Like Dial Up In A Bullet That's Just Been Fired

Finally got DSL 1.5! Hurray! (Canned applause for the hearing impaired or for those who don't know that's a cue to applaud). Super duper fast. Faster than thought. Well, my thought anyways. And really, that's as fast as it needs to be.

Now if only there was a feature to do away with the typing part...and talking...like a mental projection thingy or E-SP for short. Might not want that to include pictures though.

"Hey guys! Here's my latest nightmare."

"Wait, where did everyone go?"

"Okay, I admit it's actually worse than Helen Thomas, Roseanne, Nancy Pelosi and Michael Moore combined but that's why they call it a nightmare."

"Guys?"

But other than that it would be nice. Plus, I could say stuff without talking.

Thought quotes:

No, I can't talk right now my wife is throwing stuff at me.

Sorry, my mind is just not into it today (or any other day you psycho...um, did I just think that out loud?).

It's not you, it's my mind.

Damn, my wife says we need more alone time (meaning: turn the computer off and watch this stupid movie).

End thought quotes.

Anyways, I admit there could be a few kinks to work out but it would still be nifty. I said kinks without the y! No, I'm not being defensive! Do you kiss your mother with those thoughts?

I said end thought quotes! Ahem.

Does that mean I'll blog more and comment more at your blogs and stuff?
Unfortunately for you guys, aye, that I will. :^)

Nail Call

After a record breaking snow storm, followed by ice and high winds (which have continued) and repeated power outages it was time for me to make a Walmart run.

As I pulled into Wallys I mentally growled.

"Grr..."

Skully, my faithful sidekick raised his head and looked at me quizzically.

"Just thinking out loud boy," I said, looking for a parking place that was closer than Tim Tebow's 80 yard touchdown pass that defeated the Steelers in OT (ha!).

Not that I'm agin walkin' you understand, but the peripheral neuropathy in my feet has reached a milestone in pain and sustained pain categories and walking seems to aggravate it.
Plus, I like pulling within range of the cameras (close enough for store security to act) in case anyone tries to steal Skully who would probably go quietly if any potential thieves offered a quality meat product or a burger from McDonalds.

Thankfully, I didn't have long to look as someone pulled out just as I was trying another lane near the store.

After assuring Skully that I would, indeed return and wasn't abandoning him I hobbled to the store tryin' not to wince at the melee happenning in my feet between two gangs of cats...with flamethrowers.

"Awooooooo!" Skully lamented in his sadest howl yet.

Don't turn around, you'll just encourage him, I thought.

"Awooaaaaaaa!"

Did I mention that Skully has abandonment issues despite the fact that I never have abandoned him? Yet.

"Woowoowahooeeeoohee!"

Skully has the amazing ability to change up his howls which can sound quite comical at times and yet, still forlorn at the same time.
Incidently, this is yet another reason I try to find a fairly close parking space.

As I entered the store I growled again under my breath, "grr."

It looked like the day after Thansgiving/Christmas sale crowd but worse.
Nothin' like power outages to get folks into Walmart for some panic shoppin'.
I wasn't here for any emergency supplies, being prepared and all. Just low on a few things that we didn't really need and nails.

What? Nails? I read the list again. Nails- One and 1/4 inch- Brad.

Who the hell is Brad? Oh she must mean the brand. Some guy named Brad does fake nails? I wondered. Whatever.

I decided to get the nails first, since it was in the section of the store I really try to avoid at all costs.
The female section. One of the female sections to be more precise.
The sooner I got it over with the better.

It took me awhile but I finally found the fake nail section. There were nails everywhere.
Too many nails. French nails (wheres the damn American nails?), couture nails, designer nails, toe nails (ugh), goth nails (I don't get it).
The nails went on forever it seemed.

Okay, take a deep breath, time to regroup, I thought. I'll simply narrow the search down by looking for one and 1/4 inch...which seems rather long, and Brad.

Several minutes later...

This is taking forever. Why do they print everything so small on these things? I wondered, taking my glasses off (I opted not to take the bi focals (not that there's anything wrong with that).

Now I'm in my furtive glancing mode. Because I don't belong here. No man belong here.

Fine, I'll just look for Brad first, I thought.

Longest minutes later...no Brad.

Okay, one and 1/4 inch then.

This is odd, I don't recal Patti ever having nails that long. And she has never asked me to look for fake nails before.
The female unmentionables yes (what a nightmare!), but not nails. She never wore them except for a few times that I recall in our 30 plus years of marriage.

Maybe it's a metaphor, I pondered. But a metaphor for what? Getting her claws out? Was that it? Is she sending me a message? Have I pissed her off lately?
Eh, maybe it's nothin'.

Or maybe it's not.

This is stupid, I thought, dialing Patti on my cell phone.

One ringy dingy...busy signal. I try again. One ringy dingy...busy signal.

"Grr!" I hate Sprint! I shouted, hopefully in my mind.

I walked around and tried again, repeatedly, with the same results.

Stupid, no good, #^%$&**@ phone!

Then my phone rang. It was Patti.

"Hello?" I answered in my best Inspector Clouseau voice.

"Hey handsome, you at Walmart yet?"

"Aye. Got here awhile ago. About the..." I replied.

"Can you add chex mix to the list, the blue bag, and see if they have any sun dried tomatoes and..." Patti said.

"Roger wilco. About those..."

"Oh, and let me know when you get near the yarn section because I want you to find, just a minute that's my sister calling. Call me back when you get there," she said.

"Wait! Don't hang up! The nails!" I answered, but it was too late.

Crap. And they say men don't listen.

I tried my luck again at the nail section hoping I would stumble upon the ones she wanted.

Why does she always include something that's hard to find? I wondered, not for the first time. Why?

I waited five minutes and called Patti back.

One ringy dingy...busy signal. "Arrgh!" I said.

Oh crap, did I say that out loud? Women were staring at me. Or at least it seemed like they were staring at me, with a look that said "you don't belong here."

I tried to look like I wasn't shopping for nails for me and I wouldn't be here if my wife hadn't sent me. Really. But that's difficult to say with a look.

Every lady I saw seemed to express outrage and disdain at my unwanted presence in the nail section so I left. I abandoned my search.

I tried Patti again as I walked towards the chex mix section.

One ringy dingy...two ringy dingy! (yay! It's working! Three ringy dingy...busy signal.

I hate you Sprint. Assholes.

Then my phone rang. Patti!

"Hey Babe!" I replied.

"Why didn't you call me back?" Patti asked.

"I tried! Several times!" I replied.

"Well, my phone didn't ring," she said.

"It's Sprint's fault!" I replied defensively.

"I never have a problem with reception," Patti said.

"Maybe they like you," I answered cooly.

"Well, sometimes I do I suppose. Are you near the yarn?" She asked.

"Wait! About the nails!" I replied.

"Yes?"

"I can't find the Brad brand. And are you sure you want one and 1/4 inch?" I asked.

"Yes, I wrote it down on the list. That brand was there last time I got nails," Patti said.

I took a deep breath.

"They ain't here now," I replied through clenched gums (I'm supposed to get teeth in a few months so I'll be able to clench them. Hurray!).

"See if you can find someone to help you," Patti offered.

Yeah right, in this crowd? I thought.

"Okay, I'm looking," I replied.

"Call me back when you..." Patti began.

"No! Don't hang up! I might not reach you again. Stay on the line! Are you there? Hello?" I replied, panicky.

"I'm here," Patti said, laughing.

Yeah, real funny. Hardy har har, I thought.

"look, I don't see a Wally employee anywhere. Let me go back to the nail section and I'll give you some brand names and stuff," I replied.

"Okay, but no longer than one and 1/4 inches because I don't want to crack the frames," Patti said.

What? What's she talking about? I wondered as I made my way to the nail section.
They have nails longer than one and a quarter inches?

"Alright," I replied, intent on getting to the nail section through the thick crowd.

Thicker than Denoson's chili, I mused. With beans.

"Also, don't get any nails with a big head. Only the small heads," Patti continued.

I froze and almost got kneed by a little old lady driving one of those go cart carts.
She glared at me like I was an idiot as she swerved around me.

"Ha ha ha ha!" I laughed.

"What's so funny?" Patti asked.

"Ha ha! You mean nail nails, right? The kind you hammer? Ha ha haaa hee hee haw!" I replied, trying to talk over my laughing.

The crowd avoided me, no doubt concluding I was insane.

"Yes! Nail nails, ha ha ha! You thought I meant fake nails? Ha ha!" Patti answered.

"Yeah. I can't believe I didn't make the connection earlier, ha ha!"

"I never get fake nails," Patti said.

"I know. I thought that was odd. Do they even make them that long?" I asked.

"Maybe," Patti replied, snickering. "You're like Clouseau. Something weird always happens to you, ha ha!"

"Yeah, tell me about it. It would be odd if nothin' did happen out of the ordinary," I said.

"That's because you're an extraordinary guy," Patti said.

"Aw shucks," I replied. It felt like my face was turning red.

"Are you blushing?" Patti asked.

"No. I don't know, there's no mirrors around here," I quipped.

"You're a funny guy," she said.

"Can I forgo the yarn section then?" I asked.

Eventually, I got everything, and thankfully, I only spent around 15 minutes in line.
As I approached our van I could see Skully jumping up and down excitedly.

"Good to see you too boy," I said as I opened the door.
"Let's get the hell outta here! What do you say? Wanna listen to some Molly Hatchet?"

Skully likes Molly Hatchet. He has good taste in music.

Merry Christmas! Imopup style.

I-mo-pup...I-mo-pup...I-mo-pup...

As Imopup gathers her undead, dachsi mummy army and trys to take over the world (or get free snacks (preferably made of meat) anytime she wants...which is all the time (hey, did you notice the parenthesis within the parentheses? Imopup made me do it)) I hope you all have a blessed Christmas and a healthy New Year!

I made a resolution not to make resolutions but to do them...quietly...without braggin'. Assuming I actually do them. You know how that is. But I intend to. It's just that, if I actually do the resolutions I can't tell you guys.

So you will hafta ask. Hmm, I think I found a resolution and humblebillity loophole here.
But first, I hope Santa got you what you wanted this Christmas. If not, don't be so subtle next year.
Remember, Santa likes go getters. But he doesn't like assouls so don't be an assoul about it.

I want a Mossberg 590 (holds 8 rounds plus 1 in the chamber)! But I'll be happy with grog. Meanin' I'll settle...if I have to.

BTW, one of my resolutions may be to get a mossberg 590. May be. Not sayin' it is or nothin'.
I'm assuming I ain't gettin' the 590 this Christmas because none of the gifts are big enough (although one is big enough for shotgun shells...but it's not so fun without the shotgun. However, remember that Lone Ranger episode where he had bullets but no gun and he used some rocks to fire a bullet off and get the bad guy)?

So maybe shotgun shells are fun without the gun. I dunno. I'll have Skully give it a whirl if I do get the shells. He likes doing stuff like that. Especially after eggnog.

I know it will be a good Christmas, even without the 590. Because I got a beautiful wife and great kids (who can't make it here this year but that's what phones are for)...and, of course, Imopup and her minion, Skully (her brother) who are busy taking over the world as we speak.

In the meantime, don't panic, enjoy your eggnog or hot buttered rums or whathaveyou and enjoy the show.
Besides, we all know that Imopup is mucho better than the current cur that pretends to be a leader taking yet another exhausting vacation.

So elect Imopup for President and get a complimentary milkbone (all the minions are getting one)! Just tell the store clerks Imopup sent ya (offer may not be applicable to every store so ask your loco store clek today).

Oh, and thanks you guys for reading my pulp non-fiction drivel. I hope to write much more (which may or may not be a resolution, I can't say) in the future.
There's still a few stories left in this ol' geezers repetoire just itchin' to set sail on the high seas and I aim to bring as many as possible to this blog. Exclusively!

Merry Christmas!

Jukebox Jive

The Dive was my home away from home, home bein' the USS Duluth (LPD-6).
Home was at Todd Shipyards, Long Beach, for refurbishing, circa 1980.
It smelled like haze gray paint dust, the acrid burnin' of welding, and B.O. to name a few of the more fascinating odors.

Hey, I'm not one of those putzes that think my shit don't stink 'cause it does.
It's just that I tend to lose my fascination for these specific fascinating odors rather quickly.
It's not personal or nothin'. Just somethin' that crews in the yards hafta put up with.

Needless to say I spent all my off time at a Dive located at the Pike, which had seen better days.
I picked this particular dive because they had a jukebox with decent tunes and a pool table or two.

The Dive had an interesting clientel. Sailors, cowboys, kickers, bikers and shipyard workers.
Heh. Like I said, it was very interesting and not a nice place for the faint of heart.
Although there was at least one fight a night it was, all things considered, relatively peaceful there.
I mean, there were some unwritten but strongly enforced rules.

Anyone brandishing a knife, brass knuckles, a club, etc., could expect a baseball bat over the head by the owner of The Dive.
That is, if the concerned citizens in the immediate area didn't beat the shit out of the perp first.

The owner preferred anyone wantin' to fight to take it outside, and many did.
But sometimes there was a spontaneous fight and it was usually over before anyone could say "take it outside."

I'm not sure why I felt sort of at home there. Or as much as I could feel at home.
Hell, 31 years later I still don't feel completely at home at home, but I do have more of a peace of mind than I used to.

Anyways, there was some odd quirks about The Dive and the nice folks that hung out there.
One of those quirks was a singalong.

Okay, no one dared call it that out loud, but it was true...when some songs, not many, played on the jukebox. A jukebox chock full of a mixture of country, rock, country rock, hard rock, easy rock, blues, etc.. And virtually all of them were good songs. Whoever picked them out (probably the owner) had a good ear.

Two that immediately spring to mind were David Allan Coe songs.

Now, Coe was considered (and still is) the most outlawy singer outlaw there was/is.
He's an ex-con, he's never been accused of bein' politically correct, and he's wrote some purty controversial songs (to put it mildly).
Some have called him a racist, but it's a weak accusation considering he got in several fights in prison for having a black friend not to mention his drummer is black.

Anyone that thinks Coe is a racist would hafta call most rap singers and black comedians racist too for using the same words.
I think those who call him racist miss the forest for the trees and are too caught up on certain blacklisted words (words he grew up with), and blaclisted only if a white guy uses them.
Context is important. What is Coe actually sayin' in his controversial songs?

I bet those who accuse him of racism have no idea, 'cause after seeing that one word they are blind to everything else.
Why don't they accuse black artists of racism for sayin' cracker or cracka?
Ain't those non pc words? Bunch of hypocrites is why.
Be that as it may, I don't feel oppressed or insulted if someone calls me a cracker and I even laugh at some of the context it's performed in.

In response to the racist accusations Coe said: "anyone who listens to my songs and thinks I'm a racist is full of shit."

These two songs ain't what I would call controversial. At least not by any true sense of the word. Although they may hurt the delicate sensibilities of the pc gustapos.
Here they are:

Whatever you might think about Coe he could definitely write some good tunes...tunes that a lot of folks will sing along to.

Surprisingly, most of my fellow beer tastin' patrons could carry a tune.
Those who couldn't were...ahem, "encouraged" to whisper the words.
Those who couldn't take the not so subtle hints to not sing along got there ass kicked in an orderly fashion.
The system worked and everyone enjoyed the singalongs.

Long Haired Redneck

Country deejays knows that I'm an outlaw
They'd never come to see me in this dive
Where bikers stare at cowboys who are laughing at the hippies
Who are praying they'll get outta here alive

The loud mouth in the corner's gettin' to me
Talking 'bout my earrings and my hair
I guess he ain't read the signs that say I been to prison
Someone ought to warn him 'fore I knock him off his chair

'Cause my longhair just can't cover up my red neck
I've won every fight, I've ever fought
Hey, I don't need some turkey telling me that I ain't country
And sayin' I ain't worth the damned ol' ticket that he bought

'Cause I can sing all them songs about Texas
And I still do all the sad ones that I know
They tell me, I look like Merle Haggard
And sound a lot like David Allan Coe

And the bar maid in the last town that we played in
Knew the words to every song I'd wrote
She said, Jimmy Rabbit turned her on to my last album
Just about the time the jukebox broke

Yeah, Johny Cash helped me get out of prison
Long before Rodriguez stole that goat
I've been the Rhinestone Cowboy for so long, I can't remember
And I can do you every song, Hank Williams ever wrote

And I can sing all them songs about Texas
And I still do all the sad ones that I know
I can't help it, I look like Merle Haggard
And I sound a lot like David Allan Coe

But the country deejays, all think I'm an outlaw
And they'd never come to see me in this dive
Where bikers stare at cowboys who are laughing at the hippies
Who are praying they'll get out of here alive

The loud mouth in the corner's gettin' to me
Talking 'bout my earrings and my hair...


You Never Even Called Me By My Name

It was all that I could do to keep from cryin'
Sometimes it seems so useless to remain
You don't have to call me darlin', darlin'
You never even call me by my name.

You don't have to call me Waylon Jennings
And you don't have to call me Charlie Pride.
You don't have to call me Merle Haggard, anymore.
Even though your on my fightin' side.

And I'll hang around as long as you will let me
And I never minded standin' in the rain.
You don't have to call me darlin', darlin'
You never even call me by my name.

I've heard my name a few times in your phone book
I've seen it on signs where I've laid
But the only time I know, I'll hear David Allan Coe
Is when Jesus has his final judgement day.

Well, a friend of mine named Steve Goodman wrote that song
and he told me it was the perfect country and western song
I wrote him back a letter and told him it was NOT the perfect
country and western song because he hadn't said anything about
Momma, or trains, or trucks, or prison, or gettin' drunk.
Well, he sat down and wrote another verse to the song and he sent
it to me and after reading it, I realized that my friend had written
the perfect country and western song. And I felt obliged to include it
on this album. The last verse goes like this here:

Well, I was drunk the day my Mom got outta prison.
And I went to pick her up in the rain.
But, before I could get to the station in my pickup truck
She got runned over by a damned old train.

So I'll hang around as long as you will let me
And I never minded standin' in the rain. No,
You don't have to call me darlin', darlin'
You never even call me, I wonder why you don't call me
Why don't you ever call me by my name.

Come to think of it, these singalongs that no one would ever call singalongs in The Dive made it a fun place to drink.
If it weren't for the songs on that jukebox there would've be a helluva lot more fights.

Of Lies, Cons, Conspiracies And Bringin' The Stupid

Okay, I can't say I was surprised when I read this:
Obama Afraid To Humiliate Osama

But I still can't help but think WTF OVER?!
You didn't wanna humiliate Bin Laden? Obama is afraid it will somehow incite more violence from Al Qaeda who has already declared war on us, murdered 3,000 civilians in cold blood, murdered countless muslim children and women to create fear and chaos?
That Al Qaeda? Really?

Don't wanna piss off a bunch of psychotic mass serial killers who are hellbent on destroying the United States, Israel and all our allies now do we?

Excuse me while I whip out my salty language...FUCK THAT SHIT!
Humiliate the hell outta those barbaric bastards!
Then, when these goddamn demon possessed swine come out of the woodwork shoot the shit outta them with extreme prejudice!

When life gives you goddamned demon possessed swine you make bacon bits outta them. And trust me, virtually all Americans like bacon and I'm sure our Jewish brothers and sisters will take no offense.

You know, it's moronic, stupid fuckin' shit like this that fuels all the conspiracy theories out there.
Let's face it, we already know we can't trust anything that comes out of the ObaMao administration.
When Bin Laden was taken out, by real heroes, the first thing Obama did was let all his hollywood pals know about it before he told us peon Americans.

Then there were several variations of the story. I still don't know what the hell really happened. There were so many different accounts. What is the "official" story now and why should we believe it? Oh, and to the Obama council of morons: wipe that stupid fucking grin off your face and show the fucking pictures...right...fucking now.

We wanna see Bin Laden's stinkin' ass corpse. It's part of what justice is.

So this was bound to happen:
SpecOps Command Calls SEAL Raid Book A Lie
And there'll be more until the dolts at the White House come clean.

Here's a few excerpts if you don't wanna go to the link (it is short so please go read the whole thing):

The U.S. military is denouncing a former Navy SEAL's book that claims to describe the "real" version of the raid that killed Osama bin Laden.

"It's just not true," U.S. Special Operations Command spokesman Col. Tim Nye said. "It's not how it happened."

Okay, back the fucking stupid truck up! First of all, the military never used to get into this type of shitting contest with individual authors.
Which makes sense because this only lends credence to the book and more people will read it.
Plus, I'm sure there are better things for the Commanding Officer of Special Ops to do than to reply to every book written about the military, or is he just replying to this one?
My take is he was ordered to make these statements.

Another excerpt:
"This is a fabrication," (Col) Nye (PR guy for SpecOps) countered, issuing an on-the-record denial on behalf of Navy SEAL Adm. Bill McRaven, who took command of all special operations this summer.

In his previous role, McRaven executed the raid in May as head of the military's elite Joint Special Operations Command. Nye said McRaven was concerned the book would lead Americans to doubt the administration's version of events."

WHICH FUCKIN' VERSION? Yeah this'll convince folks.

"He also disputed Pfarrer's portrayal of friction between the CIA and the military special operations forces who carried out the raid."

Alright, I don't know if there was friction between the SEAL's and the CIA over this particular operation, but c'mon. It's no secret that specops guys have a long running legitimate beef with the CIA and much prefer their own human intel over CIA intel.

That's not to say CIA field operators don't do a good job because they do, however, the CIA is bloated with a plethora of bureaurats and they cause all sorts of major shit to go down...usually on the specops guys.

I have no idea why Col. Nye would even mention this particular passage.

Anyhow, I'm fairly certain that most of the book is fiction although how much I can't say for sure.
But for SpecOps Command to reply to the books allegations...I gotta say I think they were ordered to do so because this is unprecedented, as far as I know.

Obama has thin skin and he's sensitive to all the criticisms out there, poor baby.
So he throws a tantrum, a hissy fit if you will over stuff like this. Bad for his highly inflated ego and self assteem.
Show some fuckin' class for once you commie bastard! Talk about historic, it's historic this goddamn spoiled brat can't stop himself from responding to criticism in a childish, 'I'll throw a fit if you don't take that back' way.
This Administration brought this on themselves.

I don't expect Col. Nye (is he a science guy?) to respond to my blog but if he does:

I salute you sir! Won't you be glad when Barry ignoranus is no longer your CINC?

Welcome To The Doh!jo

What do you do when yer computer crashes? Well, I spend more time on my hobbies (yeah, as if I had a choice).
Hey, when life gives you lemons you break out the tequila. Or was that limes. No matter, both work sufficiently.

"My computer is dead Love," I said, shaking my head.

"Let me see," Patti replied grabbing my keyboard.

Hours later...

"Yep, it's dead alright. I'll try a few other things..." Patti said.

Days later...

"Why won't it go to the restore point?" Patti asked.

I didn't answer 'cause I knew this was a rhetorical question. Any attempt at humor at this point would only bring...The Glare! So I kept my trap shut.

After trying everything she knew, Patti talked to several tech people over the days to no avail. The last tech guy suggested trying to download stuff via a disc he was mailing since dial-up is too slow for a lot of big stuff.

To while away the time I became depressed. Not because I couldn't get the net (okay, maybe a little because of that) but due to something else...something that has been building up in a crescendo...a crescendo of pain.

I believe I may have mentioned I have periperal neuropathy in my feet and lower legs (sometimes in my hands now too).
Anyways, the pain I get from it has gotten a helluva lot worse. I mean, I got pain before but never at this level for such a sustained amount of time.
Almost feels like shingles sometimes but deeper and without the itching (in which I'm extremely grateful for!).

However, besides the burning I also get stabbing sensations which always makes me check to see if I stepped on a fork or got bit by a giant tarantula or funnel web spider. Yeah, I know we ain't got 'em here in Washington state (that I know of) but hey, it is remotely possible they escaped from some exotic animal collector and found their way to my house to bite my feet.
Actually, come to think of it, scorpions or rattlers would be more likely but still a remote possibility.

The funny thing is, this is most likely caused by the drugs I take to fend off AIDS (although it could also be caused by AIDS too, there's no way to know for sure).
If I stop taking the drugs worse crap awaits so that's not an option. Although I irrationally consider it sometimes. But still not an option.

I also get this charlie horse kind of pain too. It's so odd that there's so many types of pain associated with peripheral neuropathy but nerves are funny that way. If you have it you're in on the joke but that's one joke I hope you never experience.

Here's where some (hollywood cliched movies) would say "I wouldn't wish it on my greatest enemies." but I can't honestly say that. Because I do wish it on those jihadist bastards and rapists. And child molesters. And people that torture animals. And politicians that love tyranny over liberty.
Wow. Come to think of it, there's a lot of people I wish this on. I guess I'm not as "high" minded as most hollywood types are. You can probably tell how broken up I am about that. :^)

Where was I? Oh yeah, well I've been taking morphine and neurotin which does help take the edge off but never completely.
So I get all depressed which really sucks because depression ain't my thing and I get into this funk (not the good kind).
Malaise. Gloomy Gus. Woe is me. Yada yadda yadda, break out the violins.

So even after Patti gets "the disc" and gets my computer working again I'm too busy bein' depressed to do more than check out my favorite blogs when I could.
And feel bad for not taking the time to write a quick note. Depression is so paralyzing I reckon.

Thankfully, I got tired of bein' depressed. Besides, it's very overrated. What helped me break through The Fog was a film called The Rite.
When I watched it I thought it was just another exorcist kind of film, but it's based on true events and the director was purty much faithful to the book: The Making Of A Modern Day Exorcist (I found this out later).
Whether you believe in demon possession or not I highly recommend The Rite which delves into so much more than the usual hollywood style exorcism flicks.

You see, I wasn't just physically and mentally depressed, I had become spiritually depressed.
I was vaguely aware of it, but I jest couldn't bring myself to do what needed to be done.
Sure, I prayed. Really short prayers that got shorter. But that was it.
I felt like I was stranded in the desert and being attacked by giant tarantulas and funnel web spiders (and scorpions and rattlers).
It was no longer a remote possibility. It was happening. For real!

Actually, it would've been more interesting if I was possessed, I suppose, but mysteriously enough the film I mentioned wasn't so much about exorcism as it was about regaining faith.

Somehow, I had lost a plethora of faith. I had forgotten who I am in I Am. The third Aye, so to speak.
Once I was aware of what I already knew the depression...vanished.

I can't tell you how good it is to be back to my jovial self. But I know you guys gno how good it is so I don't have to. :^)

So I have decided to pursue my hobby of crime fighting as well as blog n' comment on your blogs more frequently.
Aye! Chehalis has a new guardian to mete out justice, so criminals: tremble and beware!

Of course I need a name but that's harder than it appears. Good superhero names don't just grow on trees.
Lessee, Chess Man? You know, because I got knight vision. No, Chess Mon. Yeah that should strike fear in the hearts of criminals (that still have hearts to strike fear into).

Okay, so why have a name anyway? "The guardian with no name" sounds more mysterious doncha think? Any suggestions? Periperal Noropathy Man (with peripheral vision)?
Cap'n Crackle?

Oh, and I need a suit but I absolutely refuse to wear tights. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I should also hide my identity. Okay...bit too late for that I guess. Heh. Oh well, at least I don't hafta wear a mask. But the location of my The Guardian With No Name Cave is still a secret. Little help here guys? That sounds lame.
I know, The Doh!jo of Cap'n Chin Fu Doh! Yeah, that kinda fits...on so many levels.

PS- So far I haven't detected any criminal activity but I will keep you posted.

PPS- I think I'll take a break a brew some tasty Costa Rican. Here's to Kath (Ximeze) who introduced me to this outstanding joe.

Keep Your Grimy Hands Off Our Economy Obama!

Skully has a new nickname for Obama:

The Grim Reapo.

What the headlines for the NY Slimes should read today:

Read It And Reap Mr. President.

Well, at least it's "historic" and "unexpected."

Look at our economy. Go ahead, I'll wait...

Finished? Good. Now, Obama said he was only about halfway done with it. Let's make sure he doesn't finish the job.

Speakin' of which, let's get a new law passed. The President and Congress hafta handle their own personal finances like they handle our national one.
Okay, maybe that's a bad idea. We know the donks are crazy enough to try it as well as some republicans that flunked first grade math (hint: minus signs don't mean the same as plus signs).

Don't get me wrong, I don't give a fig if they ruin their own finances but they would just pass a law requiring us to bail them out.