Two monkeys, a rabbit, and an idiot preserve

February 8, 2008

    If you’ve been here before you may have already heard the expression “like 2 monkeys fucking a football.”  What it means is there’s a whole lot of activity, and not much accomplishment.  Well, it has defintely been that kind of week.  This may turn into scatalogical drivel in a minute, so you can stop here if you’d like.  You’ve probably learned something already, and the value of that should never be underestimated.

    I missed all but Monday at work.  My daughter’s been running a fever, and gasping, and wheezing, and on our third trip…yep, third, the little shitheel looks up from his stethoscope and proclaims “I think she has pneumonia.”  Now I’m not a physician, but I’m thinking from day one it’s bronchitis or pneumonia, and told him so on the first visit.  This of course has caused a bit of an epiphany.

    I don’t use doctors much.  I find their cost generally outweighs their value, especially since pharmaceuticals are generally readily available on the sidewalk out front.    Having learned over the course of the last couple of months that the system is incredibly rife with profiteering and outright fraud I question the intelligence of getting the government anymore involved.  The hand specialist that has been treating me is raking in (this is an estimate based on actual time spent working on my hand) 18k an hour.  I don’t mind this so much, but had i not had insurance I would’ve stitched the frankenstein finger and let the other bones set on their own.  I doubt I’d be any worse off, though the scarirng may have scared small children; an undervalued gift that.

   Then the pharmacy was the original clusterfuck from hell.  My bad.  I went to walmart.  Generally I find walmart to be sufficient to the need for supplying things like paper, flour, and shampoo.  My experience has been that while semiliterate cretins would serve the rest of us best by being expunged from the gene pool, a decent alternative is putting them to work, and walmart serves this function admirably.  You do not, however, want them filling your prescriptions for you.  I spent an hour trying to assist them in getting it right as they ran hither and yon to no little effect.  I finally just took my prescriptions back, complimented them on their exemplary display of ineptitude, and contemplated as I exited the premises how much I would rather eat shit from the dispenser than go through that again.  I then went to the Walgreens, and for 1.05 more was out the door in 12 minutes.  Another thoroughly satisfied customer.

    The pace de resistance to my week was when I arrived home to find general tso wrapped in the embrace of an entirely to dead Roscoe.  I knew that sooner or later his lechery would be the death of him, but always assumed he would die of a heart attack while pulling his 3 pound furry jackhammer routine on my ankle.  I was a bit put out by it all.  Does this mean that that fucking cat is a better lay than me, or was it a simple case of his number was up?  Whatever the case, I suppose I should be thankful that he gave me something to contemplate other than how deeply I despise the human race at this particular juncture.  I left out politics here, as it would get me back to full roar on the whole despise thing, but I’ll break it out after I chase a couple of rum and cokes with a couple vicodin….kind of a Heath Ledger cocktail.

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observations

July 26, 2007

Chavez, Castro, Assad, Ahmadinejad, and Jong Il.  Yeah, I know the leaders of venezuela, cuba, syria, iran, and north korea…did you watch the debate?  Hillary’s list of the five leaders went as follows “chavez, castro, the leaders of Iran, Syria, and North Korea.”  I’m not sure I have the nations in the right order, but that is essentially what she said.  ummmmm…maybe it means nothing, but then again…

Her position was right on that issue, and that idjit freshman senator from Illinois better have someone teach him something about how the international stage works, or if he is elected he will look dumber than Jimmy Carter did.

I don’t care what anyone else thinks.  Accepting food into our country without it being checked is as close to negligent government  as you can get.  Will it take a botulism epidemic, or even worse before we start limiting what these “free trade” pirates are allowed to do?  It’s unconscionable of our government not to protect the food supply.

Nuclear power is cheap, clean, effective, and makes a hell of a mess when it goes kablooey.

I’ll say it one more time.  Al Gore has missed the boat.  The problem is Global Wetting

If you are an American, and believe that all people be treated equally under the law, then The John Birch Society should really piss you off.  If it doesn’t you are either so far gone to the right that free thought is no longer in your vocabulary, or you know nothing about them and their history.

F@#k Ward Churchill.  He is a pathetically inept college professor who got caught cheating, and was fired.  I don’t really care what he said about 9/11.  He is your common everyday assmonkey, and I would have no problem fustigating him.

look it up.  It was yesterdays word of the day at work.

  The more hispanic immigrants I come into contact with the more I like them.  I still have a bit of a problem with our government taking the easy way out and shooting for amnesty.  Here is something I can live with.  Charge them for their crime at a felony level, and let them carry that gorilla on their back.  That’s what is done to Americans, and if they wish to be Americans then that is the correct thing to do.  Oopsie, but then they can’t vote in federal elections.  Bummer for the politicians.  Bet my idea is a non-starter.

The more I see of Ron Paul the more I like him.  He would make a great grandpa.  I still would rather eat mucous eggrolls than have him for a president.

If you can’t run with the wildebeests then stay your ass on the porch.

a daddism..I used to cry because I had no shoes, until I met a man that had no feet.  I had shoes and feet, I wanted a bicycle.  i bought my own.  To hell with his podiatrist whimsy.

Well, it would appear that Ms. Lohan is either incredibly stupid, or has a bit of an addiction issue.  Bet she blames daddy when “i’m innocent” wears out.

All men are not created equal.   If you don’t take my word for it, ask the ladies.

Rasmusson is out, and the Tour De Farce has been quite the little nest of cheating vipers.  If you told a professional bicyclist that sucking cow urine through a pigs intestine would make them better they would be lining up to try it.

Barry Bonds either has or will break the home run record, and he used steroids or other performance  enhancing drugs to do it.  Bud Selig’s refusal to be there when it occurs though is the cowards way out.  He allowed it  to go on under his watch, and did nothing to keep this situation from happening and he should have his old rickety ass their to congratulate mister bonds for setting the record under Mr. Seligs version of baseball.  I no longer watch the sport myself…nor follow it, hence not knowing if numbnuts has broken the record or not.  Go Hank Aaron.

I think that will do.  I’m bored, and you quit halfway down.  All my readers haveADD or intellect, and there is no way any of you made it this far.  If you did I do not wish to know.


When you want something

July 10, 2007

You tend to pull out the big guns.   You know what your big guns are, and you know how you’ll use them if the need arises.  It’s not unnatural or abnormal to do this.   A normal person will do what he has to to get what he wants.  Naturally there are societal pressures brought to bear that make most people limit the usage of their big guns. 

    Whats funny to me is how many really heinous things are lawful.  How many horrid things normal people can do to each other that never even approach unlawful behaviour.  Children are used all the time for bad purposes.  Got a divorce case? Break out the kids.  Make them hate mommy or daddy, or god forbid use them to make daddy stay with mommy , or vice versa.  It’s a rotten thing to do, and children, all children, deserve a better form of love than this behaviour implies.

    That to me is probably the ultimate legal big gun.  Tarring and feathering should be reinstated as a lawful punishment for people that would use their children in this way.  there are many, many, others.  Use your friends, your influence, your job, your talent, to get the reaction from someone that you desire.  It’s often without any wrongful intent, and I’m not talking about that.  When you use these things to bring harm to another though you have crossed an ethical line that may not be addressed by the law. Fortunately there is a little thing called karma that will balance it out in the end.  As for me, the normal things that normal people do, suck, and so do the normal people that do them.

author’s note: this is apropo of nothing.  if you think I am talking about you you are likely wrong.  I do not interject myself into the affairs of others, and therefore this can’t be about you.  


I’ve nothing to write about

July 4, 2007

  well, i was going to write, but it just isn’t there.  Big surprise.   My mind is on the coming bar-b-q, drinkathon, fireworks extravaganza, and keeps being invaded by random dumbness.  I have maybe 20 good ideas a day on what to write about, but I only have them when I’m not in the vicinity of anything to write with.  If a tool for communication is present i have all the creative ability of an oyster.  Which is I why I keep dropping all these pearls on the three of you.

    Does Great Britain get pissy and plot revenge on the fourth of July?

    Do liberal females support islamic radicals because Burkha’s look so comfortable?

    I know its not commonly known, but freedom of speech goes hand in hand with the freedom to STFU.

    Do personal attacks bother you?  When someone attacks my person I generally go clip my toenails. 

    Have you ever been in a bar, half drunk and thought “there is no one in this whole place that I’m going to sleep with tonight?”  

    me neither

    when your phone rings do you find yourself sneaking up on it hoping the call isn’t from you know who?

    when you get in your car do you feel sexier, or does that just happen to bald fat middleaged men driving vettes?

    How mad would you be if you found out that vegetables being healthy was just a government disinformation    campaign designed to help out farmers?

    Have you ever been talking to someone, and out of the blue you think “i’ve finally found my soulmate?

    Have you ever been right?   again, me either

     If it wasn’t for my children I would likely be rich, incredibly adventurous, and very unhappy.

     there are exactly 7,436,519 reasons why men and women should not live in the same house.  Yet they still persist in this insanity.

     they keep making gadgets that will make my life easier.  All I want is something that will bend over for me.  that I could use.  Nope, its not a feature on the Iphone so I will never own one.

     If being poor isn’t fun why are so many people poor?

     to my liberal fan base:  If George Bush is so stupid, how did he beat Al Gore and John Kerry?  I mean, if they’re the best and the brightest the liberals have to offer, how did a dumbie get the job meant for them?

      If you ever have a few minutes to kill, and your ignorant about what the fight against islamic fundamentalism is all about…type the words “sharia law” in your browser window.  No, don’t bother.  you’re funner when you don’t know what the hell you are talking about.

      I have ribs marinating, rum and tequila cooling, and my neighbors expecting our attendance at the usual 4th of july get together.  

    Thank god i have rum and tequila cooling.  Inebriation is the only thing that makes neighbors tolerable.

     My son just woke up.  Had I ever slept past noon my father would have…well…it’s why I call him father, and not dad.

    Happy fourth of july.  May the freedom we cherish be recognized as something others fought and died for. 

    

   

    


Moving…out, up, and undecided

July 3, 2007

      Of all the nerve.  Several years ago a friend of mine, almost certainly in jest, called me misogynistic.  One of the few times in my life that I didn’t bother to look it up.  I should have.  I just did, and almost pissed my pants.   The reason I didn’t was because it was an online friend, and she had issues to numerous to count in the men department.  To be honest, I figured it was probably a synonym for narcississtic which I’m not either so I let it roll on by.  We continued to have many humerous conversations, and until I withdrew from the online world we remained moderately good friends.

    I’m not sure why I confessed to ignorance and apathy there, but maybe just to make the point that I’m niether.  Although misogyny would be a good one to be if you had the time to be hostile and hateful a lot.  Narcissism on the other hand would be boring from hell.  Maybe not for you, but I generally treat me like I treat everyone else that I’m not openly disdainful of…with barely concealed tolerance.

   The really funny thing is that I tend to like almost everyone I meet.  as long as they have no affect on my existence, why not?   It’s when it gets deeper than that my issues tend to spring forth like a late blooming flower, all colorful rhetoric, with maladroit social graces as garnishment. 

    I guess what brought this on is I’m about to make a move.  Homewise this time.  One of many moves made this year.  For better or worse, my sedentary approach to my existence is in the middle of cataclysmic upheaval.  Faced with this, and being a firm believer in the old saw “in for a penny…in for a pound.” I’ve decided a change of scenery of the domicile variety is in order.  The kids are all for it as this place is cramped from hell, and with the ongoing alcoholism issues the other parental unit is currently experiencing they spend most of their time here.  I fear if more space is not forthcoming fratricide will be.

     I made this decision like I make most.  I saw it, I did it, nobody to consult.  I like that.  It makes things simple.  I am in one of my nearly perpetual sabbaticals from decent relationship living, and it removes all the comprehensive consultation and compromise that is required.   The last one ended like all of them.  It was wonderful, it was horrible, and it became intolerable.  Funny how love or the belief of love can do that.  After oodles of soul searching, I chalked it up as all my fault and went to breakfast.  That sounds a little snide, but it’s quite possibly as close to the truth as I’ll ever get on the matter, so its a good place to bury the body.  I could dig deeper and try to decipher the myriad of mistakes that created the death of it, but why put myself through that?  When it’s time to move you pack your shit and you move.  When its time to get over it you pack your emotional garbage, take a couple years off and deal with the abject misery of making all of your own decisions for awhile.  Darn, sounds horrid doesn’t it?

    I’m not sure how I got from misogyny to here, but I’d probably characterize myself as stubborn, selfish, and independent.  If that be misogyny then the dictionary has it all wrong.   For those of you not wishing to scamper to a dictionary, and being as dense as I am…it means being hostile or hateful toward women.  I’m hateful and hostile towward the bulk of society, and am disqualified as a result from taking part.  Damn the luck.


You’re on borrowed time

June 20, 2007

   Well, its true.  You are.  A friend of mine returned to work today.  He’s an old ornery codger named gordon, that I happen to like quite a bit.  This is a rare thing.  Not gordon being old.  Me liking him.  A lot of the people at work are old.  Its hard to get young people to take jobs that require such things as sweat, and labor, and pain.  I’m not here to rail about the laziness of today’s youth however.  Hopefully they will be tomorrows lazy old codgers.

    Gordon is about 67.  He works as an electrician, and does a pretty decent job of embarassing men half his age with his stamina, attention to detail, and all around exemplary work ethic.  He talks about his farm and his horses, and whatever else anyone wishes to talk about. If he starts the conversation though, its about horses or farms.  He says hello Will everytime he walks by me.  Hows the day going?  He reminds me of the folks back home, and this is probably what caused me to levitate toward him.  I generally do not make friends at work. The reason for that is that I am working.  Its a novel concept that I’d like to see tried by the millions of nitwits that play solitaire, or write, or chat, or surf porn at work all day.  I’m almost certain it won’t take.

    Anyway.  He returned to work today.  He had missed three days because of the death of his son.  A man 8 years younger than I.  I shook his hand, and through careful scrutiny was able to detect the pain in his eyes when I expressed my heartfelt condolences.   I buried a brother when I was 12, and will never forget the hell it put my parents through.  The old saw about you should never outlive your children might well be the truest words ever spoken.  He thanked me, and you could see it actually meant something to him.  He didn’t take it as mere platitude, but an honest expression of sympathy.  Not a smarmy thing.  Not boohooin and huggin, but a man thing.  Which same I’m sure makes many of you roll your eyes, but its a fact.  Men exist.

    Anyway, in our brief conversation after this I said the guy couldn’t of been but my age.  He said how old are you?  44 I replied.  He said with no malice, but obvious chagrin that I’d gotten 8 more out of life than his son.  Then he grinned and said I guess that means were both on borrowed time.  I smiled, and related the story about my brother, and pointed out that everyone is.  He chuckled and said since the time was borrowed we should make the most of it.

   I’m not sure how I got talked into riding a bean brained swaybacked horse this weekend.  I don’t really like Gordon that much.  Riding a horse is kind of like wrasslin a bag of antlers.  What the hell. Its not my time.  Enjoy yours like you borrowed it.


the lesson

June 18, 2007

I looked out the window of the old ford truck as we backed into the drive. The truck looked like something out of The Grapes of Wrath, updated to a 70’s version. I was looking to see if there were any hay wagons parked at the Wright & Barley farm down the road. There were two of them, and though I’d been working hauling junk farm machinery with my father since sunup it appeared the day was far from over.

Jumping down off the running board of old yaller (the truck was a godawful color of yellow where it wasn’t rusted through), I headed down the driveway .

“where you going?”

“there’s hay to put up”

“You gonna eat first?”

“nope”

Although this was the longest conversation between us all day, I wasn’t doing cartwheels in celebration of our communication breakthrough. My father was always taciturn, but after the death of my brother two years before he started taking brevity to new heights. I was covered in grease and dust, and had a farmboy tan. You know the kind; both arms and my neck middle eastern dark, and the rest of my body Scandinavian white.

When I hit the end of the driveway I started counting. It was 679 steps from the end of our driveway to the entrance to the farm. Though the sun was starting to slide inexorably to its demise on the western horizon, the temperature was still stifling, and I could see heat shimmering up off the cracked and potholed asphalt. It was the middle of July and the corn which the Norwegians always said was supposed to be “knee high by the fourth of July” was well over ten feet tall and tasseling. It was turning that sandy brown color that denoted to little moisture, and if it didn’t rain soon the crop was gonna wither on the stalk. For now though it stretched down both sides of the road, creating a tunnel effect that allowed me to enjoy that only person on earth affect that is so hard to come by.

As I reached step number 329 I could smell a sickly, pungent aroma wafting up from a pile of horseapples that had been cooking on the asphalt, and was presently being dive bombed by a host of flies. Flies 330 really 331 do 332 eat 333 crap I thought irreverantly never losing track of my step count. Counting made the walk seem more endurable after a day of sweating in the midsummer heat, and I can’t remember ever losing track. This points out how little of interest ever really happened here.

I stopped counting when my boots crunched for the first time on the white gravel driveway of the farm. It was owned By Jim Wright and Earl Barley. Jim was a tall lean dried up Norwegian who could outwork men half his age and smiled as sparingly as he talked. Earl was just as quiet, but short, stocky and also of Norwegian descent. Scandinavians had settled this area of Wisconsin, cutting their farms from virgin forest, and fighting off Indians and wild animals in the 1800’s. They were hardy folk, and their descendants were here now; more advanced than their forbears, but I liked to think unchanged otherwise.

The large oak trees in front of the main farmhouse cast a shadow over the drive, and along with the light breeze that was rattling the dessicated corn fields lent an almost bearable feel to the late afternoon heat. It was all to short-lived as I rounded the house and headed for the wagon. The mechanical clanking of the elevator that carried the bales up into the hayloft was interposed with the sounds of 100 head of Holsteins going through the milking process in the barn.

I clambered up onto the wagon, and caught a pair of gloves that Earl tossed me and put them on. The twine used to bind the bales would cut the palms of your hands to the bone without them, no matter how work hardened they might be. I began tossing the bales to the front of the wagon. Tossing is a bit of a misnomor I was a slight 15 year old and the bales weighed half as much as I did. If you grabbed one that had wet hay on one end, and dry hay on the other it’d put a hitch in your gitalong that you wouldn’t forget before the middle of next week. So tumbled was probably a more accurate description.

We worked soundlessly. If you talked the chaff from the hay would get in your throat and choke you anyway. I counted. It always seemed an interminably slow process to unload the wagon with the dust flying, the sweat flowing, and the cuts from the hay stems opening up and down your forearms, and by the end of the first wagon I was panting from the exertion. Earl hopped off the wagon and shut down the elevator. As I climbed down I could see his wife heading across the lawn. She climbed up on the seat of the tractor and started pulling the empty wagon around the side of the barn. She would unhitch and hitch up the full one to replace it.

Earl and I headed toward the house, stopping to cool ourselves with the garden hose. I waited for him to finish, and then as he stepped onto the porch and into the house I did much what he had just finished doing. I hosed down both forearms, and then soaked my head and neck before following him into the house.

It was cooler inside, and the smell of fresh baked pies permeated the air. Their were meats and cheeses on the table, along with bread and butter. Earl poured us each a glass of lemonade from a pitcher that was sweating on the counter, and we began what would be his fourth meal of the day in silence. I don’t know if eating a lot of small meals was the result of some Scandinavian farmers tradition or merely because it fit better in the days schedule. We continued in silence until the food was gone, and then I cleared my throat. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Sure is hot out was a waste of words, and wasted words were an uncommon commodity. Finally I settled on “so where’s Jim?”

“Jim passed away this morning.”

silence

silence

silence

“lets go get that other wagon put up”