That's a Wrap!

That's gonna do it for me, everybody. It's been great. Here's to no more pain.

A Very Easy Game To Play

No pillows. No blankets. No sleep.

No kidding!

It's what you always wanted, fella. Embrace the choice.

Falling Toward Oblivion

The more drinks, the less pain. Until THE drink. Then, the most pain.

A fine line. Often crossed. A game of chicken with a soul. A dangerous game.

Quiet and awkward. Then, life of the occasion! Then, obnoxious and arrogant.

Crawl up and curl up and shut up and hide away for a spell. The fun is part is when you realize NO ONE WILL MISS YOU.

They never have, they never will. They will say, "We love you," but they only love the way saying that makes them feel.

Blink and yawn. Check the pulse. Stretch in the general direction of a person who will never understand. Yearn. Drink.

You know that feel? Yeah, that one. This'll make it go away. I have to make it go away. Why won't it go away? All I want is for this feel to go away.

"We love you."

Go away.

They are sad.

Drink. Smile. Laugh. Make merry. Kill a bum. Do something more regrettable. Go away.

Drink. Drink drink drink.

Oh no. Rushing into the crisp, still evening. When does a blink become sleep? How do you fall with style? What is the name of that drink I had that one time I met that lady who laughed at my stupid jokes?

My God, I'm delicious.

My God, I'm delicious.

My God, you're delicious.

My God, this drink is delicious.

A delicious drink for a delicious guy who knows a delicious girl.

"We love you."

Go away.

My Cursed World -or- Why Freedom Really Is Free

Soldier, Soldier
Take heed
Your days are numbered and your enemies freed
Freed to decapitate and destroy
Why won't you acknowledge the culinary specialist?
She is the giver of life
She ensures I will not turn into a giant fucking fat ass
A behemoth inheriting the sands of knowledge

I feel I am a failure
i am nothing and i am so, so small and i
i cower in fear of a god i neither accept nor deny
i simply exist so, congrats on the whole self-awareness thing
you coward

Show yourself! We know?


You made it and you can destroy it but you'd rather watch us carry out the death sentence.

You wear a sweater vest, just like me, because you have a rotund belly and you believe, just like me, that the sweater vest will provide adequate padding to convince those around you that you are not fat. You fat liar. You fat phony, fat hippopotamus, fat talk show host.

So we understand why we bulk up!!! We love to bulk up 'cause the muscles = success. That's your Darwinism at work.

Say, why don't muscles = intelligence? 'Cause we don't get everything. We get what we get. And then you die. And that's sad for your family and friends and spouse. But they learn to pick up the pieces and walk toward the mirage. Cool, clear, crisp water to quench your thirst.

Hydrate and live!!! Hydrate and live!!!

You'll love being a star.

Embrace your fate, which I can assure you is death

Granite-gray skin flanks a silk cut
Seagulls soar toward the sun-kissed sky
While children grieve over tumbling ice cream
While I shuffle through the sea

We know the price of freedom
The great white knows the price of acquiescence
Girls frolic and boys posture
Women sunbathe and men posture

Give away your lifestyle and give away
The sobriety and the serenity
And give away the sanity and reason
They never fit in your shoes

Give away your love to the
Highest bidder because she expects
The ends to justify the long,
Long journey into nowhere

Every three seconds I fantasize and
I cannot stop because I love to imagine
The feeling of your lips on the places
I do not dare expose for fear of penultimate failure

Carve and chisel and time expedites
And the wind and sea ruin me and my
Ego cannot handle what God so desperately
commands

This is why
Why we die
Why we pass away

This is why we unfold
Why we unfurl
Why we
refuse to believe

Summer orange and slip-on sneakers
Pacify my soul and I humbly accept
Your judgment
You are the king of everything
You are the king of nothing

I Know a Funny Story!

"Who are you?" "I am God" "Why are you sitting in my basement?" "Would you prefer I stand?" "No, not really."

God is wearing a sweater vest. He is handsome. He seems old. I believe, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that He is God.

"Why are you here?" "Because you needed me to be here." "I did?" "I wouldn't lie." "No, I suppose you wouldn't." 

God is sitting in my basement because my basement is filled with bodies, the bodies of the people I convinced to follow me because I am Christ. They are weak, and I am a very good liar. I have always been a great liar, a world-class liar. I thought, for a time, that I was the God of lying. I used to think there was no God, but now I hope there are multiple Gods, even though I'm certain there is only one. These people are staring at me. Fuck.

"What do you want me to do?" "I think you should tell them the truth." "What's the truth?"

God looks through me. He is handsome, yet He seems so old. He is God.

"The truth is the fear you feel when you are trying to fall asleep. The truth is the woman who wants you to pick her up in a dive bar. She lusts for you, but she resents you. She knows you can't make her happy. The truth is the dog scratching at the front door. The truth is him."

He points at a boy, huddled next to a chair. The boy and his mother love me, because I made him and I made her believe.

"The truth is the word that erases war, the word that doesn't exist. The truth is your mother. The truth is your mother's rapist, the man who made you. The truth is you in your mother's womb. The truth is the condom in your dresser drawer, unused. The truth is ... " "The truth is whatever I need it to be?

God is unhappy.

"THE TRUTH IS YOU. YOU ARE THE TRUTH. YOU ARE THE REASON THEIR HEARTS BEAT AND THEIR MINDS REEL AND THEIR LUNGS BREATHE. THE TRUTH IS HIM!"

He points at the boy, and I believe.

"The truth is the world I created, the pain and the love and the suffering and the sophisticated hipster sipping a martini. The truth is Me, and you, and him."

He points at the boy.

"The truth is the boy, Bobby. The truth is the little boy. The truth is the little boy."

I look at God's finger pointing at the little boy, the way a dog looks at its master's finger and not at the object. I am a lapdog. I am a disobedient dog in a basement in Reno.

The Profound Delusion

Close those eyes, asshole.
Now, enjoy your dream: presented by Kubark and General Dynamics!
Oh, my ... oh my goodness can you believe the way the brown people
dance at the end of their strings? The long, dangling threads of freedom will
liberate you do you not see how we liberate the fucking shit out of you?
Do you refuse to live the dream we project into your brainsoul?

This is a troubling turn of events for the people of the United States. You do
realize they hate your freedom, like totally hate it a whole bunch and stuff.

They they they they are a rare breed of brown people who hate us and they all hate us brown people that is they think you are a cracker devil and your christ is a crazed prophet and your hair is like a salty creature from the depths.

And now awake. And now you turn on the media of your choice and we no longer control the message.

We are not the fourth estate. We are not the sordid truth.
We are the Book of Mormon when
we collect our signatures. We are
a god damn cabal up in this shit. So there.

Bomb bomb bomb bomb. Die die die die. Any white deaths? Bomb bomb bomb bomb bomb.

Any of ours? They are not ours! They are their own and it is that difference that makes all the difference.

My blur

I've been struggling to live lately. I'm a dizzy mess. I'm a dizzy, lightheaded mess and I'm a nervous mess and the sirens won't stop whirring and I think they're about to come take me to jail.

Or take me to heaven. Or hell. Or nowhere.

The constant voice is on repeat: this is your moment, this is your moment, this is your moment. The hot liquids do nothing to quiet the voice. The hotter the liquid, the louder the voice. So I stop drinking tea and coffee and the voice is a whisper that punctures the silent morning like a car alarm.

Oh no.

The sirens are loud they rattle the windows and the temblors are god who is unhappy with children. god is not happy because happy is hard and it is to be earned.

I see teal and I think it would be nice to never see it again. Enough of that color, please. But then I see it on a beautiful child and I'm happy enough to see it. The child is full of life and he gives the color life and together they give the world new life and we all engage in the ritualistic dance of life and then I want that color gone again because I'm too, too dizzy and I wish I wasn't.

Close my eyes. And I long for a smoke. I long for a vice. I desire so many things and I deny myself these things because society wants to keep me dizzy and society wants god to be unhappy and temblors equal money for developers who oppose gay marriage but cheat on their wives with sexy, big-breasted broads. The biggest of breasts for the men! The men demand the best!

The liquids do nothing and the sirens get louder and the breasts get larger and colors become lifeless. The colors fade. Good-bye.

Why Nothing Matters

"Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able?
Then he is not omnipotent.
Is he able, but not willing?
Then he is malevolent.
Is he both able and willing?
Then whence cometh evil?
Is he neither able nor willing?
Then why call him God?"

What began as a small act of defiance in my teens has become a full-blown belief system in my thirties. I have seen men commit the most unspeakable of crimes and suffer nary a slap on the wrist. I have held women in my arms as they sobbed, unable to fathom the depths to which some are capable of dwelling.

I wonder what I should do. I pray for guidance. They say you should pray, and I do.

But a prayer offered up to an unknown quantity is the act of a fool. I have been a fool for far too long. I refuse to pray; furthermore, I refuse to play by the rules ever again.

Those who claim to be on the side of good are too obviously evil. They are fat on the meat -- the greasy grizzle -- of the innocent, praying on their tender, delicate, embarrassing minds. The so-called good are the master manipulators. They are the alpha and omega of man. They are the faux-dichotomy. They are the worst.

If we are to have hope (and we probably should because it seems important and stuff), we must reveal the naked emperor. We must pull a "Network." We must be willing to proselytize with the verve of the Jehovah's Witness. We must do other things that will lend credence to our cause.

If there is one thing life has taught me, it's that the world is crammed full with people who are willing to do whatever you want them to ... if only you convince them it's in their best interests.

World: my passion is pure. My intent is noble. My message is simple.

We don't know anything, and we never will. So shut the fuck up.

Perchance some poetry before a fortnight

When summer turns to fall
And the leaves change color and fall from the trees --
Trees rooted strongly in the earth
The crisp, dead leaves fall to ... to earth
The firmament a bed for those delicate remnants of life
Crunch! Crunch!
A child frolics to and fro, oblivious to what was once alive
The fabulous mind of a child:
Carefree, drug free, alcohol free

Simple, untarnished, mitigated

My Sister Miranda: a work of fiction

CHAPTER 1

I finally told my sister I’m in love with her. I know, I know, I’m a huge creep. But how do you think I feel? I only just realized it today ... this morning, actually. I was standing in my bathroom, brushing my teeth. I spit out the toothpaste and I just thought yup, I love her.

I love Miranda.

I am in love with my sister. Thank God our parents are dead.

CHAPTER 2

There is a very good reason I have Miranda tied up in my bathtub. She tried to kill me when I told her! Like, literally tried to kill me, with a very big knife. In hindsight, telling her in the kitchen was a bad idea. The kitchen seems to house a number of items one could use to kill one’s brother.

I’ve always thought it would be terrible to be stabbed with a dull knife. I kind of think I could handle a sharp one because it would just go right in. But the dull one would rip you.

The knife Miranda tried to kill me with was dull. I know this because it was my knife, pulled from my knife block. A knife block that rests on the wood laminate counters that might have been in style in the early 80s. Counters that are out of style in the late oughts. I hate my fucking counters. I wish I had money so I could replace them, or just buy a new house.

A house that doesn’t have my sister tied up in the bathtub.

A knock at the door.

Seriously?

I close the bathroom door and walk to the front door, through a short hallway and through a tiny living room. My house is unassuming, at least that’s how the “realtor” described it. I look through the peephole.

No one is there.

I lean with my back against the front door. I sigh. How do you convince your sister to fall in love with you? I don’t know.

Another knock. Jesus, thanks for the panic attack, invisible dude at the front door. I look through the peephole again and there is no invisible dude. There is a visible young woman with visible cleavage and a ton of make-up. You know when pretty women wear too much make-up and you want to just grab them and shake them and scream damn it! Stop wearing so much fucking make-up! You would be so beautiful if you just stopped with the make-up!

Wow, should I do that now? I mean, I already did a bunch of other crazy shit today. Maybe this is my time to shine! God is trying to tell me to change the world!

I throw the door open.

-- Chuck?

Hm. That is my name. How does this pretty young woman with too much make-up know my name?

-- Yeah?

She is very pretty. She is wearing a pair of skinny jeans. The kind I always make fun of but secretly find sexy on a skinny girl. She is wearing yellow patent-leather high heels. She is probably 5 feet tall, but she seems taller because she is so skinny and those heels!

-- So.

I look up. She is smiling because she knows I think she is hot.

-- Are you ready?

-- Ready for what?

She pushes me inside the house. I don’t stop her. She closes the front door behind her. We stand in my tiny living room.

-- You don’t remember me, do you?

I don’t remember her. Shoot. You’d think I’d remember a cute chick who can really wear a pair of skinny jeans. I’m stupid.

-- You know, you really shouldn’t wear so much make-up. You’re a very pretty girl and you don’t need it.

-- You haven’t changed one bit.

She walks to me and grabs my dick in her left hand. She grabs my dick right through my shorts! She starts stroking my dick and I almost forget my sister, whom I love, is tied up in my bathtub.

-- Are we ... hm ... what are we doing now? Wait, why are you here? Stop for a second!

She stops and pulls off her tank top. She has what most gentlemen would describe as a perfect set of titties. I really want her to take off her bra. Like, really bad.

And she does. What sister?

We fuck on the floor of my tiny living room. I cum on her perfect titties. She goes into the bathroom to clean herself up and then she leaves.

I don’t realize any of this until it’s too late.

CHAPTER 3

My mom would often accuse me of overreacting. If she were still alive, she would probably say I’m overreacting right now.

How could you put your sister in the trunk of your car and just skip town? Responsible people just don’t do things like that!

CHAPTER 4

I park the car at a rest stop on Interstate 4, halfway between Tampa and Orlando. I buy a bag of pretzels from a vending machine and I eat them.

I think.

I think there’s probably not any way out of this situation. And then I remember ...

I remember her name!

Stephanie Marvelle. Oh, how I remember your name. You grew up, didn’t you? You little minx! I cannot believe the way your name just appears on the whiteboard in my head, like a Deus Ex Machina in my own shitty story of a life.

I think it’s time to cash in a favor.

CHAPTER 5

Miranda has been in the trunk for a few hours. She quit banging about 15 minutes ago. I can’t get her beautiful face out of my mind.

Here’s the thing about my sister: she’s perfect. I know she’s perfect because the guys I know are always telling me she’s perfect. She’s the kind of girl most men want but wouldn’t know what to do with if they got her.

She is tall: 5 feet, 10 inches; she has black hair; she is brilliant; she puts up with my nonsense; she has green eyes that make the small of my back tingle.

She is my angel.

CHAPTER 6

She is dead.

CHAPTER 7

-- Hi, Stephanie!

Stephanie looks surprised.

-- Who is she?

A question I anticipated. Unfortunately, I freeze.

--Jesus. Come in.

I carry my dead sister into Stephanie’s apartment. I sit her down at the kitchen table and open the fridge. Beer, milk, Sunny D ... string cheese. I choose beer because I’m a raging alcoholic and I’m sober and the love of my life is staring at me with lifeless eyes.

Beer! Oh my God, do I love beer! My favorite part about beer is when you drink it too fast and you almost throw up and that taste fills your sinuses and your eyes water. I’m a glutton for punishment, my mom used to say to me.

I drink this beer as fast as I can. I want that feeling right now.

-- Is she dead?

-- Yeah. Can I grab another?

Stephanie nods.

And all of a sudden, I am no longer myself. I am an angel delivering the Good News and I am surrounded by He who is All. I dwell in perpetual light and I am a servant of glorious hope and everlasting joy!

So that passes and I’m drinking another beer.

-- You didn’t fuck her, did you?

-- No. Why?

Hm. She thinks I’m crazy. And it turns me on.

-- We should do what we did earlier, but with her watching.

And we do. And I feel conflicted.

CHAPTER 8

When you’ve already killed the woman you love, it’s not such a big deal to kill a woman you like to fuck.

And so I do. So long, Stephanie.

I take the yellow heels with me as I exit the apartment. I leave the women.

CHAPTER 9

I guess I thought it was important to take those heels. I can’t remember. They remind me of art, like the kind you’d find in an ostentatious gallery in New York City.

I like a nice high heel. It makes the calf flex and I love a nice calf muscle. It’s my favorite part of the female body.

Stephanie had interesting calves. They were poorly defined, but they were proportional to the rest of her. She had an eating disorder and giant fake tits.

Miranda didn’t. She was perfect.

CHAPTER 10

The pills are starting to kick in.

Did I live a perfect life? I guess not. But I loved. I loved with all of my heart.

THE END

How you are getting fucked -or- Why Obama is failing

Our country is broken. I know this now. The people in power are helpless to fix anything; how can they? Too many special-interest groups have too much to lose ...

Just turn on Fox News and let the insanity wash over you. Rupert Murdoch is selling a product, nothing more. A product, by the way, that the unwashed masses are buying with the voraciousness of a lion ripping into a llama carcass.

The product is cynicism: toward change, toward freedom, toward education, and even toward common sense.

Don't get me wrong: Murdoch is certainly not the only person selling this product, but he is probably the most high profile. Well, with one exception.

Pres. Obama. Yeah.

Sir, you are selling the same product, and God damn if you aren't losing a lot of people along the way. You know, I really believed in you and the "changes" you were going to bring for our new, enlightened, generation.

But not anymore. You're really just another politician, aren't you? Incapable of living up to the extravagant promises you made to get elected. You're no better than ... him ... you know, he who shall not be named.

So, it is with a heavy heart that I officially renounce my affiliation with the Democratic Party, and any party, for that matter. I get it now. You're all the same.

Cynicism FTW.

Fight the urge

"I will probably end up raping you, just so ya know ... "

I like crazy.

Not "hurt other people" crazy, just "not sure what this guy might do next" crazy. It seems to fall in line with the natural order of the universe.

Crazy reminds me about the important things: safety is an illusion, God is a dick, life has no ultimate meaning.

You know, the really important shit!

I think Klaus Kinski knew a secret that very few other people have ever figured out. I think he knew it and it slowly drove him mad. It was like a magnifying glass that could focus on the tiniest particle suspended in a deep freeze ... but the magnifying glass was also a mirror, a mirror into his own soul.

Sometimes I think I know the secret, too. But then I try to forget it, because I know that it can only be a delivery mechanism for something more profound. The same way a syringe delivers the heroin, and the syringe is a beautiful machine and the heroin is something else entirely. The heroin allows you to live on a different plane than the others, and it is at once terrible and terrific and terrifying.

I try to forget it. I try really hard.

I try to spend as little time in the mirror as possible. I shave using a mirror, but that's it. I turn my back to the mirror when I brush my teeth and when I floss. I had an experience with a mirror when I was 19 and then I decided that I was all set with the whole mirror business.

Unnecessary.

Crazy is something I can get on board with; it's a state-of-mind that seems to say, "Fuck being in a state-of-mind." So I like it.

Here's to never being predictable.

With a God like this, who needs enemies?

It was a week filled with revelations: the kind of revelations that leave you nauseous, unsteady, hopeless.

What in the fuck is up with you, God? Seriously. I just don't get it.

How could you?

How can you create this miracle and also allow the desecration of it? How can you bestow the enviable trait of innocence and steal it away in the same breath?

How can you allow such unmitigated evil to infect your children?

I'm simply at a loss. The fuckin' words don't exist in my head. I can't tow the company line on this one. "She's young and she'll get over it. People are resilient. Worse things have happened."

So ... fucking ... what.

Coping mechanisms aren't my strong suit. Besides, they only ultimately excuse the behavior in the first place.

It's been a constant struggle lately, God. The thing is, I know I believe in you. I know for a fact you exist.

I just think you're a giant asshole.

Vanity Corner: What's Alex Into This Week?

Book: The Stand by Steven King

Music: Monsters of Folk

TV: Dexter (but I'm only on season 3)

Movie: Children of Men (just got a Blu-Ray player and the transfer of this film is perfect)

These things are good. You would like them.

72 virgins in heaven = tiny penis on Earth

The recent attack at Fort Hood is looking like another example of a religious extremist using his or her beliefs to carry out an unfathomable act of violence against innocent people.

Notice I didn't say "Muslim extremist." That's because ALL extremists are huge dicks.

Now, there can be little doubt that ye olde Muslim extremists are really setting the bar high in terms of "batshit insanity" and "super villainy" and maybe even "minion of evil." And the whole virgin in heaven thing is just so pathetic as to almost seem pitiful.

But alas, it is not. Hey, Muslim extremist! You want some pussy? Put down the bomb and try striking up a conversation, ya miserable douchebag!

"Hi, I'm Abdul. I like burning effigies and enriched plutonium. Can I put my tiny penis into your body?"

On second thought ...

It's just another example of a weak-minded individual buying into the antiquated notion that they will achieve eternal glory if only they carry out an imagined Act of God (or Allah). As if a nobody on Earth would be anything more than a GIANT nobody in heaven!

If heaven exists (big if), do you know how many people there are up there? Jesus Christ! Fun exercise: type "how many people are in heaven" into your favorite search engine and let the hilarity ensue! People actually try to answer!

Oh, people.

Why people in the military who oppose socialized health care are raging fuckin' hypocrites.

I have a message for all of my brothers and sisters in the military who oppose socialized health care. That message is:

I hope you die defending our country.

Your death would mean you couldn't have any more stupid kids running around and soaking up all of the ignorant bullshit you spew at them. Less stupid people = me smiling.

How the fuck can you have socialized health care and be against it? The answer, I'm afraid, is simple.

You are a raging fuckin' hypocrite.

The best is when someone who has been in the military their entire adult life opposes it. As if they could even comprehend the severity of forging a timid existence in the real world with no health care. I've done it, and it sucks.

And it's scary. It's scary because you could have a rare heart condition that keeps getting misdiagnosed because when the ER docs see you the first thing they think is "Here comes GOMER." (GOMER stands for Get Out of My Emergency Room) They want you gone because you can't afford to be treated.

As long as people's health (or lack thereof) makes other people rich, this country will never be the beacon of freedom it so desperately wishes to be.

America: land of the sick and home of the rich.

The new Nazis (genocide, here we come!)

A simple comparison. An honest recitation of facts. A humble attempt to reveal the truth.

President Obama is a Nazi.

Perfectly reasonable. No need to get all worked up. Just stating the obvious. Don't kill the messenger.

What? I'm engaging in gross and malignant hyperbole? I'm cutting off my nose to spite my face? I'm losing massive amounts of credibility and offending millions of people? So?

Obama is a socialist. The Nazis were socialists. The Nazis allowed their political beliefs to lead them toward a mission of annihilating an entire race -- and many others -- in a quest to advance their agenda. Obama will eventually do the same.

You don't think so?

You're blinded by his charm and charisma; you're under his spell the same way Germans were enamoured with Hitler in the 30s. You're blind but fear not! I'm here to show the way!

Obama is a Nazi. It is a fact. I'm a perfectly reasonable person making a perfectly reasonable statement.

Don't you think so?

Why U.S. citizens in the 21st century would organize tea parties -or- Idealism run amok

So, the anti-tax tea party. This is what we have devolved to as a society.

I ponder: What exactly are these "Taxed Enough Already" (TEA ... get it? Their abbreviation, not mine) folks hoping to accomplish? Besides yelling at town halls across the country for the next few weeks, that is.

OK, before I go further, check out this link. You too can own a "We are TEA'd" t-shirt or button to spruce up your wardrobe. Jesus, the slogan might as well say "Fuck socialist scum right up the ass!" But I doubt the American Family Association would condone such tomfoolery.

They do, however, condone products like a DVD entitled "It's Not Gay: Former homosexuals tell a story few have heard." I believe that speaks for itself.

Allow me to post some sweet tidbits from their site here.

"Obama and liberals in Congress are taking us down the road to socialism, seizing control of key banks, insurance companies, the automobile industry, etc."

Hey everybody! Do you remember back in Oct. 2008 when Pres. Obama signed the Troubled Asset Relief Program (TARP) into law? You do?!?! Don't you see, that would be impossible. Pres. W was the fella who signed it into law because he was the president in Oct. 2008. Not Obama. W.

Not Obama. W. Not Obama. W. Not Obama. W. Not Obama. W. Not Obama. W. Not Obama. W.

"Obama and Congress continue to spend money the government doesn’t have."

Can anyone guess what the operative word in this sentence is? I'll give you a very big hint. It is the word "continue." This word implies that spending has been occurring for some time. How long of a time we can't be sure. But definitely for a time.

"The liberals are the spawn of Satan and must be destroyed! Kill the liberals!"

Yup, their site actually says that! I swear! Alright, I'm a liar. But guess what? There are customer reviews for the anti-gay DVD they sell!!!!! Let's have a look at some of those, shall we?

1. GL on 6/2/2009, said: I purchased over 10 of these DVDs and want to purchase another 100 of them. You can read my story at WWW.HOPE7.HIGHPOWERSITES.COM God bless the brave men/woman who made this video. I pray they will be at peace until they get to heaven. I hope all become saved and I hope this video reaches young people with the message that it really is NOT GAY!

2. Jeff on 5/11/2009, said: I don't really know what to say. My parents found this DVD documentary and wanted me to see it. Quite simply, the film left me in shock. Afterward, I found out that my mom and dad genuinely believe the material in this film, and my relationship with them has never been quite the same since. I cannot with good conscience recommend this film to anyone. There are much better, honest, truthful ways to counter the gay rights movement than with this.

3. William on 4/8/2009, said: This is a superb, yet short (less than 30 minutes) truth session on what the Gay life style is really like. It is told by mostly ex-gays. The pro-gay movement recently tried to debunk it since one of the main presenters (Johnson) had a relapse (but has since returned to renouncing the gay lifestyle. His relapse only shows how strong of a hold this lifestyle can have on a human. God bless those that put this video together. Everyone who has or knows anyone in this lifestyle should own a copy and play it where and when able.

4. Amanda on 2/23/2009, said: I'm so glad that I purchased this DVD. Thank God their are people out there that are telling the truth a/b this lifestyle. People that have lived it and have now come out of it. All you ever hear is this person or that person is gay. And you see the lifestyle everywhere on T.V. and in everyday life. I did not realize how many do come out of this awful situation. I have even more faith and hope that my son will refuse to live this destructive path. I also, recommend Richard Cohan's CD Series called Gay Children, Straight Parents(a plan for family healing). It has also, been very helpful to my husband & I as we have been seeking the truth and healing for our son. PEOPLE- WE MUST PRAY,PRAY,PRAY for our children.

5. Shirley on 10/15/2008, said: Thank God we have a few brave souls that will tell the truth.

6. Melanie on 3/4/2008, said: I bought this film in VHS form many years ago. Then to my shock and dismay, my son, professed that he is Gay. I purchased it again in DVD form, 2, one for me and one for him. I strongly believe everyone should see this film, it is the truth about being Gay. It is very well done and very informative.

Jeff (number 2 on the list) seems reasonable. Melanie (number 6) is a cunt. Hey, how do you think her relationship with her son is working out?

These are real people. They are among us. They think the founding fathers would be proud of their actions. They don't understand the phrase "taxation without representation."

They think being gay is a choice; a mistake a person can make. They can't believe their God could create something SO DISGUSTING! Don't they know God creates plenty of disgusting things? Don't they own mirrors?

Coming soon: Why people in the military who oppose socialized health care are raging fuckin' hypocrites.

The Pope broke his wrist

Do you think Jesus had Italian fashion designers create his daily ensembles? I'd like to think so. I mean, only the best for the "Son of God," am I right?

Practice what you preach, Padre. Maybe the broken wrist is a sign ... you know, for being a Nazi and stuff. If you forced me to guess, I'd say God was paying pretty close attention to the planet Earth during the late 1930s - early 1940s.

Then again, if a broken wrist is God's payback for the holocaust, maybe God is a kind of a dick. Or maybe it's not payback at all. Maybe it's just the random chaos of the universe playing out like always.

Or maybe "God works in mysterious ways." I've always liked that one. You know who else works in mysterious ways? Charles Manson. That's good company. Well played, God.

Nice red hat, by the way. How many poor people do you think you feed from it if you filled it up with some food?

Life is pain

I had an interesting conversation the other day about religion and the nature of society's "moral compass," and it left me thinking about my own beliefs. And you know what?

Fuck God.

And why not? I mean, the thing gave me the ability to feel this way, so why not? Just look around! It's all pain. Everywhere. Maybe you get an occasional glimmer of hope, disguised as a kiss from your wife or a cookie or a good book, but they're only glimmers. Fleeting feelings of joy in a festering cesspool of despair.

Fuck God. He's worthless. And He doesn't care.

And as for the argument that not believing in a higher power equals not having ethics or standards which one can hold oneself to, I say shut the fuck up. I am filled to the tippy-top of my head with ethics. Are you? Probably not. I have noticed in my brief time upon this blue sphere of death and loneliness that most people leaning on religion would collapse without it.

That's not good. You know why? Because God doesn't give a flying angel's fuck about you. I know you think He does, but He most certainly does not. So fuck Him!

And Michael Jackson had inappropriate relationships with little boys, OK? I'm not saying he fucked 'em. But he admitted that he shared his bed with them, and that is unquestionably inappropriate. So enough with the faux sorrow. I'm sure he's in a better place.

On second thought ...

Living my strange life

I'm sitting here at work, procrastinating. I'm surfing ye olde interwebs, scoping sites like www.aintitcool.com, www.cracked.com, www.lostpedia.wikia.com, and of course the greatest Web site ever devised, www.wikipedia.com.

I don't enjoy work. I don't enjoy the early-morning commute. I don't enjoy the myriad of awkward interactions with co-workers who do not find me as clever and charming as I find myself. I do not enjoy the pointless assignments that, when finished, will contribute precisely nothing to the betterment of our society. I do not enjoy fluorescent lights.

One more year.

A Unified Theory of LOST

Long live Juliette ... my one and only constant.

Whew! Color me pleased. Who could have predicted such a heavy presence from the one and only Jacob in the season five finale of the greatest show on television ... LOST? Well, I could.

That's right, I knew it. I knew Juliet was doomed to die at the bottom of the shaft. I knew John Locke occupied the Ajira crate the other other's had with them. I knew Jacob gave Jack a tasty Apollo bar. I knew everything. How, you ask?

Because I'm Esau! I'm the man in black! I'm Smokey ... Cerberus ... the judge, jury and executioner of the isle of paradise. The island known to many as ... Eden.

So, where does this breathtaking finale leave us? So many questions answered, so many more raised (so to speak). Speaking of puns, do you now believe that the warnings delivered from Claire (Don't you dare raise him!) and Hurley (Don't bring him back!) actually referred to JOHN LOCKE and not lil' Aaron? Were they speaking on behalf of Jacob, as if they knew bringing Locke back to island would result in the destruction of Jacob?

Or am I blowing your fucking mind right now?

What the hell did Ilana mean when she said Lapidus might make a good candidate? Candidate for what?

What was the significance of the end title card turning white with black letters as opposed to the long established pattern of black with white letters?

Why do I have to wait until December to buy the DVDs? Damn you, Darlton!

OK, let us consider the information we now possess and see if we can't put together a broad theory. What do we know?

We know Jacob and the man in black (a man I will call Esau) are locked in some kind of contest or struggle ... and it seems to be about the nature of man. Very biblical, methinks. We know Esau wants Jacob dead and will stop at nothing to accomplish this. We know Jacob brought the Black Rock to the island. We know (come on, we really do!) that Richard is from the Black Rock.

And most importantly, we know Ben stabbed Jacob and faux Locke kicked him into the fire! How symbolic!

I don't know about you, but I am not convinced Jacob is completely good. I want to believe he is, but I'm just not certain. How interesting that Jacob so closely resembles the God of the Old Testament and I still feel that way. Yeah, I'm packing for warm weather when I die!

Consider the implications of Esau/Smokey playing John Locke from his first days on the island. What a mindfuck, huh? It seems Locke was a weak, easily manipulated pawn in some quasi-deity's game. I hope it isn't true. Consider the death of Eko in this new context. Smokey scanned him and discovered he couldn't use him for his purposes. Oh, Mr. Eko. You stubborn fool!

We have always thought Desmond was responsible for bringing 815 to the island. Remember when he forgot to turn the key? But now ... maybe not? Jacob was all over time and space touching our beloved castaways. To what end? Are they horcruxes? Are they enlightened? Are they just really soft (we know Hurley is)? BTW, he did not touch Juliet or Miles. Think they'll be with the rest next season? Exactly!!!

Speaking of Desmond, he can't be done, can he? Come on! He was the fucking key to the whole thing! Surely he'll be back. Maybe he'll come sailing back aboard Elizabeth. Don't let Desmond's story be done!

OH, YEAH! We now know Charles Whidmore is definitely a good guy! Right? He assigned Abbadon to protect Locke, perhaps knowing that if he died Esau/Smokey would pretend to be him and manipulate Ben into killing Jacob! That makes him good! That's why he wanted to get Ben off the island in the first place!!! That's why he sent Keamy aboard the freighter to get him. He was trying to protect Jacob. I don't know, though ... Chuck Whidmore as good guy just doesn't feel right.

And that brings me to my final point. I remember so clearly watching John Locke teach young Walt the rules of Backgammon. "It's a game with two sides. One is light and one is dark." That always stuck with me. He did not say good and bad ... he said light and dark. I have a sneaking suspicion that there will be no good or bad guys when this is over. There will just be people making good or bad choices. Just like life.

The good guys aren't always good and the bad guys aren't always bad.

Or maybe I should just wake up and realize Jacob is God and Esau is Satan. Because they are.

My new constant ... Claire!

Say what you mean!

In the spirit of Bill Maher's segment "New Rules," I'd like to point out an annoying speech pattern working its way into the American vernacular:

kinda (sometimes sorta)

That will be just about enough of that, thank you. We are living lives, people. Our lives are composed of many things. Those things are what they are.

They aren't kinda what they are. They aren't sorta what they are. They fucking are what they fucking are.

If you have to use kinda or sorta when you're having a conversation, you need to start reading a dictionary. Try keeping one by the toilet. You see, the beautiful thing abour our language is that many words comprise it (don't get me started on the proper way to use comprise). The reason for all of these words is they all have different meanings.

To simplify: if you say, "This chicken is, I don't know, kinda bland," you really mean, "This chicken is bad." Say what you mean! Grow a pair, damn it.

I believe this mindset - this inability to express one's opinion - is indicative of a society that has lost its focus. Folks are scared to say anything concrete. It's the pussy-fication of America.

"The movie was kinda long." No, the movie sucked.

"He's sorta opinionated." Actually, he's a raging asshole.

"She's kinda hot in a sorta cute way." She doesn't even have a good sense of humor! RUN!!!

Say what you mean.

Vanity Corner: What's Alex into this week?

I figured I should start doing a fairly-regular column here discussing what I'm enjoying at the moment.

Books: The Book of Lost Things
Music: Elvis Perkins in Dearland
Movies: The Thin Man
Web: whatsinthebox.nl
Porn: anything involving boobs

That's it.

Dead is Dead

I know, I know ... the smoke monster looked kinda cheesy flashing pictures of Ben's past in front of him like "This is Your Life" - island edition. But in hindsight I loved it. It was perfect because it proves something I've held to for some time now: TPTB don't take any of this too seriously. And thank God!

I think you can equate this to the new Star Wars movies. I'll admit, I actually enjoyed them, unlike most. But everyone can agree that they were missing the fun and frivolity of the original episodes. And they suffered as a result from choppy dialogue and lack of spontaneity from an otherwise talented group of actors.

I mean, just look how much fun Michael Emerson has on this show!



This guy's just chewing up the scenery and it is amazing for this aspiring actor to watch. Was ever a more enjoyable line of dialogue uttered than when a focused Ben, having recently spoken with a resurrected John Locke, asked the Ajira passengers if they needed help? Politely refusing his charity, Ben replies, "Have a nice day!" The unexpected enthusiasm with which Emerson delivers that line made me giddy. Yeah, I said giddy.

Moving on, I think "Dead is Dead" was a major stride forward in the overall stroy arc of the series. Ben's dead daughter Alex - looking pretty sexy for a corpse - admonished him to refrain from killing Locke AGAIN(!) because she knew he was considering it. This begs the question: will Ben be able to swallow his pride and follow Locke's every command? Even more, will Locke be a kinder, gentler leader than Ben and treat him with the respect he was never shown the first time around? I hope "yes", but I fear "no". Locke seemed pretty cocky about his newfound power and seemed to enjoy rubbing it in Ben's face. Can John Locke be the bigger man?




Other observations:

• I think there is little doubt the mythology of the show is mired in Egypt. Quick! Somebody decipher the heiroglyphics in the temple!
• The picture on the wall above Smokie's grate (home?) was of Anubis, the Egyptian god of the dead. Significance? It has been argued eloquently by many that the statue is also of Anubis.
• "What lies in the shadow of the statue?" My guess is Jughead. Maybe the Frozen Donkey Wheel?
• Is Ceaser really dead?

That's all I got. Long live Penelope Widmore.

Q and A: part the fourth

Part 4 in our attempt to better understand Alexander Ameen: sociopath, loner, creep. Read the following interview at your own risk.

Q. You have expressed concern recently that most of the people you surround yourself with are "all talk, no action." What do you mean by that?

A. I'm surrounded by a bunch of lazy fucks.

Q. Do you think your level of hostility is equal to their laziness?

A. No. I should be much angrier but I'm a pussy and a pushover who pretends to love confrontation but ultimately shrivels like a salted snail when faced with it in the real world (as opposed to the fake world). I have a hard time reconciling the fact that people who claim to want something don't just go out and get it. And I hope they don't plan on me getting it for them.

Q. Do you have any particular people in mind?

A. Yup. Your stupid faggot dad.

Q. My, my. That's just ... shame on you. Well, let's move on, please. Pres. Obama recently told a group of American service members that the time has come for Iraq to take care of itself. This statement was met with a rousing ovation.

A. You got a question somewhere in there?

Q. How do you think the new conservative golden boy Glenn Beck will spin this development?

A. I assume he will cry like a little bitch and create some kind of commission based on good ol' American values like:

1. Free porn for all!

2. If marriage truly is sacred, maybe we should outlaw divorce!

3. We should have more crazy fucks on TV!

4. Honesty! (Unless you're a member of the former Bush administration)

5. The Indians are a lost tribe of Jews and Jesus helped them plant corn and he went to other planets and all kinds of kooky shit! (Glenn Beck is a Mormon)

Ugh. Put on some temple garments.

Q. You got a problem with Glenn Beck?

A. Yes, I really, really do. Mr. Beck is that very worst kind of person: fear-mongerer. He makes a living praying on people's weaknesses and he exploits this power to fuel his gigantic ego. He is a worthless piece of shit and I would honestly kick him right in the shin if I ever met him. Fuck you, Glenn Beck.

Q. Anything else to add to today's discussion?

A. If you're reading this right now, thank you for indulging the ravings of a possibly misguided but definitely well-informed individual. Now do me a favor and go read a book! Educate yourself! I'm getting really sick of being surrounded by idiots.

Join us next time for part 5 of our 18-part interview. Until then, in the words of Mr. Ameen himself, "Pick your battles wisely.

Whatever happened, happened

I'm coming out of the closet, so to speak ...

I'm a raging Lost fan and I want you to know it! I'm here, I'm a raging nerd, get used to it.

This week's episode finally places the time-traveling theory presented by one Dan Faraday at the forefront: can you change the past or will the universe "course correct" any changes you try to instigate?

The implications surrounding the potential death of the young Ben Linus are too numerous to address in full, but a few beg debate. Especially:

1. If Ben dies, then the 1977-based Jack, Kate, Hurley, Sawyer, Jin, Juliet and Miles (and Dan!) should disappear, no? Because if he's dead, he can never turn the frozen donkey wheel in 2004 which sends all of them to the Dharma-tastic 70s in the first place. No Other-leading Ben, no turn o' the wheel, no time travel.

2. If Ben dies, then who is the leader of the Others when Oceanic 815 crashes on the island in 2004? Is it John Locke? Would the island have found a way to get him there sooner because it had "lost" (!) the leader it always intended when Sayid screwed everything up?

3. If Ben dies, then will the old Ben whom John Locke was glaring at in his cot as he declared, "That's the man who killed me," just disappear? He has to, right? No young Ben, no old Ben.

4. If Ben dies, Dharma will certainly declare full-blown war against the Hostiles, which in our new timeline would be much earlier than in the previous one. Dharma has access to all of the resources of Ann Arbor and the Hanso Foundation; certainly, they'd emerge victorious in a premeditated attack against their enemy. Kind of like a reverse purge, if you follow my metaphor.

Of course, none of this matters because we all know young Ben can't die, right? I'm convinced he can't, anyhow. This appears to be setting the stage for another island surgical miracle courtesy of Dr. Shephard (the young one).

Straying off-topic, this marks two consecutive episodes with nary a second of John Locke, and I'm getting impatient! You bring this hardcore mofo BACK TO LIFE FROM THE DEAD and now we have to wait weeks to see him again? Come on, Darlton! Feed the baby birds!

BTW, next week's episode is entitled "Whatever Happened, Happened." I predict Jack saves the young Ben's life, blows their cover and all hell breaks loose.

Namaste.

Juliet is my constant.

A Treatise on Sharing the Road -or- Why I Fucking Hate Everyone

Five rules for commuting:

1. The left lane is for fast drivers. If you're driving the speed limit, move over into the right lane. If you don't, I will tailgate you at a dangerous proximity and honk my horn. I will do this because I hate you and wish you would stop impeding my journey to work, which I also hate.

2. Use a god damn turn signal. It's there so you can use it, so fucking use it! I cannot read your mind and I wouldn't want to if I could. You are dumb so it would be unpleasant.

3. Get off the phone. You are a pathetic little shit and if you died tomorrow no one would miss you. So guess what? That phone call can wait until you get home. Hang up, dicklicker!

4. Stop disciplining your children while your car is tearing down the interstate at 80 mph. If they can't behave, do what I did and give 'em away. Kids are resilient and they'll forgive you, eventually. In the meantime, eyes forward!

5. If you turn onto a busy highway directly in front of me, you had better step on that gas pedal. If you don't, I will change lanes within inches of your rear bumper, pass you, change lanes again to get in front of you, and then slam on the brakes. Basically, I will try to murder you because you are worthless and I'd be doing the world a big favor.

I know what you're thinking: "He's not talking to me."

Yeah, I am. I'm talking directly to you. Cut it out.

That is all.

Why the Republican party sucks

I own a fascinating BBC documentary entitled "The Power of Nightmares." This three-part movie chronicles the parallels in the rise to power of both the Muslim Extremists in the Middle East and the Christian Conservatives in the United States.

You owe it to yourself to get your hands on a copy of this and watch it. It will change the way you look at the current incarnation of the Republican party.

You see, I think the fundamentals of the Republicans core values are correct. We should strive for a smaller government and pay fewer taxes. Who can argue with that? But you SIMPLY CANNOT CONTINUE TO INVOKE THOSE CORE BELIEFS WHEN YOU HAD THE PAST EIGHT YEARS TO APPLY THEM AND YOU FAILED.

You failed. You failed. You failed. If this was a math class you'd receive an F. You ... failed.

And this is why the Republican party owes it to itself to begin the painful and deliberate process of extracating itself from the neo-conservatives who hijacked it under the auspices of tax reform and foreign policy initiatives designed to bring about the collapse of the Soviet Union.

Guess what? Ronald Reagan sucked. You know why? Because like every actor, he was a gigantic egomaniac.

Read your history book: the Soviet Union was on the brink of collapse without any help whatsoever from the United States. In 1985, General Secretary of the Communist Party Mikhail Gorbachev announced that the Soviet economy was stalled and that reorganization was needed. Initially, his reforms were called uskoreniye (acceleration) but later the terms glasnost (liberalisation, opening up) and perestroika (restructuring) became much more popular.

Blah, blah, blah. Keep reading: Iran-Contra scandal, tax cuts for the super wealthy inspired by the unbelievable theory known as supply-side economics, completely ignoring the rising AIDS epidemic. Reagan sucked.

So it was that under this political environment the neo-conservative movement was able to flourish. Created by a professor at the University of Chicago named Leo Strauss, the American neo-conservatives believed that the only way to inspire the "unwashed masses" to serve the greater good and be productive, healthy and happy citizens was to create an "external threat with the ability to destroy the Western World."

Hm. You mean, like the big, bad Soviet Union? Or maybe Al-Qaeda? Oh, I see!

I know what you're thinking -- how could some crazy philosophy created at a small university in Chicago influence the entire right-wing? Well, when two of the students at the university are Paul Wolfowitz and Donald Rumsfeld, you see ... how ... it's ... possible.

So come on, Republicans! Enough with the scare-tactics! Did you know more American citizens died last year from lightning strikes than from terrorist attacks? It's true! So how come we don't have a Department of Lightning Strike Prevention?

Garbage

Excerpt from an AP story published today:

"My concern is there's going to be commitments attached to it that are a mile long," said Texas Gov. Rick Perry, who considered rejecting some of the money but decided Wednesday to accept it. "We need the freedom to pick and choose. And we need the freedom to say 'No thanks.'"

The money in question is from the recently-passed stimulus bill. I'd like to point out my favorite part ...

... who CONSIDERED rejecting some of the money but decided Wednesday to ACCEPT it.

Uh, OK. Guess what, everybody? I considered slapping Texas Gov. Rick Perry in the face but decided Wednesday not to. I considered shaving my balls with a broken mirror but decided Wednesday not to. I considered really standing up for what I believe but decided Wednesday not to because I'm a yellow-bellied coward.

Well played, Republican party. Once again, you prove how easy it is to motivate dumb rednecks with good, ol'-fashioned fear mongering. And just look at that most "American" of words he uses:
Freedom!!!

See? Republicans represent freedom! Freedom to live a life without all of that pesky government interference. Who wants a big ol' government, anyway? Not me!

I guess that's why Bush and cronies were cool with letting Afghanistan go to hell while fighting a misguided war in Iraq; we don't want Afghanistan to have some big liberal government pestering its citizens and building new roads and new schools.

Fuck school! I'll learn my kids at home ... yeah, I'll learn 'em real good and shit!

By the way, Gov. Perry isn't the only governor who considered rejecting some or all of the stimulus money they'd be entitled to. And would you care to venture a guess as to which states these governors represent? They are:

Texas, Mississippi, Louisiana, Alaska, South Carolina and Idaho.

Yup. Hicksville, Racistville, Let's-Drown-Black-Peopleville, I'm-A-Moron-Hockey-Momville, Racistville Pt. 2, and Potatoville. Actually, Idaho ... you're cool.

I love potatoes. I love to spell potatoes, too.

Q and A: part the third

Part 3 in our attempt to better understand Alexander Ameen: sociopath, loner, creep. Read the following interview at your own risk.

Q. What is your preferred method for dealing with roustabouts and ne'er-do-wells?

A. I've always believed the youth of our society should be dealt with in a swift and firm, yet thoughtful, way. If I encounter a misfit during my morning jog, for example, I calmly approach the guy and tell him to go to the library and check out a book and read it. Then I kick him in the nuts cause I'm not very strong and would surely lose in a fair fight.

Q. What are your thoughts on some Republican's statements this week concerning Pres. Obama's lack of effort concerning bipartisanship?

A. Republicans are dumb and stuff. They, like, think they're all that but they're not. They all white and shit, you know? Like, Hey, look at me ... I hate poor people! Whateva ...

Q. Could you elaborate?

A. Yeah, you know ... they all, "Ohhh, snap. Let's let all the blacks die in the floods cause they ain't shit," you know? That's just wrong.

Q. Do you give any credence to their feelings on the subject?

A. If I knew what credence meant, perhaps.

Lovable ol' Republican racist Strom Thurmond

Q. Did you get a chance to peruse this year's Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue?

A. Did I?! You bet your sweet bippy, I did! Some people think that that issue objectifies women, but I'll tell ya, you should see some of the porn I normally look at! These Sports Illustrated models look like lil' Suzy Homemaker compared to ... I'll leave the rest to your imagination.

Q. Do you actually think pornography has a place in our society?

A. Yup. In fact, I think the main reason brown people want to blow us all up is because they don't see enough sweet, sweet titties. I kind of think titties are the answer to all of life's problems. Don't you?

Good ol' American titties ... take that, brown people! Strom Thurmond loved titties, but only on brown people. How ironic.

Q. I think you should let me ask the questions and you just keep giving me your insane answers.

A. Oh, I get it. You're one of those fancy boys, aren't you? You like to peek into the stalls when you go the bathroom and see if ...

Q. How dare you call my sexuality into question, you ignorant ass! Whom I choose to love is none of your god damn business. You should be ashamed.

A. I'm not.

Q. Now, let's get back to this interview. What are some of the issues you see affecting young people today and how do you think they can become part of the solution?

A. Without a doubt, the most important issue we all face daily is where our next meal is coming from. I mean, do I go to McDonalds or In and Out Burger? It's just crazy. How can I be expected to have the answer? Sometimes I look at the situation in Africa and I think how lucky those people are. They don't have to worry about making those tough decisions. They don't have to deal with the stress. I'd like to trade places with them, but not just cause of the whole "where to eat" thing. Those people don't use condoms cause they think your spirit will escape or some weird shit like that. I hate condoms! Sure, you've got the whole AIDS deal but what are the chances of catching AIDS in Africa? Pretty slim, I bet. And in the meantime, you're having yourself some wild latex-free lovin'.

Q. Oh dear.

Join us next time for part 4 of our 18-part interview. Until then, in the words of Mr. Ameen himself, "Pick your battles wisely."

Middle-school mentality

If the first thing you think of when you see this picture is, "Geez, has she put on weight," then you can go ahead and put a gun into your pie hole and pull the fuckin' trigger right now.

Are the jeans a bad choice? Certainly. Are the belts a bad choice? Certainly (Full disclosure: I used to own a pair of Z Cavaricci pants that had three belts). Is Jessica Simpson fat? Uh, not even close.

Now, I'm not a big fan of this young lady. I don't listen to her music, I don't watch her movies, I think her sister is a raging asshole, and I'm pretty sure her daddy used to fuck the both of 'em. This isn't about her talent or her status or her celebrity or any of that, though, is it? It's about the ridiculous "bully" mentality that certain people just can't let go of.

In order to understand where I'm about to take this, you must submit to the following truths: men talk about who they would or wouldn't fuck ALL THE TIME and they know approximately 99.99999999999 percent of the women they talk about would never fuck them. They talk about this because they're men and it's what they do. In fact, most men don't actually try to fuck the women they talk about; they just talk about it. Harmless conversation.

With this in mind, I submit that most men would fuck the girl in the picture on the right. How do I know this, you ask? Because I would fuck the girl in the picture on the right. Now, my wife knows I feel this way and, like I explained before, she knows I wouldn't actually do it. Rather, she knows Jessica Simpson would never fuck me because I'm not an NFL quarterback. Either way, we're good.

Knowing this, where is all of the "fat" talk coming from? I'll give you a hint: they have stinky pussies.

Did you figure it out yet?

Nothings burns as bright as a woman's jealousy toward another woman. And let me tell you, this nonsense is blinding.

This all stems from a society that places money and fame at its center; a two-dimensional anti-reality that exists on magazine covers and television screens. It warps minds and silently judges and turns virile brains into hamburger patties ready to be stacked four high and placed on buns with 1000 island and lettuce and tomato - onions extra.

If you think Jessica Simpson has gotten fat, then I think you should die. Just hurry up and die so I don't get stuck behind your slow ass on the way to work tomorrow. I fuckin' hate you and what you're doing to our poised-on-the-precipice-of-greatness society.

Go to the library, check out a book, educate yourself and get a life. And then die.

Bringing folks back into the fold

Yeah, I'm gonna start e-mailing this thing to you people again. I figure, what have I got to lose? Either you like it and laugh a little or you hate it and I don't give a shit. At least I know I won't offend you ... you sick fucks.

Issue #1

Don't invite me to join any more causes on Facebook. I'm not impressed you joined and I don't give a shit what other people think about my opinion on Darfur. Yup, poor black people aren't getting enough food every day. What else is new? Until you plan on going there with a couple loaves of bread and some fuckin' seeds, cut it out.

And yes, I realize Darfur is a lot more complicated than I just made it out to be but I don't really care. Fuck Darfur and fuck you.

Get a job, asshole.

Issue #2
The stimulus package is a BAD idea. It is. Sorry, it is. It's not a good idea. It is one more way for people in power to persuade you they have the ability to make your life better. Guess what, genius ... only you have that power. Sure, the government can help with loans for school and infrastructure and all of that, but anyone who actually thinks this package will turn the failing economy around is a dummy.

Issue #3
The military wastes more money than you could possibly imagine. How do I know this? Well, you know how I know, don't you? Perfect example: aircraft carriers will sometimes hold a Friends and Family Day Cruise for friends and family of the ship's crew. This might be fun and stuff but it is absolutely unnecessary to the operational readiness of these mighty warships. Guess how much money it costs to deploy a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier for one day. Go on, guess. What a fuckin' waste of time and money.

Issue #4
Did you see the Super Bowl ads? Weren't they funny? Wait a minute ... oh, that's right. Fuck the Super Bowl ads. I genuinely despise advertising. Every time I see some skinny, handsome, irreverent everyman waxing sarcastic about his car insurance or light beer I want to hijack airplanes. Not really. I wouldn't fly the plane into a building or anything ... geez, lighten up. But seriously, these ads are destroying my will to be a good human being. Fuck Taco Bell, fuck Budweiser, fuck Geico, fuck Doritos and fuck you for buying all their shit. Commercialism sucks a huge, black cock.

Issue #5
When did I get so tired? I went to bed at 9:30 last night. It was a Friday night! God damn it! I hate being over 30 and I hate being part of a system that encourages me to be a mindless fuckin' robot with no ability to dream about a better tomorrow. I love dreams ... especially dreams where I'm in a marshmallow house and I'm covered in chocolate sauce and I'm surrounded by Golden Retriever puppies who love me for who I am on the inside and not because I just bought some sweet Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses that make me look like a movie star. Fuck Dolce and Gabbana.

So, I thought this would help relieve some tension but it really just made me angrier. Fuck you. Oh yeah, check out alexanderameen.blogspot.com for more blustery poppycock.

Q and A

Part 2 in our attempt to better understand Alexander Ameen: sociopath, loner, creep. Read the following interview at your own risk.

Q. What is it like being caught up in the gears of the military medical complex and what are the short- and long-term ramifications?

A. Well, the gears of the "complex" grind slowly, I can tell you that. You see, when you are dealing with socialized medicine, which is exactly what military health care is, you are surrendering to the necessary evils of said system. You will not have one doctor overseeing your treatment, making sure you're being advised properly ... no, you will have many doctors, each completely unaware of what the other has told you or what they intend to do to you. You will encounter redundancy of the highest order and your integrity will be called into question on numerous occasions.

Q. And the ramifications?

A. You will get lost in the abyss. You will drown. Ironic, being a Sailor and all.

Q. That seems like a bleak outlook on what some might consider a fortuitous situation. After all, you could be a civilian with no health insurance. You'd have to declare bankruptcy!

A. Is it true you used to masturbate into your mother's knee-high stockings?

Q. Oh ... dear. What an unsavory thing to ... well, let's move on, shall we? Are you making plans should this injury prevent you from completing your contract with the Navy?

A. Indeed! I originally intended to go to school with the money I'd get under the G.I. bill, but then I realized I hate school. Don't get me wrong, I love keggers and doin' lines right before class and casual sex with your professor and so on, but I hate all the learnin' and stuff. I learn better on my own; that's why they made Wikipedia, you know. No, I think I'm gonna move to L.A. and pursue a career in stand-up comedy.

Q. I see. Who are some of your influences in the comedy world?

A. I admire folks who manage to blend comedy into their everyday lives. For instance, I heard a story about how Lee Harvey Oswald used to do a little five-minute set at his work. Apparently, it just killed! Sometimes I'll turn on C-SPAN and watch the Prime Minister's questions before Parliament. Those fuckin' British!

Funny man Lee Harvey Oswald

Q. How would you explain the way the Navy works to a person who has no frame of reference?

A. I'd tell them it's just like looking at your face. It's ugly, it stinks and it has a raging case of acne. Oh, and a gay little mustache.

Q. To what do you attribute your overwhelming unkindness and biting sarcasm?

A. To what do you attribute your need to penetrate the anuses of little puppy dogs with your finger and than sniff it under the covers of your bed?

Q. I don't have to answer your questions, you pathetic little troll! You wield no power over me! I am my own man and I can do and say as I goddamn please, I'll tell you that! I love those puppies!!!

A. Checkmate, motherfucker.

Q. How could you do this to me? You've ... you've ruined me, that's what you've done. I'll show you!

A. Put that gun away! No, don't!

Comedy 101

Join us next time for part 3 of our 18-part interview. Until then, in the words of Mr. Ameen himself, "Pick your battles wisely."

A little change of scenery

Well, I'm off the ship again. Yep, for the second time in two years, I'm on a limited duty status. Basically, I'm a broken old piece of shit who never should have been allowed to join the Navy in the first place.

But I'm in now so they gots to fix me and stuff.

The irony of it all is that the doctors tell me it's not because of anything I may have done to harm myself, i.e. smoking or drinking or (gasp!) drugs. Nope. These problems of mine would have turned up had I lived a completely normal and healthy life.

Which I did, of course. I mean, I never did anything unhealthy or illegal. I just want to make that crystal clear.

It's all beginning to make me question my place in this world and what might lie in store for us after we die. I know, I have plenty of time left before I take the big ol' dirt nap but health issues have a way of making me study my mortality.

For example, check this link out.

Is this guy completely off the deep end or what? I don't know; shit like this is so crazy that I almost feel compelled to believe it. This guy has GIGANTIC TITANIUM BALLS.

But if what this man claims is indeed true, what are the ramifications? What would happen to religion? Would people finally let go of their outdated beliefs that only drive wedges of intolerance between us (doubtful) or would they flock to churches, synagogues, temples and mosques in even greater numbers in a never-ending quest to get answers from an old book and an invisible dude in the sky who doesn't want you to worship other Gods because that would hurt His feelings (highly likely).

The notion of beings from another dimension who look exactly like us is so cool that I can hardly stand it!

Just think about what this revelation, if proven true, would do to the insane nationalistic tendencies human beings feel compelled to follow. Would it even matter anymore if you were from Iran or America? Wouldn't we all just be Earthlings?

I bet Mormons would have parties for fuckin' weeks.

I digress ...

As I get older, I feel more and more insignificant and I wonder if it's just me or if that's the way this crazy ride called life works.

This kind of thinking could only be possible from a spoiled white guy brought up in the Western World: a land of philosophers and philanderers and Philistines and fuckheads. And I'm the worst because I serve in a position that often times runs contrary to my beliefs. I'm a walking contradiction, an artist who sold out for an easy life.

Sure, that's where this all stems from, my desire to create art out of nothing. My desire to be a mini-deity. My desire to build and not destroy.

I hate looking in the mirror lately because my neck is old and fat. My eyes are droopy and my skin is oily and ragged. I'm having a hard time finding the beauty in my aged features and it kinda sucks.

The decay of age is the opposite of what I want and there it is.

I imagine I'll look back on this time in my life as a necessary evil; a rite of passage, as it were. But I'll be damned if I'm gonna take any of it for granted.

This says it all

President Obama and company wave goodbye

to former President Bush.

Our long national nightmare is over.

The decline of the quasi-empire (a 21st century self-portrait)

Here it comes
The urge to turn off and breathe through my mouth until the sun sets and I finally brush my teeth

If Nietzsche posed his question properly, then "Is man God's one mistake or is God man's one mistake" suddenly becomes a vibrant debate for kids who put down the hula hoop and started whoring so they could get enough money together to buy their PS3s or Prada bags or college educations.

I sit and think and turn my head into cinnamon and spice oatmeal but for why? Do I not expend energy when I do this and am I not a gigantic fat piece of shit that can afford to sit around and expend energy that the world can't afford to lose because of a self-righteous, self-entitled white guy who knows just how to fix your problems?

Here it comes
The urge to turn off and sing a song to cloud my mind

This is all just an exercise in futility, isn't it? I can't bring anything new to you if you don't know I exist! I can't do what God wants because God is dead. He died more than 2,000 years ago and He ain't never comin' back 'cause He don't want no part of our nonsense.

Show me God and I'll show you a fool showing me what he thinks is God but is really just a figment of society's meta-spiritual mind. Show me God and I'll show you. You'll see.

Here it comes
The urge to offend so deeply that physical pain is befriended by a new companion: anger.

Did you ever stop to think that maybe YOU'RE God? You have as much time and space as you need to prove me wrong. Remember, your argument will absolutely contain preconceived notions that themselves can't be proven.

You will lose, God.

She's at it again!

Click here. Go ahead and do it.

This lady just can't seem to figure it out at all, can she? Just like a good lil' Republican, she blames everybody else but herself.

My favorite part is the comment about Caroline Kennedy. Uhhhhhhhhhh, what in the ever-loving fuck does Palin care how Kennedy is treated by the press? What difference could it possibly make? If Kennedy gets a free pass and the omnipotent liberal media bias is proven true once and for all, then what?

I'll tell you what ... Palin will still be a raging asshole. Granted, she will be a sexy hockey mom raging asshole, but a raging asshole nonetheless.

Kennedy is in contention for the Senate; Palin was a candidate for vice-president! There is a slight difference between the two jobs. And before you say, "Well hold on there! The VP doesn't really do anything!" then just let me say two words to you: Dick Cheney.

I rather hope Palin doesn't go away. In fact, I pray the Republicans nominate her in 2012. Hell, I hope she wins. I can't get enough of the delicious irony.

What irony, you ask?

Why, the white, uptight 30-something conservative males complaining about her unfair treatment in the press because of her gender while secretly wanting to slip their shriveled little dicks into her asshole while Todd is off racing his snow machine. Talk about objectification!

Sarah, keep up the good work.

PS I love you

Sarah Palin and her husband Todd talk about his DUI arrest

You almost got cancer

Uhh, when did it become OK for a doctor to look you dead in the eyes and say, "It might be nothing or it might be cancer."

That's completely uncool, right?

Well, this little nugget of fun smacked me in the nuts a few weeks ago and I've been quietly freaking out ever since. Turns out I don't have cancer. I have a fatty tumor in my left tibia.

So no big deal. Just maybe some bone grafts and some other shit, but no big deal.

So why did I almost have cancer? Why did my "doctor" feel it was necessary to give me a huge scare with the nonchalance of a rich Puerto Rican girl blowing off a dance with the fat, ugly boy her mom made her invite to her $75,000 Quinceanero?

Because I'm in the motherfucking Navy, that's why.

Guilty until proven innocent. Healthy until proven sick. Lying until proven truthful.

The military operates on a very delicate system of leadership: if I'm in charge, I am better than you. See how delicate that is?

When I go to the doctor onboard my ship, I am immediately assumed to be lying. The reason for this is "malingering." Malingering is when you pretend to be infirmed to get out of work. People in the Navy do it all the time because most people in the Navy have unbelievably shitty jobs.

I, however, do not malinger. I am in a lot of fucking pain and I just want to get fixed.

The reason I'm writing this is because I hope that someone in a position to change this flawed and dangerous system does so. I don't know if military docs swear a Hippocratic Oath, but if they do, they are violating it every day with this reckless behavior.

Can you possibly imagine if I did have cancer? I've been complaining about the pain in my leg for more than two years!

Anyway, I'm grateful for the free health care. Oh, and God - thanks for not giving me cancer. At least not yet.

An olive branch

Why should I let my petty indifference to other people's emotions and sensibilities cloud my own reasoning in terms of writing what I believe? Why should I continue to mercilessly shred the psychosomatic disinformation machine that persists in spite of the mind's inherant desire to shut down and ignore? Why should I ignite hatred and spite where once it only sparked like a broken Zippo? Why should I continue to write words that serve no ultimate purpose and matter only to those who already know the truth they impart?

Because I care.

I am so full of love and devotion for my fellow human beings that I would be doing them and myself a disservice by not tapping away at the black plastic board that has seemingly become the Danny Glover to my Mel Gibson.

They say we can't change the way a human being thinks. I say they're wrong. My words move people to anger. I changed the way they felt. See?

Most people react to their environment. They wait for things to happen and then they respond accordingly. These people are lost. They need help.

A few people dictate the environment around them. They create love or pain or chaos or serenity. These people are leaders. They need to help.

Our culture is no longer drifting into oblivion; it is in a full-blown freefall.

The answer is anger. Full-blown anger.

Tell someone exactly what you think of them. They will hate you because you will be the mirror they refuse to look into when they're home alone.

What is safety? Can we be safe? Isn't it just an illusion?

What is money? What is love? What is pain? What is meaning? What is indifference? Do you even care?

Ask them these questions. Hell, ask yourself these questions. Do it because you care. Do it because it's right.

Why capitalism will ultimately fail

I want you to close your eyes. Now, take a minute and consider this: does an enlightened society really want money to be the axis around which all else spins?

Some would argue it should probably be God, but western ideals have put such a high price on money (pardon the pun) that the two are inseparable. As George Carlin once said, "God is all-knowing and all-powerful but He needs your money! He's really bad with money!"

I think the following is a prime example of what happens when society places more importance on material wealth than spiritual wealth.

Sought: Wal-Mart shoppers who trampled NY worker
By COLLEEN LONG, Associated Press Writer

NEW YORK – Police were reviewing video from surveillance cameras in an attempt to identify who trampled to death a Wal-Mart worker after a crowd of post-Thanksgiving shoppers burst through the doors at a suburban store and knocked him down.

Criminal charges were possible, but identifying individual shoppers in Friday's video may prove difficult, said Detective Lt. Michael Fleming, a Nassau County police spokesman.

Other workers were trampled as they tried to rescue the man, and customers stepped over him and became irate when officials said the store was closing because of the death, police and witnesses said.

At least four other people, including a woman who was eight months pregnant, were taken to hospitals for observation or minor injuries. The store in Valley Stream on Long Island closed for several hours before reopening.

Police said about 2,000 people were gathered outside the Wal-Mart doors before its 5 a.m. opening at a mall about 20 miles east of Manhattan. The impatient crowd knocked the employee, identified by police as Jdimytai Damour, to the ground as he opened the doors, leaving a metal portion of the frame crumpled like an accordion.

"This crowd was out of control," Fleming said. He described the scene as "utter chaos," and said the store didn't have enough security.

Dozens of store employees trying to fight their way out to help Damour were also getting trampled by the crowd, Fleming said. Shoppers stepped over the man on the ground and streamed into the store.

So, this is what it has come to. I just have to wonder whether or not people even realize the reason we celebrate Christmas anymore. Big hint: it's in the first six letters of the word.

You know, you really have to question the mental acuity of a God who created people this unbelievably stupid. Fuck it, I'm gonna say what we're all thinking ... God seems like He might be a little dumber than people give Him credit for.

Whew! Is it getting hot in here?

What's the answer, then? What should society hold most sacred? If not money, perhaps family? Perhaps peace and love? Maybe tolerance for people who are too stupid to hit the mute button during commercials?

Come on, you know who I mean. The people who are watching TV and exclaim when the caveman appears," Oh! I love this one! Too funny!"

Ugh.

You know things have gotten weird when you have a non-Christian saying, "Let's put the Christ back in Christmas." I mean it, pull that fucker off the cross and stick him back in the manger where He belongs. Like Elvis, I prefer the young and skinny one over the old, fat and crucified one.

Bottom line (the bottom line writing device is a trademark of Alexander Ameen and cannot be used without express written consent from Alexander Ameen or his team of Jewish lawyers who will inexcusably erect a Christmas tree in their office to make their Christian clients feel more at home) : if you're camping in front of a Wal-mart overnight so you can be the first to buy a $400 flat-screen TV, you are a GIGANTIC FUCKING LOSER!!!!!!!!!! You are the reason I hate leaving the house. I have to encounter you somewhere out there in the real world and try not to turn your face into jelly.

I would admonish you to get a life but, seriously, we're way past that, aren't we? Do me a favor though, would ya? Next year, instead of going to Wal-mart to spend your "hard earned" money, just go to church. First Presbyterian could really use a new nativity scene.