Nonconforming Cartoons

My daughter is back at the drawing table ... well, chair with drawing pad on bent knee. I am familiar with many of the issues that cross her RADAR screen because I am in constant contact with students through work.

There's an issue with kids cutting these days. It's probably always been an issue in one degree or another. The difference today is that parents and teachers are frightened to address issues head-on. Perhaps it is - understandably - because of today's litigious society supplemented with instant communications. I suggest that another segment of these folks are paralyzed in inaction because, well, they are just plain incompetent. Regardless, kids have a refreshing way of handling other kids. You want to cut? You are trying to draw attention to yourself? Go for it! Just cut! Kids know the difference between attention-grabbers and those in real need of help. If parents and teachers would stop chasing their own fears and simply relate one-on-one to the kids - find them at their level - then maybe the difference would become clear to them, too.

A "wigga" is a white ni--, well, you know. Google if it you don't. Kids spend a lot of time emulating other people. When I was younger, I saw teens dressing and acting like Elvis, then The Beatles, and then, well, they were mostly too high to remember who they idolized. But that was the point - they emulated people they idolized, and they idolized people that had achieved some sort of broad-based success or notoriety. These days, the emulation seems to be, at best, of the notorious and, at worst, of each other. A lack of higher goals seems pervasive.

I remember asking my students what they would do if they were handed $1 Million. A freshman piped off with her wish list - so we priced it, deducted it from her bank account, and watch it depreciate. She was broke within months. Her answer? Get another million! Thankfully, other students were more conservative with their newfound wealth.

blues news

I love stories that let me know that I am not so alone in doing pathetically stupid things in this world. To wit …

Zimbabwe’s Mugabi (sounds like a stew of some kind) is going to nationalize 51% of the ownership of most foreign-based companies and … wait for it … give that ownership interest over to the economically disadvantaged, "indigenous" Zimbabweans. That makes a lot of sense. Take companies that are employing your people, propping up your embarrassing economy and give control to the unemployed. Wow. How drunk were you when that thought came to mind?

OK, let’s see whose phallus is bigger while 27 people bob around on a tuna net. the Maltese and Libyan governments argued over who should save them from drowning . Italy finally stepped in and saved them.

Governments silencing opposition does not end the discussion. So, when Venezuela replaced opposition TV with state network all they did was ensure an underground market in adverse communication got stronger. Meatheads.

Under the caption of, “Run for your lives!” comes the headline, “Burma gears up to join axis of evil.” Yeah, right. So they are going to sell their natural resources and buy weapons. OK. To what, shoot yaks? I thought Burma made and exported Gummi Bears or something like that. It will be humorous to see the footage of them standing in a circle during target practice. Maybe Doctors without Borders can be on stand-by.

Speaking of self-delusion, the dude running Pakistan actually said, “Al Qaeda leaders not present in Pak.” Yes, we have looked. They are not here. Nope, nowhere. I can assure you that Al Qaeda is not … zing! … run for cover! Whew, that was close. OK, where was I? Oh, yes, Al Qaeda is not pre … (Anwar, please check my bank account and see that Sheik Osama’s money has been credited) …

Speaking of self-promoting, the Muslims have a problem. Yeah, gross understatement, but one in particular. You see, if you drift down a few posts, they run the top five countries surfing the net for porn, yet the Quran forbids a man being alone with a woman. So, what is left for a good Muslim to do but yank the ankle spanker to 2D women? Seems reasonable. After all, Mohammad (Peanut Butter Unto Ho’s) must have known something they don’t quite get. Think, think, think. There must be a way around this. Got it! If, now follow me, if a brother has a need (ok?) for, um, milk of a special kind, yes, that’s it, special milk and, um, a woman is, (what’s the word?) giving milk – lactating, yes, that’s it – then the man and woman must be alone in order to give such special milk. So, out comes a Fatwa allowing adult breastfeeding. So let it be said, so let it be written, so let it be done. Who are these people?

Speaking of getting your knickers in a bunch, how about the court ruling that held, “Gay Australian pub wins right to ban straights.” What’s the test? Do you have to just say you are gay, or do you have to walk or talk a certain way? Is there a two-encounter minimum? Do you have to fondle the bouncer on the way in?

There is a bit of good news today. Although SCOTUS in 1977 said that the death penalty was disproportionate to the crime of raping an adult (the opinion being that of nine men with no relevant experience), the question of death for raping a child was still unresolved. Seems we are moving in the right direction. The Louisiana Supreme Court last week upheld the death sentence for a pedophile, and the governor of Texas is soon to sign into law legislation to that effect. I am actually a bit torn on the issue. I think the compromise is to give them ten years in the prison general population, then execute them.

Gotta run. Work be at hand …

stones for others, but not for me

I went to a graveyard today, but not because it is Memorial Day weekend or I had any family to visit. I don’t have family; what was left of them threw me under the bus a long ago and I since moved away. I went because I had nowhere else to go.

I noticed a lot of Russian names and symbols, a lot of old and worn gravestones. Among the barely legible and illegible engravings, mostly from the 1800s and early 1900s was a brass plaque on the base of a stone that led to a cross. It read, “Francis Hugick, September 29, 1929 – May 3, 1930” on two lines, and in two lines beneath that, “Walter Hugick, November 3, 1921 – May 11, 1930.”

She was born the day the stock market crashed and died eight months later. Her brother died at age eight, just eight days after she did. It may have been a fire or some other tragedy from which he lingered beyond death for a short time.

There were no other graves bearing that last name anywhere near the children. Perhaps the parents left the area and rebuilt their lives.

Being Memorial Day weekend, I saw several people come and go. An older couple sat together at a gazebo then walked slowly to their car. A woman in her 60s placed flowers by one grave then walked to another and stood. She came and went in less than five minutes. Others walked in places far from where I sat.

Next the Hugick children’s grave was another child, died at age 12. A brass statue of Mary leaned at an angle against the stone. In another graveyard, perhaps, that statue would have been stolen long ago. Here, a small graveyard in a rural area, the statue braved the weather through the seasons, probably being propped up often by visitors or workers.

Enameled pictures of couples adorned some markers. They usually died within a few years of one another. One man died at age 63. His stone was marked with his wife’s name – she was 57 when he died. Although she would be close to 90 if she were still alive today, her death is not inscribed. She must have found favor with another, and buried her remains with him.

The newer stones lacked character. Names were deeply engraved on large rose-colored stones. No words such as, “Mother,” “Father,” or one older stone of a gentleman that died at age 31, “Uncle.” The new stones were simply functional, no better than an “X” on a map.

I used to visit my father’s grave, but don’t anymore. I imagine I will see it again, but only to show someone else. I have no interest in seeing it myself. Perhaps strange to others, but I feel more of a draw to the resting place of people I never knew than to those who I remember in life.

I have memories of my dad, and I can relate the worst of them all. His family, my genetic relations, was spineless in the death march from his passing to his planting. They did the happy shit. I made the phone calls from his address book. I went to the parlor to make sure everything was set before people arrived. It was there that the worst memory comes back.

I sat alone in the viewing room. His head was tilted towards me. I looked at him and saw a man sleeping. He used to be intellectually vibrant. He could analyze a situation in moments, could size up a person instantly. He had a razor-sharp wit that would cut deeply at times. As he aged and his processes slowed, I got to see him more clearly. I knew the intellectual direction he would go before he turned. I sat in that viewing room and watched a man that lost the game at age 71. He gave up. He was in so much pain and so viciously unhappy with his wife that he just gave up.

I had a t-shirt purchased for me (privately, to me, in his honor) years later that reads, “Rehab is for Quitters.” He never went to rehab, perhaps he should have for his drinking; instead, he just gave up.

I don’t visit his grave because when I did I knew where to stand. I knew were his head was titled. I still see it every time I think of him.

I will have no viewing. I will have no grave. I want no one to see me dead.
No one will remember me but as a living person, eyes alive, mind engaged, wit cutting in seeming random fashion.

Deviance vs. Nonconformity

There is a difference between nonconformity and deviance. Nonconformity = cartoons, freedom of expression; deviance = criminal behavior. (Yeah, I teach criminal justice – I know, cut me a break, I’m making a point here. See the post or two below this one.) Below is a collection of deviance. Way beyond nonconformity. We learning anything yet? Pay attention. There will be a quiz.

Dude kills a 15 year old for walking on his lawn. Seems a little extreme.

The guy’s just a harmless panty sniffer. But, pal, 1,300 pairs! What’re thinking, buddy? Like to wear things that make you feel pretty? Somebody had to count these. Do you get hazard pay for that? Bet the cop union missed that potential when they negotiated the contract.

This is the true menace in society: men posting as sick boys on the net to get girls to send sexually explicit pics. 12 to 14 year olds? Dude, they are way cuter at 18 and up. C’mon, you’re 31! What is wrong with you?

He shot the cable guy? And it wasn’t even because he violated the, “I’ll be there between 8 and 12” rule by showing up at 2. He shot him because his own television set wasn’t cable-ready. Man. We need a little love here, people.

“I got an idea, honey, let’s fake our daughter’s kidnapping and get back at my sister and ex-girlfriend.” “Yeah, good plan.” “Yeah, I know we don’t live together, you and me, but we can make this work. We’ll put some of her school papers in their yard. Nobody’ll suspect anything.” Unspoken in the story, it seems, that maybe the dude’s girlfriend became an ex- by taking up with the guy’s sister. Small world.

What do you get a couple that has millions of dollars, a mansion, and everything else money can buy? How about a couple of slaves? Wow. Just frickin’ wow.

The neighbor’s front door kept slamming. Door goes slam Slam SLAM! That’s IT! The partially blind, one-legged diabetic guy grabs a 10-inch knife and “terrified” his neighbors. Which part terrified them?

Dude goes to the trouble of stealing an entire tractor-trailer with a full load. It’s like a big treasure box! I wonder what is inside? Something really, really good, I bet! How about $250,000 of Skittles? Ouch, my colon knotted up at just the thought of it.

Fifty year-old guy lives with mom. OK, you already know we have a problem. He rents a working girl and brings her home. He brought his ho home? Oh, this is going to get bad. Ah, new problem: seems the dude only looked like a lady. Working girl was actually working guy dressed like a girl. 50 year-old mom’s boy didn’t quit know how to take the slight. So he took a garden hoe to the ho and killed him/her. Here’s a good test: talk dirty to your ho – if her pants gets tighter, it’s best to move on.

Thirty-two counts of sexual assault and domestic violence for Silly the Clown. Never liked clowns. See what happens when you presume the surface of someone reflects their inside? Sublimation …

Mom gets fed up with daughter being picked on. So she gets on the school bus and tells her 9 year-old to smack the kid. Um, I don’t understand. Where’s the crime?

OK, Quiz time!

1. When a deviant loves his lawn and a kid insists on crossing it, the deviant shoots him dead. Given the same facts, a nonconformist would:

A. Politely ask the youth to stay off the lawn, and proceed to explain the deleterious effect of repeated ingress and egress on the grass.
B. Place signs that read, “Please stay off the grass!” (adorned with smiley faces) at strategic locations around the perimeter of the property.
C. Sit in a lawn chair in the middle of the lawn 24/7 on the assumption that his presence would deter the casual trespass.
D. Track the path usually walked by the youth, and populate said area with all manner of foul material including itching powder, bovine fecal stuff, horse urine, and athlete’s-foot-in-a-can.

2. When a deviant brings a prostitute home to meet his mom, and the mom says, “Tommy, why are you wearing a dress?” the deviant takes a hoe to the ho. Given the same facts, a nonconformist would:

A. Do the same thing. Contractual breach, according to the Code of Hammurabi, is punishable by death.
B. Break down in tears, beg his mother to love him anyway, and commence with his nightly cold vinegar enema even though it is two hours before nighty-nighty time.
C. Ask mommy to go to bed, then realize the sexual fantasy he’s been nursing since he was 12.
D. Break out a bottle of Jack Daniels, ask as many questions as he could think of, and proceed to write a short story about an incredibly interesting life he was lucky enough to cross paths with an evening.

3. When a pair of deviants has everything money can buy, they add to their possessions by getting a couple of slaves. Given the same facts, a nonconformist would:

A. Also buy a cotton farm.
B. Learn southern gospel songs and have sing-alongs after the dinner dishes were cleaned.
C. Write scripts for plays, make the slaves perform, and sit in the audience wearing blackface.
D. Sign everything of value over to the enslaved, and ask the former slaves to hire them as their cleaning staff.

4. When a partially blind, one-legged diabetic deviant hears the door slam once too often, he grabs a big knife and threatens the offenders. Given the same facts, a nonconformist would:

A. Bounce up and down on his one leg on their front yard, sans knife, singing Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” until the neighbors made the connection of one annoying behavior for another.
B. Set up a lemonade stand on his front yard with a sign that reads, “Charity to buy weather striping for a-hole neighbor’s front door.”
C. Slip next door in the middle of the night and Gorilla glue their door shut.
D. All of the above.

(Answer key: If you answered “D” to all of the questions, then you are a nonconformist. If you answered any other letter to any question, then you’re a deviant and should do us all a favor by advancing your expiration date.)

cartoons from a budding nonconformist, continued

So, with the heat from the Figures of Authority growing more intense, the realization that but for having a website traceable to her, but for saying during study hall (to another student!) that she wanted cheap vodka and strippers for her birthday, she wouldn’t be faced with public excoriation. What’s girl to do but feel like, well, a dunce.

I disagree with the assessment, but I have stated that over and over again. My best friend had a conversation with the very same point guy with The Opposition. She summarized it perfectly, “It is interesting that you think there is just one kind of Christian.”

I recall a vignette I heard years ago. Two guys are very good friends in life. One dies and goes to Heaven. The other follows years later. Upon meeting his newly deceased friend at the door marked, “Heaven, this way. Reservations required,” a few questions are asked.

“Tell me,” new-dead guy asks, “what’s the most surprising thing about Heaven?”

“Well, I’ll tell you,” dead-a-long-time guy responds, “what I find most surprising is the people here that I knew in life and never figured them for Christians.”

“Very cool! How about the most shocking part?”

“Really, you want to know? The people that I knew in life that I was certain would be here, but aren’t.”

Now she is left with cartooning talent but self-imposed restricted content. “Just can’t think of anything to draw,” she says. She thinks, and realizes the idea is precisely that. Instead of having the light bulb go off above her, she sits on a pile of them and declares herself void of ideas.

Quit insightful for a young lady.

Her Blue Period kicks in. Well, some shade of grey, I guess. A happy elf? Sure doesn't look happy.

It is sad to me to see the colors and humor go away, leaving behind simply a talent for drawing. The vibrant thoughts streaming from brain to fingertips were tapped out like a plug in a maple tree during spring. A learning experience? Of what nature, pray tell?

Ah, a glimmer of hope. Yes, still shades of grey, still somber, but ... wait for it ... "Smile like you're on crack" (grammar correct, thank you, baby) and a snapping squad waiting for a mouse treat. Yes! Slowly but surely coming out of the fog, humor intact. So very cool!

There is still some unfinished business, however.

Remember the leader of The Opposition? Seems he was just reacting, at least initially, to a part-time volunteer, full-time gossip monger at the school. Seems she claims to have "accidently found" my daughter's cartoons on the net.

"Accidentally?" Really? How does that happen, exactly? I accidently find porn, telly tubbies, and gay sites (sometimes all on the same url). As of February 2007, there were 108,810,358 distinct web sites. And you just so happened to wander upon hers? Darling, take me to the race track with you, please. If there is one thing in this world that I detest, it is liars.

Oh yeah, the cartoon. Um, Ms. Liar Mom, it's you. You're welcome. Have a nice day. Glad we had this conversation.

So what does she do now? Plays her iPod and thinks. That's my girl. I love her so much.

cartoons rooted in nonconformity

A few months back I began blogging about my daughter’s travails in society: a budding nonconformist meets Figures of Authority.

Here is the first writing, and here is the second writing.

The nonconformity is expressed in her cartoons. Yeah, her word choice sucked at times, but I trust she understands that aspect of it now. Well, she bailed on her websites, so I asked for jpegs so I could post them here.

Here is the first drawing she put up. She captioned it “Little Girl.” I think it equally works as, “Sometimes Toys Must be Punished." My first reaction to the drawing was to remark at how amazing I thought her freehand and PhotoShop skills were. I saw that curtain in the background and viewed the drawing as performance art. Did I think it indicated a need for counseling or group therapy or a prayer circle? No. Still don’t. She is compelling an inanimate object – a teddy bear – to stop making her hear voices. Isn’t that normal?

Next came two drawings. The then-15 year old wanted to fly away on a balloon. So she did. I found the character being developed in these cartoons to be compelling. Now, I don’t know about you, but one fear I would have flying away on a balloon would be getting tangled up. Well, it’s cartoon world, not real life, so the hope-I-don’t-get-tangled test came next (mind you, she has already flown away). How best to test? Certainly cannot be an inanimate object. First, the teddy bear has a knife through its forehead – that would mess with aerodynamics by being a little top heavy. Also, it would not be realistic in that it wouldn’t move around during flight. Aha! A bunny! The Russians have been doing that for years. Unfortunately, the bunny didn’t make it. See the value of test flights?

Next on the Cartoon Hit Parade is a reflection of labeling. Just because a person picks out her own clothes based upon her personal tastes, as opposed to dressing like Mommy (even though you’re a boy) or finding a picture in “16” Magazine that has a dreamy boy looking adoringly at some airhead named Sammi, does not make that person “gothic.” Even if it did, why is it so bad to explore one’s own path? How’s this for a statement: When I was a kid, most of the people I knew were kids, so I’m like an expert. Every single one of them, including the pastor’s son, had a private side, an experimental side, a dark side. Those that were stripped of it paid a heavy price later on. Suppression is pathetic. So when wonder boy shows up and says, “You’re Gothic,” the natural response is to say, “Don’t use words you can’t spell.” Then draw out you fantasies.

Fantasies. Get it? I asked my boy one time about the violence in games. He was 9. “Do you think this affects the way you view things?” “Dad, it’s a game.” Different generation, people. They understand the difference. This cartoon, however, became Exhibit “A” in my daughter being expelled from school after other parents threatened to pull their kids out before she murdered somebody. Whoa. No exaggeration – the phrase, “Columbine waiting to happen” was used. How sad to be so afraid.

Continuing on the guns-in-print theme, a student at the former school says to her, “I hate taking care of the cats. I would just as soon kill them. Can you draw me something like that?” Mind you, this student is the pride of joy of Mother and Father’s hearts. He does little wrong. “He’s a good boy, ayep,” says Father, “must’ve done something right along the way.” People, people, manage the deviance you see – manage it, do not suppress it. Freud really did have something in his concept of Sublimation. Smart guy.

Let's continue on the gun theme. Now, the issue is not a direct response to some kid asking the same question ad naseum, but instead a general frustration that we all share. Girl Scout cookies come around all too infrequently. Imagine when they finally do get here, and they don’t have your favorite kind! It can be more than just an everyday level of angst. Desperate times call for desperate methods. I think the Girl Scout understands now that, “Sorry, no. But I do have Peanut Butter!” is simply unacceptable. They shouldn’t leave something as important as Girl Scout cookies to children.

Notice how the character is developed now. Also, she researched the uniform colors on the net. Should I shudder at the subject matter? She has never shot nor has any interest in shooting a gun. She is the type of girl that is not a conformist such as is typical with Girl Scouts and cheerleaders. That is not to denigrate girls that join such organizations or activities. Different type of person. The language? Cut me a break. I hear it everywhere, including out of Girl Scouts and cheerleaders.

In honor of George Washington, the next cartoon is a combination of dishonesty in the face of incontrovertible facts and an utter lack of patience. Patience? Well, she hung puppy, but couldn’t wait for the process to complete.

It’s like a combination George Washington-Mexican Burrito Preparation-Piñata party. Notice how she captured the look of innocence. I think she looks in the mirror and draws. I have seen that same plaintive look on her.



One of my favorite drawings is "Bathe the Kitty." I love the persona of my girl sitting with her headphones on completely oblivious to the plight of those around her. She's my hero.

Furthering the theme of being oblivious, here is forced oblivion. While surrounded by angry people spewing their venom, she sits passively in her heels and pearls. Not only does she filter the ugliness of those around her, she gives color to the words. She is preserved in her romantic view of the world in spite of the world itself.

Such depth of understanding. I am so proud of her for this simple drawing.

Last two for now. I have about seven more for another post.

Who doesn't like a hot babysitter? The view and reaction of the boy is perfect. I may not have been as young as the boy depicted, but I certainly remember waiting for the new babysitter and having certain expectations.


Do you think he's hearing the story?

Alright. That's all for now. Enjoy your evening.

Paper or plastic, ma'am?

“Hey doc,” the patient says, “I’m having trouble with my sex life with my wife. We seem so out sync that I think something may be physically wrong with me.”

“Well,” said the doc, “I really don’t understand your problem. I had absolutely no problem.”

“What do you mean, doctor?”

“Well, I banged her right here on this very desk.”

You know, the first question I have is what kind of guy goes to his wife’s ob-gyn for medical advice about his dysfunctional pocket rocket. The doc helped delivery the couple’s baby a few months earlier, probably saw the most spectacular vertical smile, and smiled back. What a great country. Australia, that is.

I have this theory, mentioned here a few times vis-à-vis my daughter’s societal issues, that you parent the deviance you see. If an authority figure, parent or otherwise, does nothing but quash deviance at any level, all they are doing is pushing the bump in the rug to a place out of view. The bump still exists. To wit, one would think that Muslim countries, for all of their I-don’t-touch-pork, I-want-my-women-covered, FU-and-your-cartoons mentality, would be very focused on the dignity of their sexual lives. Missionary style in silent prayer the whole way. Maybe a yelp at the end to mark the abrupt sharing of bodily fluids. Some sort of PBUH mumble, then the guy goes to bed and the sheep back to the barn. No wait, that came out wrong. Whatever, you get the point.

So Google apparently lets you find out the frequency of searches. I put in a simple term: “sex” (I needed a better graphic for this post, but it was inspired by this post).

Top countries searching the term “sex” on Google, in order from 1 through 10: Pakistan, Egypt, India, Turkey, Viet Nam, Morocco, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Croatia, and Indonesia.

Beyond the littering of Muslim sheep-bangers, it is interesting to note that this ranking is based upon absolute number of searches. The data is not normalized for population. I am not going to do the research, but it is without fear of contradiction to state that America and Western Europe have on balance more people (yeah, I see India, too) and – more importantly – more penetration of internet access.

Rabat, Morocco, clicking along at just 1.2 million people, is the fourth most sex-obsessed city in the world. I betcha them sheep walk with a gait that would have made John Wayne proud.

Ah, good fact, wanna find the masturbaters? Go to New Zealand and Australia. They own six of the top seven cities worldwide. Coming in at Number 6, the only city outside “down under” (now there’s a new meaning to that phrase, eh?) is … wait for it … Salt Lake City! I thought having lots of wives meant never having to yank; goes to show you what you can learn on the internet. Funny that there are more yankers in all of Puerto Rico, Ireland, and the United Kingdom – separately tallied – than in the entire United States.

Here’s to you, Adelaide, Australia, the pud-pulling capital of the world! ‘av a Foster’s on us.

Top Ten Cool Things about Sharing a Jail Cell with Paris Hilton

Seems that David Lettermen is always fishing for Top Ten entries. If he uses yours, you get a shirt!

This week's topic is, "Top Ten Cool Things about Sharing a Jail Cell with Paris Hilton."

Here are my entries:

10. She pays you not to have sex with her.

9. She brings in a few illegals from the local Hilton Hotel cleaning staff to make up your cell each morning.

8. Ain't nothing better than having a cellie whose sh--t don't stink!

7. When she talks, she, um, like, kinda sorta, um, you know, she like, um, says nothing.

6. Since she refuses to wear natural fibers, I get a double allotment of underwear from the prison canteen this month!

5. She promised me my own island after parole, and I promised her I would never contact her for any reason or no reason at all.

4. I get 24/7 fashion and make-up advice! You see, I have combination skin …

3. I get to bring my autograph book to visitor’s day.

2. All of a sudden I have something I can share with everyone else on the block.

1. She already knows how to have sex in confined spaces.

john edwards, BPC

(BPC = butt plug connoisseur)

Like a novel of which there is no need to turn the pages because you already know that somehow, someway the protagonist will survive and the villain will surely perish, this blockhead starts arguing with his girlfriend. He is mean. He yells will sitting in line with several cars waiting for an approaching commuter train traveling northbound at 79MPH (when will it cross a southbound train, presently 35 miles away, traveling at 64 MPH if the southbound train makes two stops (at miles 14 and 22 from its present location), assuming deceleration and acceleration constants of 24 MPH/minute, a standstill of 45 seconds, and further assuming that the northbound train makes no stops?). Yelling is not good enough. He pulls his car ahead of the others, gets onto the tracks, and stops!! With little time to spare, he bolts from the car, leaving his girlfriend behind. HORRORS! But wait! Remember protagonist and villain? The train slams into the car, throws it into the air, and – you guessed it – it lands on and kills the villian. Girlfriend is just fine. What a great country.

Now it is time to get scared. My daughter and I are laughing at the nastiness that was Vlad II, aka, Vlad the Impaler.

First – good story – “Dracul” means Devil in Romanian. Vlad’s dad was given that as a nickname. His second son, Vlad II, keep it and (in keeping with local lexicon) added an "a" to represent the son of Dracul – "Dracula", the son of the Devil.

V2 was seriously disturbed. The story goes that a foreign merchant from Hungary visited the capital of Tirgoviste. V2 ordered him to leave his wagon of gold in the street overnight to show off how his people would not steal. However the merchant was surprised to find 160 gold florins missing in the morning. V2 then told the merchant "Go now; and tonight you shall have your gold back". He ordered his men to find the thief in the city saying also that if the burglar was not found that he would personally throw one of the hugest tantrums anyone had ever seen and destroy the city.

V2 then put his own money in the wagon overnight adding one florin to the original sum.

The next morning the Merchant found his florins returned with one extra. V2 had by then been brought the thief and had him impaled. He announced to the Merchant "walk in peace now; but if you had not told me about that one florin, I would have had you impaled together with this thief!".

The V-ster nailed hats onto people's heads, impaled small animals when he was in prison himself, skinned a woman alive for lying, impaled people on stakes with differing heights according to their rank. That last part was rather thoughtful.

So V2 was the basis for the Dracula story, and hence the folklore of vampires. But is it really folklore?

The same website also discusses vampires. It has a very useful list that should be entitled, "you know you are a vampire if ..." Now, that is news I can use.

My daughter and I sifted through the list. 3d down, “To be borne born with teeth or a caul or stillborn - is believed to be a Vampire.”

“… or stillborn, or stillborn” I think to myself, “I thought that meant dead.” The thought of a stillborn child growing into a vampire chilled me. “But that can’t happen. Right?” Then this morning, an article hits the waves: Stillborn Baby Comes to Life.

There be no such thing as a coincidence. My colon is percolating at the thought of vampires in Australia. I feel drawn. I don't mean I feel myself being pulled there. I mean I feel two dimensional. Oh, just re-read the article. Malaysia, not Australia. Malaysia, Australia, whatever. They're close, right?

Well, what will they think of next? A vacuum cleaner with a vibrator attachment. That house will be clean! I wonder if it comes with an optional butt plug? Oh, damn, did I say that out loud? It ain’t for me, but I know this g--, yeah, just shut up and move on. Gotcha.

I have two people very close to me that enjoy Hello Kitty. I wonder if they see the humor in Hello Kitty Hell. Maybe it can be explained to them. I’ll take -s-; you take -j-. Oh, nevermind, -s- is looking over my shoulder. She's not impressed. What does -j- think? Yes, -s-, they should be ashamed of themselves. No, I will not tell you what that is used for. Just move on, please. I know, I know. Listen, I am writing, dear, I need to finish this. OK, punky? Thank you. I love you, too.

Political sidebar: You gotta respect the shameless hypocrisy of John Edwards. The dude gives a speech on poverty to students out in Cal, and charges $55,000. Whose leg do you have to hump to get a gig like that?

See the dude? Go ahead and guess. First hint: He’s 37. Guess? OK, second hint: Acne, and pouty lips. OK, OK, third: He’s got a teacher’s cert. A-HA! There you go. Yes, sexual relations with a student. But what gender? Gotcha there! Yeah, stickboy. In the classroom no less. Whacked with three felonies. He’ll be getting up close and personal soon enough. By the time he gets out, he’ll be good enough to turn pro. As long as his jaw isn’t busted too badly. That’s more common than you think. People like Kirk James Hellwood should meet people like Vlad II for impaling of a slightly different sort. You know, KJ, a semen wash every day may clear up that acne. Enjoy prison. Just as an aside, K-ster, you do have one option: you can kill yourself. Just a thought. Think it through.

Back to real issues …

I enjoy making CD compilations. Have only ever done it for certain people. I am waaaaaay too paranoid to share such insights into my brain with just anyone. I found this cool website to make paper CD cases. You will need, as well, the folding instructions.

What am I listening to right now? Why do you want to know? Who sent you? Pink Floyd, The Wall, Side 2. Now go away.

hobos and the size of God

One of the websites I frequent often mentioned flickrvision and wrote it is what it must feel like to be God. It’s amazing. No, you can’t fire and brimstone your enemies, or finally forgive that rotten SOB for what he did that time with your credit card that you are STILL getting off your credit report because of some stupid moth—f—king rule that says, “well, you handed him the card.” I DIDN’T TELL HIM TO SPEND $8,000!! DON’T YOU PEOPLE LISTEN? WHAT THE F—K ARE YOU COPS GOOD FOR?!? Fine, just close the account. Fine. Whatever.

Where was I? Yeah, um, Flickr itself seems to be like Photobucket – just a free place to store your pics online and look at their ads. I first found them (and added them in my column over there -->) for their pic-based search engine. Go there and type in “owls.” You get a page of pics. Now do a new search (bottom left) and type in “Scranton.” Now you also get a ring of related searches you can do by clicking on the tags floating around your page of pics. Very cool.

But this flickrvision is just a popping up of pics as they are loaded from the world to flickr. I’ve seen some repeats, so their engine is a little lazy – but regardless, it really is like sitting in Heaven and looking towards Earth.

Speaking of God, I always thought Larry Flynt was a dick. Still do. Not “has one,” but “is one.” I think what is left of the flesh above his shoulders gets adequate blood flow only when he reviews pictures sent in for his “Beaver Hunt” section. At all other times, his neck functions just as the stem of a mushroom, sustaining that cell-based thing on top that functions with no higher ability that a mushroom’s cap.

I will give him credit in that he made the emotional investment (up to his capacity, which is scaled somewhat below the capacity of my border collies) and wrote about the passing of Jerry Falwell. It seems that the two struck up a friendship. I am glad. The writing is a bit tortured in that you need to endure the “I, me, mine” bullshit before he finally realizes that Falwell is the reason he is writing – so write about him! In fairness, I guess Larry knows deep inside that he is repugnant on every level of his existence and therefore needs to talk about himself in a positive manner. It’s like a self-image self-help book thing. God bless him. Still a dick.

Onward.

I grew up in Scranton in the 1960s. Scranton is (or was) a crossroad for train traffic throughout the northeast. Hobos were commonplace along the tracks and in town. It was part of everyday life to talk with them in the neighborhood, but never at the tracks. You also never walked and talked at the same time unless you were in control of the direction – and you never let them touch you. Stories were plenty of danger. I remember seeing the markings on curbs in front of houses. Some people claimed to be able to read them, but the explanations contradicted often. There was logic to what we viewed as kids – we knew the nice people and the mean people, and the signs were in front of the houses that belonged to the extremes of naughty and nice. It wasn’t lost on me even as a kid that a good sign was on the curb in front of the Christian pastors and a bad sign in front of the Catholic guys.

I found this site of hobo signs that is very cool. It brings back a time of innocence for me.

I was surprised both to read this article and realize that it has been 20 years since the first story came out. I remember the first articles on it. Seems the Great Pyramids are poured-in-place concrete and not huge slabs of limestone dragged into place by legions of slaves. Made since when the articles first came out and now have the science to back it up. While textbooks be updated, or is the old tale too good to change?

Back to God for a moment, I am quickly humbled when I see His hand in my life and then see His day job. Kinda makes me glad He moonlights with filth like me. I don’t understand why, but am glad nonetheless. I remember a conversation from years ago. When I shared His involvement with my everyday life, a woman said, “What makes you think you are so important that God would deal with you? He has much more bigger things to take up His time.” The proper rejoinder is, “It all depends on how big you think your god is. If he is only capable of a limited number of things, then you’re right. My God is capable of everything. That’s how He got his name.”

This is disturbing. She should have that thing looked at. Bet she lives in a country with socialized medicine.

One of the most enjoyable parts of the net for me is reading the collected thoughts of people. Two sites worth absorbing: the Saddest Thing I Own and Anonymous Apologies. If writing evokes an emotion, it doesn’t matter if the emotion is happy or sad.

wife in the crosshairs

Nestled outside Wichita in south-central Kansas is the bucolic town of Benton. It has a population just over 800 which is equally divided between the genders. Somewhere in the cradle of this lazy town surrounded by cornfields, a husband observed something with which he was quite uncomfortable.

It seems he walked into his bedroom and observed his wife pleasing herself.

Now, a real man, confident in his own sexuality, would have silently walked to her and slapped his tongue to replace her fingers. Perhaps he would have asked, “May I nuke that banana to warm it up for you?” Another man may have said, “Mind if I watch?” or “May I please myself right next to you?”

But, no, our guy hops on the internet and googles, “caught wife masterbaiting.”

He scanned through entries such as, “i first began masterbaiting a year ago when i was 14 , i tired to resist but i keep doing it ... My wife caught me...,” “caught once again....... share wife’s pics very discreetly,” “am a man, and enjoy wearing bra's I enjoy masterbaiting whilst wearing them, ... My wife's friends sisters ex husband was caught jerking it in public,” and “Masterbaiting with 9 volt batery December 14 - 12:33 am [Rideit ] [5] ... Ever been caught?” Then six entries down the list he finds, “Standing in a circle, Wonder Worms in hand, MasterBaiting like it was their last ... being caught behind to become leg-spinner Kumble's third victim (OMG, ...”

“That’s it!” he declares, and clicks to the MasterBait Company Newsletter.

Sorry to disappoint you, pal.

Next time, join her.

for posterity

I just have to record this headline for the anals of history.

Here goes: Royals To Get A Taste Of Angels' Colon.

The piece appears on the WSOC Channel 9 television webpage (which I am accessing as I write this), an ABC affiliate in Charlotte, NC, owned by Cox (you can't make this stuff up) Communications.

The piece is copyright 2007 The Sports Network (homepage).

The article begins, "(Sports Network) - Bartolo Colon attempts to win his third consecutive start off the disabled list tonight for the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim, who will be aiming to continue their recent dominance of the Kansas City Royals."

Remarkable.

Owls

The coolest species God created (besides us, of course).