
anytime she wants anyway.

BE RIGHT
THERE MA'M!

I would have sunlight and watering be all a woman would need to coax her little unopened buds into bodacious blossoms. That’s right; you’ve got to show ‘em to grow ‘em. See, now I’m making the whole world beautiful! Overnight gardening would become the both the worlds most popular hobby as well as spectator sport.

Not to mention the explosion of 'volunteer watering can boy' as a vocation.

Of course very little would get done during 'the sunning' hours, providing a much needed break in this hustle and bustle world. Gay men would gain newfound respect and appreciation as the only ones available to maintain vital emergency services during 'the sunning' as everyone else would either be sunning, watering or watching. All would benefit.

After I installed this clearly needed change I would look down from on high across a veritable sea of freshly watered boobies glistening in the sun like so many nippled diamonds and I would see that it is good. Ah, yes.

Let beauty reign.

And it would be so, if I were god.

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An Odd Dilemma

2011-07-19T09:12:00.001-04:00

I had never expected to be caught in a Mexican standoff with a dead moth over a few slices of pizza, yet there I was on Sunday night in the grips of an odd dilemma. I blame my wife. She hates when I swat flies or moths in the house, so in deference to her I withheld my righteous smiting of it when it was fluttering in front of the flat screen earlier and I had a clear shot. Had I known it was no casual flyby but a casing of the joint I surely would have acted.

An hour after that I was ziplocking not one, not two, but three slices of my favorite pizza under the little overhead oven light when he made his move –a power dive for the closing bag. Though I wasn’t expecting it and I’m sure lesser men would have quailed, I beat him to the punch with my finely honed catlike reflexes and got that bag zipped just as he came crashing into the seal. Though the pizza was safe (thanks to my speed and courage under fire) the moth was right there, wiggling frantically just outside the seal. Was he trying to burrow in? I felt I had no choice; innocent slices were at risk and the crazed assailant was still attacking. Invoking my right of domestic defense, I squished him.

[Before anybody protests, yes I know I very recently wrote "all god's creatures great and small... " but this moth was clearly a menace headed for a bad end. I'm sure the mothian authorities would approve his removal from their gene pool ...if indeed there were... um... mothian authorities to ask. Anyway...]

Moths, apparently, are made of dust and soot. That’s what came out and spread across the outside seal of the ziplock. So the immediate threat was gone, but the pizza was still trapped inside. It being a standoff, I stared him down. Stubbornly, the dead moth would not budge. Diabolical.

Why had he done this? Could a moth really share my love of ham and onion pizza from Stefano's? Unlikely. Was it a foreign moth, coming here to attack our way of life starting with our comfort foods? No way to know, and I had a bigger problem to solve anyway.

Clearly action was needed but if I opened the bag to retrieve the trapped slices there was a high risk of mothdust contamination. If I flushed the outer seal with water and even a drop got in the bag somehow, I would still lose the 3 souls trapped inside. -As a firefighter one must think of rescues in this way. And now that my mind was in this mode I ran through all the training, tools and techniques I had learned at the academy.

jaws of life

hydraulic ram

the Irons; ax and
halligan bar

It's not that I wasn't willing to go to the firehouse for any of that equipment, it's just that they didn't fit the job. The risk of crushing the bag's occupants was too great. The full gamut of rescue equipment was in this instance, nothing more than an expensive pile of false hope. What now? If the equipment couldn't help, would rescue theory? I thought back, what had they said about being trapped in a room where the doors and windows could not be used, but you had to GET OUT? -Make an exit! That's what my training said. In a structure fire that meant using the irons to punch through an interior wall. But in this case... my daughter's safety scissors used to cut a hole in the back of the bag and free the trapped occupants. Success!

Sometimes it's the simplest of tools that saves the day.

Moth: 0

Me: 1

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If natural selection began in the womb

2011-07-11T11:45:00.001-04:00

Oh, how easy every stage of life would be for the rest of us if only this were true.
Kindergartners would learn to read in a single year since they wouldn't be slowed down by the kid who eats crayons.
Fifth graders would be able to get through a whole Dr Suess book in one day since they wouldn't be slowed down by the six kids who still need ten minutes to sound out 'cat' and 'hat' every time.
High schoolers would be able to master world history and geography in one semester since they wouldn't be slowed down by the kids who point to Alabama when asked to find South America on a globe.
College sports teams would be able to field an entire team of student athletes who'd be qualified for white collar professions when their ball playing days are over.
Paris Hilton, Will Ferrel and K$sha would be unknowns with no fan base.
The only 'reality' tv anybody watched would be the news.
Fox News would not.
And George Bush, Sarah Palin and the Tea Party would've been the punchlines to jokes nobody ever heard.

This post is an homage to the work of Mike Stanfill, the creator of the FarLeftSide web comic, the Gary Larson inspired oasis of genius that inspired me to get back to comic drawing myself. Making this one was fun; think I'll be doing more in the future. Hope you liked it!

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Wanna live forever?

2011-07-05T14:00:00.001-04:00

Theoretically, it's within reach -well maybe not 'forever' but how about 1000? -or so scientist Aubrey de Grey claims. Though I'm not sure I'm willing to trust the word of a man named Aubrey; in fact his whole name is a little suspicious. Aubrey de Grey -sounds made up. Like a Bond villain or something.

Setting those concerns aside for the moment, he of suspect name claims the first person to live to 150 has already been born. Maybe it'll be my one year old. (I'll have to tell her to invest in long term treasuries) Supporting the claim is that the average life expectancy is extending by 4 months every year. So every four years you get an extra year; in forty an entire extra decade. This is good news for me. I'm 45 now, and my own expectancy is currently 75, BUT in forty years my expectancy will be 85 just in time for me to turn 85.

The new 'middle aged', outraged at finding the new minimum age for social security is 96

This is not a joke, there are a growing number of scientists who really believe that with a growing menu of cellular therapies they're close to 'curing' aging. Not crankiness or stubbornness, just aging.
Not hearing loss, vision loss, memory loss, arthritis, or incontinency -just aging.
Yeah... not sure I want it.

80 is the new 'still got it'

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

How to get RICH and HAPPY in America part II

2011-06-27T12:41:00.002-04:00

HOW TO WORK YOUR REALITY SHOW

You have to get on a show first, of course. The way in, the 'pearly gates' to this heaven if you will, is the interview. You must nail it like Tommy Lee on Pam Anderson. The key to this is sincerity. Not "I hope the new crop programs can finally end the starvation in Africa" sincere -reasonable empathy is not marketable and has no place here. You want "America will love me because I'm REAL -and I don't take no shit from nobody" sincerity. See? That people will watch. If you ghetto slide your head back and forth on 'see' they'll even put you in the promo. Then you're IN baby.

Talented: NO Intelligent: HELL NO Rich, happy & on TV: FUCK YEAH!

Once on the show it's vital to keep your priorities straight. This is not about winning. That might take true talent at a skill that has meaning and value to the world and years of dedication to develop that skill to championship levels. Even if you had the talent (yeah, right), who has the time? Much easier to jackass your way there.
Winning is not the most rewarding goal. Being talked about is. You want to be remembered beyond the length of the show and have people salivating over what wild thing you’ll say or do next. Be unpredictable and unreasonable. You don’t have to be batshit crazy, but it helps. The more attention you get, good or bad, the better off you are. It’s about screen time people. Get it any way you can. Remember, it's just like publicity -there’s no such thing as 'bad' screen time. Get drunk. Get laid. Get punched in the face. It all works.

Crazy stories from the past are always a big winner. Parents who were either addicts or celebrities (preferably both) are a great start. But if you lacked the foresight to have that set up ahead of time you can still say it's true. What if somebody checks up on it in Wikipedia and you're not really Frank Sinatra & Whoopie Goldberg's love child? So much the better. Your debunking and confrontation means more screen time and a well-played tearful admission/apology can be pure gold.

I cannot overstate the value of being addicted to something. Not drugs necessarily -that's been done to death. Something exotic. There's a woman who's addicted to eating furniture. Yes, you read that right. Eating furniture. Completely ingested a few chairs and couches. Not in one 'sitting' of course -c'mon! And don't pick this if it's going to interfere with your current eating disorder; you can't be bulimic and a couch glutton at the same time. Too rough on the system. You won't even make it to the season finale, never mind season two or -Gods be praised- a spinoff of your own.

If even self-victimization is beyond your meager skills there's always molesting to fall back on. That one never gets old.

HOW MOLESTATION HELPS

Not by being a molester -although that will get you on Oprah if you confess. But by being molested. That you can get some mileage out of. Had a wholesome rape-free childhood? That is a disadvantage, but it can be overcome. You can 'remember' one that was 'repressed'. Talk show hosts loooove that, and so do their audiences. It helps them remember their own as the reasons they're unrich, untalented, unhappy and unsigned to any shows TV themselves.

Oprah always learns from the best. Here she
is shown how to make touching look innocent.

Important: These epiphanies don't have to be real, just plausible. Include phrases like "At first I thought uncle Jim was playing a game when he led me to the basement…" The ultimate coup would be if you could lure an unsuspecting parent or grandparent to the stage with you for an ambush. That opens an opportunity for the classic accusation/forgiveness arc. It’s best if you have a writer phrase it for you but it can be something as simple as “I remember the time you grabbed/fondled/penetrated me with a carrot/ladle/finger after Easter/Thanksgiving/Christmas dinner. It’s what led to my obesity/various addictions/singing career. I know you must be in denial about it –I was too! But I remember now, and I forgive you.”

All good stuff, but even that's starting to get old and is simply not enough anymore to ‘trend’ you on Twitter. For that you need a little extra luck; maybe your stunned parents will go postal and throw a chair or their colostomy bag at you on camera. (I know, I know -the preferred projectile of actual postal workers is hot lead from pistol-grip assault rifles, not colostomy bags. But that's only because they're professionals. Amateurs must use whatever is handy.) The ultimate would be if they have a stroke right then and there. That shit would go viral in the first five minutes. I cannot stress this enough: It. Would. Make. You.

Alright, enough coaching. Get out there already. America is waiting.

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

How to get RICH and HAPPY in America

2011-06-23T09:10:00.001-04:00

Neither is easy to achieve, but both are within reach for anyone willing to do what it takes. And both are well worth doing whatever it takes. I know your attention spans are relatively short, so let's get right to it.

Fame = Rich = on TV

Fame + Rich + on TV = Happy

SO WHAT DOES IT TAKE?

Let's start with RICH. It helps to be born with money. Being a Kennedy or even a Bush would help, but is not strictly required. Hollywood or business tycoon parentage works just as well. So choose your parents wisely -very important. Already picked poor or middle-class (a/k/a soon2Bpoor) parents? Poor planning on your part. Have you learned nothing from Paris Hilton?

I'm so happy I could burst!

It helps to be born beautiful, but if you can't swing that any better than being born rich you must start by being honest with yourself. You are a tragically flawed primate riddled with physical imperfections, body hair, inadequate breasts/penises, fat, cellulite, pimples, body odor, low intelligence, impotent rage and no marketable talents. This is a very fortunate position to be in, it makes you a perfect reclamation project for reality TV.

Get yourself on a makeover reality show, pronto. Your fame/wealth/beauty and duh *happiness* will all rise hand in hand. If you're not quite fat or gross enough for this kind of show (again, poor planning people) then no other kind will take you either until you are fixed. There's no market for a normal middle ground.

If you're not repulsively obese you have to be rediculously gorgeous to be on TV. This means you'll have to get waxed, plucked, pumped up, trimmed down and tanning-boothed on your own. Remember, the way to wealth and happiness in America is media fame. They don't hand that out to the fat and ugly. If you're starting out as fugly (you did say you were American, right?), you must de-fugify or you'll never get cast in any other class of show.

Can't afford the gym/tanning memberships? Car's in the shop so you can't drive to the gym? Head for the local park. On the way you can hop over the homeless along the sidewalk as if they were hurdles. Great exercise vaulting the but-for-the-grace-of-God-there-go-I set. If they're considerate they'll have arranged themselves horizontally at 2 meter intervals. Least they could do, really, for the use of our sidewalks and old shopping carts. And don't let their plight slow your own momentum, YOU have a goal. If you stop to give them money they'll only buy food with it.

THE WRONG WAYS TO GET THERE

Education and hard work. -a fool's paradise. The unemployment lines are rife with PHD's and MBA's. The more experience and education you have the more your multinational will save by outsourcing your job to India. Plus they make you read all sort of books in college. Who reads anymore? I know. You could have been spending that time getting an even tan and a tight sixpack. TV has no use for farmer's tans and flabby abby's. This is not the way to fame fortune & happiness; easier to win the lottery.

We already have a new light bulb.
Even this photo of it is already
copyrighted. Just get on TV, ok?

Trying to get there by being a brilliant inventor is also an illusory scenario. More new millionaires are made by game shows than innovation. This is not the early 1900's where the field was wide open and access to markets was clear. The routes to retail have been bought up and fenced off long ago by the current masters of industry. You'd have to sell them your idea, and hope your lawyers closed enough loopholes in the contract so you don't get ripped off too badly. Even so you'll only get a penny or two on the dollar, so bring a jar. This is not the way; easier to get hit by lightning.

Write a book for your kid, let's say about a boy wizard and his adventures, and hope it becomes an international bestseller? Are you kidding? Nobody reads anymore. The written word has migrated to Facebook memes and misspelled tweets, not original novels. This is not the way; easier to get hit by lightning while winning the lottery.

And don't try to bypass TV fame and riches in an attempt to find happiness directly. Meet somebody wonderful, fall in love, get married, raise a family and live a quiet life? Bor-ring. Yes, you might luck into an Oxycontin addiction and get to go to rehab. But it won’t be Dr Drew rehab –you’ll be neither rich nor famous. Ergo, not happy. Yes, you might have the support of a loving family to give you the strength to recover and reclaim your ‘life’, but it won’t be real happiness -or a real life. You’re not even on TV. Get with it.

NEXT TIME:
How to work your new reality show
Molestation - the 'fondle' way to fame

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Go easy on the Weiner

2011-06-14T13:29:00.001-04:00

He's had a rough couple of weeks, taking a beating every day as it were. He's been a stand up guy up before this mess splashed all over our screens and the media spurted every new detail as it came. But to his credit he's still standing tall, head erect, chin thrust out and refusing to go down. I don't care what you say, that takes balls. Hopefully this tawdry episode has reached it's climax. He's beginning to wilt, after pouring it all out there as he has, he's starting to run out of juice.

He'll go down soon, it's inevitable. He's almost certainly blown his chance for re-election in the immediate future, but did he piss away his entire career? Will Weiner rise again? Or just swing limply in the wind? I think he has a chance to resurrect himself, but not until after we've all had a good rest. A nice sandwich and little nap wouldn't hurt either.

Some weiners are just meant to be shared.

Many would ask 'why should we give this creep a break?'. I have a better question, 'why should you care?'. He's not your spiritual advisor, your baby sitter or your therapist. Your personal life and his are completely separate. His wife should care. But that's their private business. Bill Clinton didn't respect his marriage either, but it didn't keep him from being a good president who left us with a nice budget surplus when his terms were over.

Compare that to the devout monogamist who followed him and gave us a very costly war begun under false pretenses and irresponsible spending that put us in the deepest financial hole the US has ever been in. It's very clear to me that sexual proclivities and leadership qualities are mutually independent traits.

The worst thing about this whole mess in the inordinate coverage on the part of the media fed by the inordinate interest on the part of the public. If you don't know or need to know the private sex lives of your doctors and dentists, who have their hands in your mouth and other orifices, then why would you need to know about that aspect of your politicans' lives? Does not the bloody upheaval in the middle east or the possible start of the second half of a double dip recession deserve more attention?

Methinks it's high time the body politic pulled it's head from its ass, or Weiner's pants as the case may be, and refocus attention of things that need it.

What if it HAD been the end of the world? What's next?

2011-06-08T09:08:00.001-04:00

While it is unlikely the zombies will dance in unison when they come,
it is highly probably that the gloved one will lead them if they do.

The end might be a good thing. Not for you of course –not with all the fire from the skies, rivers of smoking lava and flesh-eating zombies chasing you down.

But good for the face of the earth. If you think of people as pimples (as I often do) then the end of the world is really just like a long overdue ProActiv treatment. It worked for Jessica Simpson (also somewhat spherical, but a nice clean face).

The world would have a chance to start over. Think of the possibilities…
The new version could be anything God wanted.

If you think of God as an artist, does He go through phases like say Picasso, seeming to have a different personality with each incarnation? What new vision would be realized?

An all water world is an interesting option. The people would have to be Mer, of course (mermaids and mermen). But if it didn't work out for any reason He’d need a new ‘screw everything’ mechanism since 40 days of rain would hardly be noticed. There probably wouldn’t even be a word for ‘flood’. What would it mean?
Maybe a giant cork at the lowest point on the bottom, which would allow Him to literally pull the plug if He really got pissed. “And it drained for 40 days and 40 nights until all the land was uncovered and all the wicked perished, drying in the unwater.” Maybe He’d have a devout old merman build a giant pool and gather 2 of every fish, to start over later on.

Not such a stupid movie now, right?

But He’d have to forgo His favorite rite of homage; it’s hard to burn sacrifices on an underwater alter. It kind of makes the allure of a water world, uh, evaporate. Fortunately there’s still an endless array of land options.

He could start out with his original plan but instead of icing the dinosaurs He could evolve them into the new people. Massive grazing behemoths complaining about the weather and their noisy neighbors in between dumpster sized bites of food. Kind of like the show Mike & Molly, except everybody’s like that but with scales and tails.

Graze with me?

It could be anything really. It makes me wonder what the next incarnation would be if His tastes were like some bloggers I know.

What if He’s like Fred? The earth would be an idyllic forest glade overrun with talking dogs, naked people dancing and singing and all the flora would be smokeable. (which as we all know promotes naked dancing and singing. It can’t just be me.)

What if He’s like Nicky? Most everything would be made of cheese, even the animals. Cheddar cheetahs would be chasing down Gouda gazelles. Parmesan pumas would climb after mozzarella macaws. I don’t know how sustainable such a world would be (it would sure smell funny and of course everybody would be constipated within the first week) but you know she’d try.

If it were up to Linda we'd be back to the water world idea, just so she could get her mitts on some Nigerian sailors. To each his own, as they say.

What if He's like YOU? What would the next creation be like?

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Is your guardian angel screwing you?

2011-06-02T10:01:00.003-04:00

Sometimes it takes an accident to give one a new perspective on the world in which you used to live.

If civil service jobs in heaven are handled in any way like they're handled down here, then YES.

This is not to say that civil servants flat out don't care. I think most must to some degree. (or nothing would ever get done) I'm saying their patience is limited and they're only willing to go so far. It's unwise to expect too much. The DMV is not the first class section on an airliner. To wit, your guardian angel is not your flight attendant.

Anyone who expects him to be is in for a rough landing. These false (and later crushed) expectations play out in many areas of life. Dangerous recreational activities is one of the more obvious ones.

Let's say you're skiing on the advanced slope when you really should still be on the bunny. And you break your fool leg. Does that mean your guardian angel slipped up? Probably not. You could have been impaled on the pointy branch a few yards further downhill. So maybe he let you off easy with just a broken leg.

Coulda been worse. You're welcome.

Couldn't he have just given you a scare instead, like a frothy tumble but no broken bones? Yes, but you'd forget that within the hour. You've already forgotten you shouldn't be on the advanced slope in the first place. And you still think you should have gotten off with a warning? Does he really owe you that? Remember that little sickly fear tickle in your stomach you ignored when you were at the top? That was him! You knew then you didn't belong on that hill. But nooooo, you had to jump in feet first (then head first, then feet again...)

So maybe it's not that your guardian angel is screwing you. He's just not babying you.
You're screwing you. The summer's here (at least in the northern hemisphere) and there's plenty of ways to get yourself hurt or worse; jet skiing, parasailing, snorkeling, water skiing... Yes, they're all fun, but they're all "at your own risk" too -just remember the key words: YOUR RISK
(it means the same in heaven and on earth -you're on your own dude.)

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

When crapping your pants and prayer go together

2011-05-27T09:13:00.001-04:00

While beseeching the Lord is not best done whilst
crapping one's pants, sometimes it can't be helped.

If lightning hits your plane (or car, or balls...) frantic prayers are understandable. Even the ardent atheist switches teams for a minute or two in such circumstances. Can you blame them? It's hard to have the courage of your convictions if they're running down your leg at the time. But that's not what this post is about. It's about the other 99.9% non-life threatening appeals to heaven. So-

Stop annoying HIM already!

“Rain falls on the just and unjust alike.” True. The flip side of that is that the sun shines on the just and unjust alike also. Just because your plane landed safely after some turbulent weather doesn’t mean God was looking out for you. Maybe that little girl with the runny nose three rows up is slated to be the grandmother of that dedicated intern a few decades from now who runs extra tests at the lab on her own time and ‘accidently’ discovers the gene that turns off cancer. You can’t know any of that at the time, but your low intervention worthiness may become clearer the next day when you electrocute yourself trying to pry your toast out of the toaster with a metal butter knife. For the third time. (Then again it may never seem clear to you.)

The point is, don’t assume divine intervention for the ordinary ups and downs of everyday life. Everybody has lost keys. Everybody has found keys. Even if you’re muttering “Please God, please” the entire time you’re looking and you finally find them it doesn’t make the eternal overlord of all creation your personal fucking key-finder. If you left your keys in the side pocket of your ‘fat’ jeans after you waddled back from the all-you-can-eat buffet last night, and you finally think to check that pocket again and they’re still there, it’s not the hand of God. It’s the dumb of man. Those keys would have stayed there until you got around to checking that particular pocket no matter how long it took you.

The common impulse is to thank Him, of course. But don’t. It would be bad enough if it were just you alternately whining and thanking all day long. But there’s something like seven billion of us now. And in the age of mandatory seat belt laws and ubiquitous warning labels the helpful and herd-thinning rule of survival of the smartest no longer applies. The dumbest strata of the population now makes it well into breeding age, -the only area where they really ‘shine’. Statistically it has to mean the ‘help me’ prayers and ‘thank yous’ for everyday bullshit have increased geometrically. (That means more than just ‘metrically’, it means ‘a lot’ which is two words, if you didn’t already know) If He really did hear all our prayers at one time the cacophony of drivel must have coalesced into an easily ignorable hum years ago.

You’re the reason He doesn’t pay attention to us anymore, even for important prayers like ‘please end the NFL lockout.’ Now we’re going to have a strike shortened season, if we get one at all. No intervention there because He’s not listening anymore. Thanks a lot, mumbles.

You’re so lucky I’m NOT god. Bother ME for lost keys? Not after I make them materialize in your rectum. You'd buy a new car before you'd ask Me again! Your incessant self important myopia would have driven Me to My smote cannon a long time ago. And I’d be firing up that mo-fo all day long. At you? Depends. Lost your keys lately?

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

So your Rapture was a load of Crapture

2011-05-22T21:42:00.004-04:00

No need to despair, the world's gotta end sometime. And since people started making Rapture predictions centuries ago every one of the hundreds of days picked turned out to be wrong, you should feel comfortable in making your own. After all, you can't do any worse than all the biblical scholars, astrologists, numerologists, preachers, teachers and other creatures that have tried before you.

Luckily there's an endless array of natural phenomena available for creative interpretation. You can then look at the numbers associated with these events to figure out an apocalypse day that works best for you. And when, sorry -IF it doesn't work out there's always more out there and numbers to play with. You can do it your whole life if you want -a very good use of your life by the way. You should give it serious consideration.

Step right up, pick a number, any number...

Don't be intimidated. It's actually quite easy and fun. Here's one I worked out this morning:

I had Taco Bell last night and it was so God-awful I understood it to be a sign that the end was near. After 6 burritos, two gorditas, and one chalupa (6-2-1) it took only twenty (20) minutes before I had to run for the bathroom eleven (11) times. Clearly this means the world will end 6/21/2011. -So in another month.
(I checked the numbers twice, so frankly there's no way I could be wrong.) If you value your afterlife at all you'll heed this warning. Now go prepare.

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Free RAPTURE KITS -are YOU ready?

2011-05-19T14:09:00.002-04:00

Apparently, gravity is the first thing that gets switched off. Avoid wearing short skirts.

Are you prepared if it happens on Saturday? More importantly, are you prepared if (when) it doesn’t?
Either way you’ve come to the right place. (What kind of would-be god would I be if I couldn’t at least prepare you for this? -Not a very good one! But have no fear, I will NOT be the George Bush of deities, that’s for me-damn sure. As I am my witness, I will have you prepared come what may, so help me Me.)

Take notes or print this page, for whether ye be believers or not, whether it happens or not, I’ve got you covered. These are the things you’ll need in your kits and why.

IF it happens

Believer's kit
Tall saddle; for your high horse
Living will; since you won’t be dying, but you will be leaving, you can give it all away
Hand held personal recorder; to make “I told you so’s” for sorrowful sinners left behind
Fruit-proof Riot shield; for defense against those same jealous, angry and fruit-armed sinners
Airsickness patch; to guarantee an enjoyable ride heavenward
Designer sunglasses; it's going to be bright up there so you might as well look good
Autograph book; so all the saints, prophets and of course Jesus can sign it

Non-believer's kit
Tissues; for your weeping

Mouth guards; for your gnashing teeth

Fruit & hooks; fruit to throw at the departing believers, hooks to pull their shields down first
Vitamin water; you’re going to be thirsty where you’re going
SPF 500; you’re going to get burned where you’re going
Assless chaps; so you can bend over and kiss it goodbye
Shotguns and machetes; for the zombies. Did you not know about the zombies? Oh man...
Heat-resistant K-Y; because if hell is anything like earthly prisons…

IF it doesn't

(and it won't)

Believer's kit
Tissues; for your weeping

Mouth guards; for your gnashing teeth

Baskets; to gather all the fruit thrown at you earlier; you’re gonna be hungry
Map of local homeless shelters; you gave your house away when you were SO sure, 'member?
Pup tent; not every town has homeless shelters
Help wanted section of newspaper; you’re going to need a new job
Meat cleaver and butcher's knife; if you can't find a job you might have to eat that high horse

Non-Believer's kit
Loud home sound systems; to drown out the incessant weeping of wandering believers
Shotguns; to keep them from re-entering your new home (their old home)
Garage locks; to keep them from re-claiming your new car (their old car)
Blackout curtains; to make homeless hungry believers believe you’re not home
Liquor and hors d’oeuvres; for the party baby, for the party
New clothes and a hot car; like catholic school girls on spring break, those disappointed believer babes are going to need to break out and break out fast

Look people, their will be consequences and repercussions whether it does or does not happen. But either way it always pays to be prepared. Now stop thanking Me and go prep your kits. You're very welcome. Go!

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Why God made sluts

2011-05-17T14:05:00.005-04:00

SLUTS ARE GIFTS FROM HEAVEN

Even if you wanted to, you can't look
away. Such is the power of sluts.

Thankfully, sluts have always been with us spreading their special kind of love (among other things) far and wide like sultry sexy saints. As in all worthy volunteer work, it’s all about giving to those in need. And like volunteers, they don’t get praised enough nor paid at all. But they’re sure sought out when they’re needed -often that need is desperate- and ignored when they’re not.

Whenever I see one I smile, for I know how much they give of themselves, how it uplifts us all in ways great and small and I appreciate it. Whether a young woman chooses to give us a few good years of service in high school or college, or feels the lifelong calling to serve in the often challenging fluid-rich environment of sluthood, we as a civilized polite society owe her thanks.

'Why?' Some might ask. I’ll tell you why.

They are the single most powerful civilization driving force modern society has ever been blessed with having.

So powerful a force for good they are that the mere image or evoking of their personages in advertising is enough to sell almost any product.class. (The notable exceptions are cleaning products, most medications, or anything whose pitch involves healthiness or wholesomeness.)

"Good" girls tend to resent sluts but they really shouldn't. Sluts are by nature, dirtbag magnets. A smart 'good' girl will not waste the opportunity when a slut walks in the room. She'll watch carefully; not the slut, that's her stalking horse. She'll watch which men watch the slut, and which dirtbags jockey for said slut's attention. With no slut to draw them off, the ever-horny dirtbag will try hitting on whatever females are present, annoying the good girls and keeping the normally shyer nice guys away.

Society is shaped by them. Every swivel of their hips and jiggle of their breasts moves us along in ways both calculated and unintentional. Without going into endless detail on each point (this is a blog, not a book) I'll just shoot from the hip. (that's a bullet joke)

- They make his good girls stand out
- They make dirtbags expose themselves (yes, I know, in more ways than one)

- They encourage physical fitness in all the men who work out to try to impress them

- They keep music alive by being groupies for bands who haven’t made it yet

(If there hadn’t been a steady stream of willing sluts all over Gun’s N Roses in their ‘we all had to sleep in our van’ day before Appetite for Destruction they probably wouldn’t have stuck with it long enough to bring us Appetite for Destruction.)

- They prepare men for the unpredictable and unexpected challenges in life, for sluts don’t just bring the booty, they bring the crazy.

- They are a reliable test to expose marriage vow-breakers
- They're dependable character foils in coming-of-age comedies

- They support the widest job base or any demographic by supporting the following industries; Make-up, hair product, tight clothing, nightclub, liquor, cheesy accessory, short-stay motel, and either Condom OR pregnancy-test/abortion Industries

- Though you wouldn’t want to bring them home to mother, they make good training partners in the early going until you meet a girl who you would take home to mother. A slut-trained lover is a man who knows what he’s doing.

- As future hookers they fulfill a (desperate) need for the segment of the adult male population none of the nice girls want to marry

- They’re cautionary tales to encourage nice girls to stay nice.

- It’s a persona nice girls can go slummin’ in if they have something they need to get out of their systems.

As you must admit by now, sluts give us SO much. Where would we be without them? In a drab world with crappy music and boring movies.

And what do they get for it? After years of leaving behind one satisfied smile for every two heads, the miles start to show. And after overspending on clothes, high heels, makeup, trendy jewelry and alcohol so many end up poor, worn down, bitter and with few options.

But there will be no fund drives for sluts. No old sluts home to retire too. No slut appreciation day or 5K walkathons. They don’t get a float in holiday parades or honorable mentions on the news. No “I support sluts” stickers for window panes. No “I want to be a slut when I grow up” T-shirts. No invite to career day. No booth at local festivals. They serve in the shadows, and afterwards slip away unseen and even (unbelievably) unthanked. Most forget their names five minutes after they’ve gone.

They do not deserve the disdain and flippant dismissal so often thrown their way. So if you see a slut, especially a bitter old worn out one who should have really moved on years ago, buy her a drink. She's earned it a thousand times over. She may even thank you in a way all her own.

(If I were God, there'd be a special place in heaven set aside for all they've done. You'd be able to spot it from any cloud -it'll be the one with all the guys milling around.)

Please, remember me as I was.

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Go on, dance on his grave!

2011-05-09T15:24:00.000-04:00

Let's not forget who started it.

There's an aftertaste of guilt going around about celebrating Bin Laden's snuffing. The high-minded, high-road position has been taken by some who say that it's distasteful or irreligious or wrong in some other way to celebrate somebody's death, even Bin Laden's. I must admit, these people do sound high to me.

The old sayings "don't speak ill of the dead" or "If you don't have something nice to say..." come to mind. Even as a child I wondered "Why not? If they're a big stupid then why can't I say so?" (Remember, this started as a child) It felt like a lie of omission to me even then. But let's give it a chance and see if it works.

What should we say about Hitler then, for instance- He was nice to dogs and had a flair for organization?

And Hannibal "I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti" Lechter- An incorrigible wit with eclectic cooking habits?

Finally Osama Bin Laden- though a tall man, he did not use his height to peek down women's blouses.

All of that's true. But it kind of makes this murderous threesome sound like the regular guys you might bowl with or see down at your local watering hole. It also ignores the most notable things about them -they're monsters covered in blood.

Just as the truth will set you free, not saying it will hold you down. It generally isn't nice or necessary to speak ill of the dead, true, but if said dead is a terrorist and mass murderer it's not just okay. It might be needed. It might be cathartic.

You don't hear crowds cheering at the end of movies these days, but I remember the sound in the theatre when Roy Scheider blew up the great white in Jaws. Why? Because he scared the shit out of everyone in that theatre for over two hours and we needed the release. But that fish only killed six or seven. Bin Laden, who after ten years finally sleeps with the fishes, killed a helluva lot more and not just on that September 11th. Last week this real-life monster was finally killed. The fear was real. The blood was real. The relief is real. And now the whole world is better off for it. Cheer as loud as you goddamn want. For as long as you need to.

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Osama bin found, Osama bin kilt

2011-05-02T14:07:00.002-04:00

Yet, there are doubters who believe Bin Laden is not really dead. Why? The given reason is because the body was made inaccessable almost immediately. It was dumped in the ocean like Megatron at the end of Transformers.

Offical photo of Osamatron (Mega bin Laden?) on his way to the bottom

The real reason some doubt? Some people have cynicism in their heads where intelligence is normally kept.

Many people believe the moon landings were faked.
Some still don't believe the holocaust really happened.
Some think Elvis isn't dead.
Some believe the Pentagon was hit by a missile and not an airliner.

After this article some might wonder if Osama and Megatron were actually the same person, like Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus, only less annoying and easier to listen to. There's actually a better case to be made for Osama and Mega being the same person than for this weekend's killing to have been faked. Osama and Mega actually have, had, a lot in common. Both are

- Taller than average enemies of peace, truth and the American Way
- rely on threats rather than civil discourse
- commanders of a small private stealthy army
- the mastermind of a war largely fought in secret
- lived undetected in plain sight
- defeated by the scrappy efforts of Megan Fox and Shia LeBeouf (wait for the movie, you'll see)
- body dumped in ocean by thrifty government to avoid funeral/burial expenses

in addition neither

- believed in pants
- were stingy with explosives
- respected Michael Bay's directing style
- walked the red carpet
- ate kosher, even during Passover

Now I wonder who's going to start believing they're the same person,
and how much I'd make if I set up a "Worst of both worlds" tour?

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Tease Me on Tuesday

2011-04-26T09:19:00.000-04:00

Well, if you're going to muzzle me on Monday... why not just go 'na-na-naNA-na' on Tuesday?
(There will not be a 'Whip Me on Wednesday", so don't get your hopes up, Church Ladies)

Not gonna happen.

I see the whole censorship issue that came up yesterday really got some people's blood up. The voices favoring "leave her alone" were the most numerous, passionate and in the end -well reasoned. So I will.

But it does leave me Memeless on Monday. And what wannabe god worth his salt-of-the-earth would leave himself without a way to propagate his gospeil, know what I meme?

So if all the blabbering know-it-alls I mean, intelligent and thoughtful readers who have kindly commented earlier now have meme ideas that would work here, I'd love to hear 'em.

Note to wife: "Why don't you show me a miracle and take the garbage out once in a while?" is NOT a meme. And I told you I'm busy. I cannot believe you'd embarrass me here like that.

To all non-nagging NAG's: I'm tossing a few ideas around myself, but none really POP.

Molest Me on Monday? -this is not a priest blog. And virtual molesting? Meh, I don't feel it.
Taunt Me on Tuesday? -too negative. Plus it's a 15 yard penalty if the ref sees it.
Watch Me on Wednesday? -dressing? Not until I lose weight and can get back into my Borat thong.
Thank Me on Thursday? -this would be strong ...if I Were God ...or if I did anything...
Friend Me on Friday? -this 'aint Facebook, so no
Shank Me on Saturday? -this 'aint no prison bog neither, so no
Shave Me on Sunday? -if you lie back and think about, some real interesting possibilities might open.

Alright people. So whadaya got?

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Muzzle Me on Monday

2011-04-25T10:05:00.000-04:00

Last Monday I participated in a meme called "Meet Me On Monday", which regular readers here have seen now and again. I got a little bored with the questions (you can see the last one a few posts below) and for a meme offering "Meet Me" I didn't think that questions like "What's your favorite vegetable?" really allowed you to 'meet' anyone.

As most of you know, improving the world one dictum at a time is my calling. So I left a comment there in the field marked "I love, love, love comments!! Thank you for taking the time and for making my day!! I read every single one and if you ask a question please be sure that I will get back to you as soon as I can!"

I received such a dramatic and outraged reply I felt compelled to reread what I had written. I clicked over to the scene of the crime to find it GONE. It was like a CIA clean-up team had rappelled in and erased all evidence of a hit; there was no trace of bodies nor blood. Not even a chalk outline to commemorate where a brave young comment once stood his ground to be heard -and was cut down for it in the prime of life. (Not unlike Crispus Attucks, the first man shot dead by the redcoats in the Boston Massacre!)

CRITICIZE THE CROWN'S MEME, WILL YOU?!

So the best I can do is paraphrase that brave young comment, as closely as I remember him:

I wish the questions weren't always so bland. I don't feel like I've really met anybody. Maybe try (some underwear query I can't recall, maybe "Ever go commando?")

Also I see your button has three women on it but no men. Are men not welcome here? I'm starting to feel like an unwanted little boy. Unless of course that button were on my shirt, in which case there'd be three woman on me which would be just fine.

This is apparently the commental equivalent of the Boston Tea Party. How could the crown not respond?

Three days later a comment shows up on my Meet Me post (still available in all its un-censored glory below)

Java said...

If you feel my questions are too bland then please do not play and please do not leave any more inappropriate comments like you did. My blog is not run like that and I do not appreciate it. I will delete them and/or your linky entries if you continue to do so. I have gotten lots of complaints about you and your comments so please refrain and keep them to yourself and your blog...not mine.

Who helped you write that comment?
Was it, I don't know... SATAN?

Did I let this go unanswered? Not on your life.

I sent her a private email, so there'd be no public pressure,

and to give her a chance to redeem herself.

I was a bit surprised to get such an unpleasant comment from you on my 'Monday' post. You brought up a few different issues and I will try to address them.

I honestly think the questions aren't deep enough to give any real insight into the fellow bloggers who participate. (the stated goal of the meme in the first place) I used 'bland' originally -a pretty mild criticism intendended to make the meme better. I didn't realize that in your community other opinions and different personalities were NOT welcome.

One of the unhappy people, Doylene, left a comment on my blog letting me know how she felt. I did NOT tell her she was unwelcome in the future, nor did I delete or edit her comment. This is America. I don't censor.

When I came back to the "Meet Me" to re-read the comment I left that set this whole thing off it was gone. I read all the others to see the 'many complaints' you said you got about me. I could find none. Did you purge them all? Do you decide whose voice gets heard?

As far as what you called 'inappropriate comment' I guess you're referring to the button joke about there being only women on it? If you read the comments on my own site you'll see some visited because they appreciated the joke and took it in the spirit in which it was intended.

At the end of the day it's still your site. You can choose to bully me off your site if you like -because I had the nerve to suggest an improvement. Is that really who you are? Is this really the Java I've met?

Me

ps- I sent this privately on your 'contact me' so you would not feel publically challenged or chastised by me. I am not trying to be mean or bully you. For me this is a serious conversation between adults.

So she got privately challenged instead. I knew suggesting she was a bully would compel a reply.

And any god (false or not) worth his salt is all about compelling. (Check your Bible, it a compilation of compelling.)

Anywho, it only took a day for Java to answer.

Thank you for taking the time to get back to me. Sometimes its hard to express oneself in words and how another interprets them.

I have deleted all comments related to the complaints from your comments....yours included. I just did it last night so if you don't see any its because I deleted them.
The world is full of many different walks of life and it is really hard to please everyone. I myself thought your comments could have easily offended some people and yes I did have several send me private messages regarding them. I know you probably meant nothing but humor when you posted them but you have to remember that not everyone gets each other's humor.

One of the reasons Meet Me On Monday is so popular is because of the simplicity. I never post questions that take a lot of time and effort. I get lots of feedback regarding the questions and most are glad that I make it "easy" for them. Posting a question regarding someone's underwear is just not something I would do. My blog is a family blog and while yours may or may not be makes the difference between what is appropriate and what isn't. It is also listed in the rules that you have to link the url of your post and not your whole blog which you have been doing and it makes a lot of extra work for myself to go in and fix it. You are not the only one but I am slowing getting everyone to correct the way they link up.

I tried to send you a private message but no where on your blog could I find an email address.
I don't appreciate you saying that I'm bullying you off of my site. You mentioned bully twice in your email and I don't know what you are suggesting.

I don't come to your blog and make appropriate or inappropriate suggestions on what you post. Your blog is your blog as mine is mine and we need to respect each others content and what should and shouldn't be commented or suggested.

I hope you have a great weekend.

Java

Telling me not to 'play' again if I don't love her questions and threatening to kick me off (via deletion) if I have a differing opinion or suggestion qualifies as bullying in my book. I think she's trying to build a church lady club but doesn't want to admit it. She again failed to address the 'why no men?' question which I'd asked her once before.

My wife thinks I have tortured the poor woman enough and should leave her blog free of my ungodly taint.

(For the record, I don't think my taint is so ungodly. I maintain it with the utmost cleanliness, which as we all know is allegedly next to godliness. Allegedly.) So, what to do from here?

I'd like to gather the opinions of the faithful. Let me know...

Should I leave this Java and her meme alone?

Should I rattle her cage again and say censorship IS bullying, AND unAmerican?

Should I start a new meme with cool, relevant and riot-sparking questions of my own?

Should I stop scrubbing my taint so much, at least until the swelling goes down?

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

God on a Bender

2011-04-21T09:44:00.001-04:00

1/2 YEAR BLOGAVERSARY

Yes, it's been six months since my first post. After 99 posts (I just counted, kinda eerie -this will be #100), I can look back with satisfaction at exactly 7300 pageviews (weirdly round number again. I swear I'm not making anything up) from 83 countries. The newest? Nepal clicked by yesterday. Finally. (Did they bring me monkeybrain stew for the party, like in Temple of Doom? No. They claimed they didn't know. Meh)

Know how I'm celebrating this landmark? Passover was this week.
My wife is Jewish. I'll be at my mother-in-law's.

All because I'm not actually god. Damnit. But motherfucker, if I was...

Not sure why we're here...but WE'RE U2 !!

GOD ON A BENDER

First I'd have U2 rock out at my rave

and in return, give Bono Africa to save

the beer would flow and champagne would pop

and once it started I might not know when to stop

I might swing by Mexico to pick up some sexy senoritas

and use the Gulf to mix up some frozen margaritas

and as long as my mind was fixed on dirty doin's

I've been praying for this day

I'd entice Angelina and Beyonce, and leave them both in ruins

in Pakistan I'd scream "So help Me, Me. You'll learn!"

and rain lightning on Al Queda just to watch 'em burn

then a quick stop in north Africa to check up on a hater

dancing through Libya, leaving a Qaddafi-shaped crater

but after a night like that would come a terrible morning

not quite ready to see the wreckage where I'd be touring

I'd have a god-sized headache when I finally left my bed

Not so fast, Angie. I call dibs!

I'd have to scoop up Iceland and wrap it on my head

I might notice smoke from Jersey where I'd smote some Snookies

And see the Red Sea was now green where I'd tossed my cookies

There might be snow drifts in Cuba, where on a bet I'd left a blizzard

The Black Sea might be green, where I'd drained my lizzard

Regret would hit Me hard and I'd decide right then

"I swear to Me, the party's over now and I'll never drink again"

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

My half-birthday, on Thursday

2011-04-19T11:34:00.005-04:00

In two days, on April 21, If I Were God... will be six months old.

This calls for a celebration; a party even! And you're all invited. What should you bring?

I dunno. What does one give for a half birthday?

Not a homemade cake - it would be half baked

Not birthday sex - it would be half faked

Not a new body - it would be half assed

Not a new flag - it would be at half mast

Not new love - it would be half hearted

Not a new haircut - it would be half parted

Not a midget bride - she'd be a half wife

Not a radiated rabbit - he'd have a half life

Not a refurbished laptop - it would only be half fixed

Not an instant margarita - it would only be half mixed

Not a new drinking buddy - who's already half in the bag

Not his drunk dog either - who can only half wag

I guess not a new anything - if it would be half crappy

I guess on a half birthday, you can only be half happy

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Meet Me on Monday

2011-04-18T07:58:00.002-04:00

1. Caesar Salad or Garden Salad?
     Caesar of course; the emperor of salads.
2. Will you be watching the Royal Wedding on April 29th?
     Meh, I have an important nap scheduled for that day.
3. Last thing you spent lots of money on?
     A new car to carry my new daughter.
4. Window seat or aisle seat?
     Depends; am on on a plane or at a wedding?
      (either way I expect peanuts and free soda)
5. Do you know your blood type?
      It's the cowardly type; I get cut or scraped and it runs.

I wish the questions for this meme (run by Java over at nevergrowingold.) weren't always so bland. I have an idea or two that would get people talking so you'd really feel you'd met somebody.
I just hit one the other day;
Would we be better off if women ran the world?

What if women ruled the world?

2011-04-13T18:16:00.000-04:00

A dangerous question, to say the least. (Then why ask and where'd it come from?) This particular mental meandering metastasized out of Nicky's comment from the previous post "...or we could just let women rule the world."
It was just an off-the-cuff comment on the subject of war, but it made me wonder. And a little afraid.

Things would certainly be different in a femocracy. Some things would be better, some worse. But would we be better off overall? Let's take a closer look before deciding.

PROS

War wouldn't necessarily end, but it would be less lethal in the ways it was waged.

CONS

There'd be a lot of partially bald and mostly blind chicks out there, after the 'new war' methods of hair-pulling and eye-scratching become vogue.

PROS

Funding for new weapons systems would be rechanneled to worthy charities, like cellulite reduction research.

CONS
No new tanks and stealth fighter-bombers? WTF?!

PROS
Court cases would come to swifter resolutions after the de-emphasis of forensic evidence, statistics and other boring 'facts'.
CONS
Contradicting witnesses might be gauged by a People-magazine-styled 'who wore it better' comparison.

PROS
The political process would become more inclusive as everyone would be given a chance to share.
CONS
President Oprah. Count on it.

PROS
Fathers would be made to have at least as much responsibility in child-rearing as they do in child-making.
CONS
There'd be a lot of improvising; newspaper diapers (cheaper), hosing down in the driveway (faster than baby wipes), meal substitutions (why make baby carrots and mac&cheese when you can just mash up the leftover green pepper pizza from last night's poker game?)

No newspaper? How 'bout fruit rinds?
Now that's usin' yer noggin.

PROS
New shoes, designer cloths and spa treatments would be 120% tax deductible.
CONS
Those governments not already teetering on the edge of bankruptcy soon would be due to lost taxes.

PROS
The mandatory number of 'Sick days' would be expanded to cover 'bad hair', PMS, and 'feeling fat' days.
CONS
Commerce and innovation would whine to a halt.

PROS
Football, UFC and other hyper-violent or over sexualized tv shows and movies would get cut in favor of Lifetime-style programming
CONS
I would have to kill myself.

I'm sure there's a plethora of others I've overlooked in this quick sketch. So what have I missed? Leave your best thoughts in 'comments'.

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.

He sees all; disappoint Him not.