tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21164967642616193232024-03-13T07:52:28.413-07:00Rants and other Pointless RamblingsBrookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-38820690823314758772016-08-13T11:30:00.003-07:002016-08-13T11:33:08.843-07:00Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-25753603178220733152016-08-13T11:30:00.002-07:002016-08-13T11:33:05.443-07:00Here goes the Man Card.<br />
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Since no one else will broach this topic I will. Fabric Softener. I like it. There. I said it. <br />
I knew what it was when I was a kid but I never saw its benefits until I was married, (I also had no clue about thread counts for sheets. My sheets in university were pretty much jute that had been washed...maybe).<br />
Here’s the rub. I can’t stand the name of the fabric softener we use, or the picture on it. <br />
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WTH is that? Real men, men who were raised with pre 1955 social mores don’t/can’t use a product with a gad damn teddy bear on it. Jeezus! In our language ‘Snuggle’ is 2000 grit sand paper.<br />
Why can’t the makers of these products make them more marketable to my type of upbringing? How about a picture of a 12 year old with a full beard killing a grizzly bear with a school book while walking uphill...both ways...to school in 6 ft of snow? “Tomorrow is another school day! Enjoy your comfy, fabric softened underwear today!” <br />
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IS it too much to ask? Vikings with chainsaws riding sharks to promote an effeminate product to men who can’t admit they like said product? Please, think of the Neanderthals.Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-47268676224825257182015-11-10T13:57:00.000-08:002015-11-10T13:57:20.325-08:00Untitled<br />
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Imagine standing in septic water. Behind you is a dirt wall eight feet high. In front of you is another dirt wall, nearly vertical, eight feet high. Your feet have been soaked for days and caked mud covers your wet wool uniform. <br />
No one speaks. It’s absolutely quiet except for the occasional match being struck to light a cigarette and a cough from someone suffering from mild gas inhalation and likely pneumonia to boot.<br />
Your hands would shake from the cold and nervousness if it weren’t for the fact that they were too busy hanging onto a ten pound rifle. You look into the dirt wall and pray the ammunition isn’t faulty.<br />
All you can do is wait and stare into the dirt wall in front of you. You briefly close your eyes. You haven’t slept or had an edible meal in a week. The thought of food is not enjoyable as the scent of blood, death and human suffering waft upwards from the trench floor. It is acrid. It may be the last thing you remember.<br />
A whistle blows and an officer shouts in the distance. You can’t make out the words as the constant shelling has left a ringing in your ears. You’ve been here before you know what the officer yelled. ‘Make Ready’. <br />
You fasten your bayonet to your rifle and check your ammo pouch. The whistle sounds and flares go up. You jump and roll over the top of the dirt wall. Up on your feet you run as fast as you can. Boots covered in mud. You can’t feel your feet. You know they are underneath you but they are numb.<br />
Bodies fall all around you. Don’t think about it. Keep moving. You can feel the German machine guns rattatat tatting a hail storm of sonic lead at you. The light from the flares dies and you fall you into a crater created by a gun that’s sole purpose was to kill you or your enemy. You don’t care. It’s cover. You slog to the far side of the crater. <br />
Your feet sink into the bottom and you fall forward into the carcass of a horse. It smells slightly worse than the trench you hurled yourself over the top of. Fighting for every inch you scramble up the business side of the trench. You peer over the top of the crater. You’re the only person from your squad that has made it this far and is not dead or wounded.<br />
Random flares go up into the air all over the battlefield. You lay splayed out on the bank of the crater. You can hear the bullets scream by. That doesn’t seem to bother you as much as the moaning and screaming of your injured mates laying on the field, crying for their mothers and possibly being blessed by a quicker death as they lay muddied, wounded and alone in a foreign land.<br />
Hours go by as lay on the inner wall of your sheltered crater. Except for an occasional burst of a heavy machine gun. The flares have quit their arched trajectories. You are alone. In the dark.<br />
You need to get back to your trench. Once the sun comes up you are not going to be able to move. If you get back to your trench you may be able to live for at least one more day. All you want is that one more day.<br />
You make your way back to relative safety. Through craters and over corpses. Thankful with every gained foot that the Germans didn’t shell you with Mustard gas. Ahead of you is a soldier from your unit. He is tangled in barbed wire and you can see the moonlit almost reflecting off part of his leg. It’s the blood leaking out from where he got shot. He knows enough to not make a sound. He is still alive. <br />
Slowly and methodically you cut him loose. Now the task of dragging him back to your trench is all yours. <br />
An hour after you cut him loose you push his unconscious body over the edge of your trench and you scurry over the top and are happy to land at the bottom in the septic water. If your friend is lucky he will only loose his leg and not succumb to any type of blood poisoning. A slow painful death.<br />
You lived another day. Maybe if you live through a few more you can go home and see your son who was born a few weeks after you were shipped off to this wretched foreign land. You hate yourself for thinking that far ahead. You’ve seen too much death, too many friends lying in the mud, eyes open on a battlefield where the last visions were of death and a place one could only describe as a living hell. Don’t think too far ahead. You’ve only lived one more day.<br />
Strangely, if you make it to the end and live, sometimes when the cold wind rattatat tats against your shutters as you sit next to your fire alone, all the memories, all the pain comes back. Forever you will see your friends and comrades open eyes as they lay dead in the mud in some awful foreign land.<br />
Never take all the freedom and the life you get to lead for granted. Never Forget the men and women who gave up their lives. Never Forget.<br />
Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-41510535750646258712015-01-30T13:10:00.001-08:002015-01-30T13:11:50.427-08:00Sex Ed,Premier Wynne has decided that her parties new sex education bill is awesome and in that bill (somewhere) is the request or demand that children ages 5-6 years old should be taught sex education or specifically what ‘consent’ is. Five and six year olds also need to grow up knowing the difference between ‘rape culture’ and ‘consent culture’.<br />
When I was five years old my biggest hope was to tie my own shoes and not piss my pants at school. <br />
Wynne wants to spend time having teachers dedicate time to teach the difference between rape and consent to kids who think Barney the dinosaur is real, trains can fly through outer space and a dead animal on the side of the road is just ‘resting’ .<br />
Really? A law has to be made and taught to kids who still can’t work out the mechanics of how to blow their own noses? The entire idea makes about as much sense as trying to kick a 400 pound anvil through a swamp.<br />
Why don’t we make them do calculus and tell them if they don’t get the right answers they are going to have their toes smashed with a hammer? It would be about as useful as trying to gently and accurately explain what rape is to a five or six year old.<br />
How would a teacher go about this Herculean task? ‘Little Johnny? Have you ever seen your mommy and daddy “wrestling” under the bed sheets’? ….’ They rassle all the time Miss Jenkins. I think mom loses most of the time. Her screams wake me up so she must be really mad about losing!’ <br />
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I know I don’t want that kind of information and as far as I’m concerned my parent’s had sex three times-MAX! Scratch that visual from your eyeballs.<br />
Do you know what five year olds should be doing at school? Playing. Playing and finger painting…and learning how to tie their shoes. And not pissing in their pants. That’s it. End. Period. Full Stop.<br />
During her announcement Wynne had two thirteen year old girls with her who had ‘lobbied’ for this new craptacular bill. How the hell does a thirteen year old get to lobby and why the hell are we listening to thirteen year olds? In my humble opinion this was a bad PR move by the Liberals. “Hey here’s some thirteen year old girls who lobbied us for sex education about rape and consent!” Isn’t thirteen years old kind of young for kids to have sex? Sixteen years old is the age of consent in Ontario so anyone under that age is, in reality and possibly by definition being raped or raping if they have sex. Why can this not be taught to our tightly wound youngsters?<br />
I’m not preaching anything religious or saying possibly kids at 12-13 years old should be taught about the birds and the bees/ pregnancy and responsibility- I think it’s a good age to teach them that, but wouldn’t common decency/parenting teach kids that rape is horrible AND teach them that rapists should be shot – okay that last part was all mine but that’s the way I feel about that subject…and pedophiles.<br />
What is truly maddening about this Liberal laid out law is the fact that it has just enough stupidity contained in it to get under a lot of people’s skin AND….wait for it….blind us or draw us into a debate over something that shouldn’t be debated. All the while the real problems with Ontario get to fly under the radar.<br />
Hydro rates, Ontario pension ‘tax’, Billions of dollars lost in scandals and poor business practices, debt, wage gaps, manufacturing loss and on and on ad nauseum.<br />
Let the teachers, school boards and local communities set up their own sex-ed program. Being told what to do and what to believe by a government who is way out of touch with reality is just wrong.<br />
Can we get to business? Can we stop fighting over scraps from the premier’s table? We are supposed be served by our politicians. Not the other way around. Lately our provincial leaders have been treating us like dogs – fake throwing a ball for us to chase and get our teeth into but laughing at us as they look at our balls in the palm of their hands ( Yes, I said Balls), while we play slug it out over issues that aren’t issues.<br />
End the bullshit statistics of employment. Hiring 100,000 people to work for the government is not creating jobs. It’s draining/drained the tax coffers, yet they smile and pat themselves on the back for creating jobs that may actually be jobs but if it isn’t in the private sector and paying taxes-it’s a tax drain.<br />
It’s sad that we allow ourselves to be put in a position that we feel obligated to throw each other under the bus for every idiotic, self serving piece of monkey shit legislation that gets trotted out like a prize pony. <br />
We need a voice that can stay on point. We need someone who can curtly say, “Hey! This latest legislation is a waste of time. Can we figure out how to stop spending money we don’t have? Can we figure out how to attract new businesses to Ontario? “<br />
It won’t happen. We’ve become trained to react rather than think. We’ve become addicted to our own personal wants and needs rather than the common good. We have become selfish assholes. From what I do, see and hear up to this point in my life we deserve what we have.<br />
Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-82566741509202186942015-01-12T06:37:00.001-08:002015-01-12T06:38:50.722-08:00UpdateIn early December my co-pilot got really sick. Vomiting, not eating, he couldn't even hold water down. It was a Wednesday or Thursday night around midnight I picked him up, put him in my truck and took him to a 24 hour vet clinic. They gave him something calm his stomach and he seemed to get slightly better until Saturday night. Lori and I stayed with him non stop. <br />
He got horribly pukey again on Sunday night.<br />
On Monday morning I took him into our vet. <br />
They poked, prodded and placed medical devices on the poor mutt in places where nothing should be placed. Not a whimper or a growl. He just sat and leaned his head into my shoulder. The vet wanted to run some blood tests and other tests and get some fluids into the usually slobbery oaf. I left him at the vet clinic and waited to hear back on the tests they could run at the clinic.<br />
Around twelve thirty that day the vet called. She asked to see Lori and I together. My heart just dropped. This is not the kind of thing anyone wants to hear from a vet, doctor, or financial planner. <br />
Lori zoomed over and we were at the vet clinic by two. Just Lori and I standing in an examination room. No Bart. IN walked the vets. Could this scenario get any worse? If you have ever been punched in the nose you may understand the way I know I felt at that very minute I saw the two vets walk in together. My eyes started to water and I know I squinted. The lump in my throat was painful and I placed both hands on the examination table to make sure I kept myself upright and somewhat focused. Lori looped her arm through mine and stood like a pillar next to me. Likely fearful that I was about to have a demon surface through my mouth or just pass out.<br />
Charts and titers and subcutaneous fluid delivery and more numbers with sub categories were flung about like multi sided die at a nerd party on a Friday night (so I hear). I remember only two things from all of this – Bart’s kidneys ammonia levels were 33 times the normal average for a dog his size and another level of kidney output was 4 x normal operating levels. Every piece of bad news that came out of the vets turned my knuckles a shade whiter as all I could do was clamp down on the table and try to listen. <br />
Shortly after, “where’s my dog?” and “What are you saying?” ,the x rays came out. After some discussion about things I know nothing of, one of the vets pointed to a spot on the film. It was one of Bart’s kidneys and from her estimation it was 4 cm longer than the other. The lump in my throat had just gotten larger and I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore. The vets were unsure if El Barto had a severe kidney infection or a large tumour on his kidney(s).<br />
“This isn’t possible! He’s only six years old!” My outright denial would make this all go away.<br />
Not being a vet, for obvious reasons relating to me and academia not seeing eye to eye, I chose a career that was more suited to my mental abilities and disposition. As a contractor we tend to do things differently than, well, normal people. Typically contractors will walk into a room drop some plans and notes on the table tell everyone they’re ‘f-cked’ and list the reasons why. We like to get our audiences attention and keep them listening. We will show you what is wrong and why BUT we usually follow up quickly with a proposed solution and the cost.<br />
Vets need to learn this. Lori and I both thought we were there to put our co-pilot to sleep because of some cursed genetic anomaly or because some asshole left a pail of antifreeze out in the open. Don’t run us through the pain of thinking the situation is hopeless. Tell us there’s a problem but there is hope. By the way- I’m not paying to have your exam table sanded and painted. Take that!<br />
Finally we got to take our Black son home with us. He had lost nearly 10 pounds from his weight in October. Bart was on a regimen of 13 pills a day. Now Bart likes what Bart likes, and if Bart no likee-Bart no likee. Bart does not like pills. We tried the ‘pill cookies’ they sell at Pet Smart-no go. I jammed pills down his mouth, held his mouth shut and rubbed his throat. That dog would sit, with dissolving pills in his mouth, wait for me to take my hand away and spit the pills out. Or my favourite- eat the pills then vomit them out because he refused to eat the low protein food the vet wanted us to feed him. That sure was my favourite.<br />
It came down to this- feed him cookies. Wait. Give him his pills. Sit with him, pretend we were stealing his food out of his dish- at which he would walk in front of us, lay down and try to distance us from the food he didn’t want and wouldn’t eat. We got so desperate to make sure he would take his pills we coated them in cream cheese frosting. Bart really liked that. He also enjoyed being fed cookies all day. He had us trained within 3 days.<br />
Everyday I took that meatbag to the vet where they poked and probed him. Everyday (except one day-Lori wanted the Saturday shift) I sat and held him while they jammed a needle under his skin and let fly with 900 millilitres of room temperature saline. Not one whimper or growl. The technician didn’t even bother with the muzzle after the second day. Everyday Bart was eager to leave and everyday, with 900 millilitres of saline under his skin in a mound that would make Pamela Anderson jealous he got stronger and pulled me to the door with his stupid orange ball or squeaky toy in his mouth with less and less effort.<br />
Between moving into and painting the new house, end of season work madness and Christmas insanity all I could concern ourselves with was trying to make sure the slobbery oaf was getting better. There was not a single day I didn’t take the mutt to work with me. He slept under my desk on the dog bed we bought for him. The first week was rough but when Bart grabbed his orange ball and just sat next to my desk staring at me and wagging his tail, I finally knew he was getting better.<br />
We still don’t know what is/was wrong with Bart. Hopefully the next set of tests will let us know he is healthy again. He is down to two servings of antibiotics per day and he is eating like a lab/mutt should and gaining weight. <br />
There were times I asked myself when is enough. That damn pound mutt was costing us a lot of money. A few people told me they would help out and everyone pretty much never even questioned that Lori and I would keep paying the vet bills until the very end if need be. Why? He’s our co-pilot. My Black son. Fatso. El Barto. Every night when Lori and I sit on the couch and Bart’s enormous fat head blocks my view and he gets the hound dog eye thing going and won’t stop until he is invited up on the couch. I watch him as jumps up and does his multiple spins until he finds the perfect place to lie down where he can place his head on either of our laps and just look up at us. It’s this look that makes me know he’s saying thanks to Lori and to me. I hope he knows that it we’re the ones that are thankful.<br />
Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-56674566467208959662014-12-20T07:44:00.000-08:002014-12-20T07:44:26.810-08:00MERRY OCDIt has been a long year for me. I have accomplished very little in the way of writing. There are roughly twelve beginnings of Blogs that I started and either dismissed, forgot about or just got to busy to finish.
SO here I am. Waiting for my next phone call or email wondering what all the fuss is about.
What I see lately is obsession. Obsession to find the perfect gift. Obsession to host a perfect party. Obsession to be the people we should be everyday of our lives.
Don’t get me wrong. A little OCD isn’t bad. If I hadn’t obsessed about learning to tie my shoes I would still be wearing Velcro sneakers or sandals with my black socks. Last year was a good OCD year for me.
It’s this time of year, for me, that I start to remember all the wonderful things I promised myself I would do. I would work less. Spend more time with family and friends. Work on being calmer and more patient. Get my back waxed, and finally figure out how to use floss without hurting myself. I started off really well but things really slid down the cliff after the third day of that bullshit.
Perfection is one of those hazy terms that does not mean the same thing to every person. The notion having a ‘perfect’ party or Christmas Dinner is insane. There will never be a perfect gift. There will be great Christmas Dinners and Great parties and great gifts…but chasing the dream of perfection can be dangerous. I’m not saying don’t try. I’m saying if you wear your self out or get frustrated trying to do anything perfect, well, that thing isn’t perfect. You sacrificed yourself for an idea or perception and if you lose the joy of the moment then you have not succeeded in being perfect.
Do yourself a favour this Christmas. Enjoy yourself. Don’t go all OCD because dinner was not served precisely at 630pm. So your mom already bought herself a set of ‘perfect’ oven mitts. Now she has two sets. Your brother had a few too many rye and cokes, tripped over the ottoman and took out aunt Grace. Are they okay? Laugh. Why laugh? Remember you have family. You have food and drinks and a great opportunity to have fun and remember why these people mean so much to you. That’s about the closest thing to perfect I can think of.
The notion of Christmas is great. Christmas itself has turned all of us into lunatics. Somewhere at some time we sold out to the consumerism of the season. Shop shop shop. Buy buy buy. Fight with crowds. Fight for parking. Get so worn down that you want to punch the Salvation Army bell ringer in the throat. Why? What’s the gain? We see it happening. We know deep down that’s insane but we keep doing it-which is the definition of insanity.
Un stuff your Christmas. Get the whip out and tame the OCD monster. Chase that thing back into its Pandora’s Box. Slam the lid down, wrap that sucker up with chains, lock it and melt the key.
Revel at the insanity that is Christmas. Dance a jig with your neighbour. Dance a jig with your neighbour’s dog. Have fun. For the love of all that is Holy relax and enjoy your time with friends and family.
My Prozac is wearing off so I must away. Merry Christmas to all!
Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-86732756328067838992014-12-19T06:28:00.002-08:002014-12-19T06:28:07.821-08:00The Lie
If you ever received a “Christmas Letter”, or been allowed to read one you may already know where I’m going with this.
Basically, the Christmas Letter consists of two or three pages of letter paper, double sided print and possibly one or two pictures Scotch taped crudely to the paper. It contains endless run on sentences and fails in its attempt to relay how and what a specific family has been doing since the last time you received the almost identical tome a year prior.
What you need to understand is that the Christmas Letter’s intent is to make the writer’s “friends” think her life is wonderful and that theirs sucks. To accomplish this, the writer, typically female, never held a job in her life, highly opinionated and usually wrong about everything she professes to tell people… lies. Now I don’t think the writer knows that she is lying. It’s just that she is so out of touch with reality and blind to real fact that she feels that what she writes is the Holy Gospel of what her and her family have done throughout the last year.
Simple interpretation of a Christmas Letter is never easy. As one can never be sure what far away happy place the writer of the letter is in while the letter is being written. It is easiest just to assume that every sentence on the multiple sheets of paper is lie.
Examples
“This may very well have been our most exciting year to date!” This is a lie. Even if viewed subjectively you know these people are about as interesting and fun filled as dry white toast.
“Christie is still a free spirit and we couldn’t be more excited by her intrigue with different cultures.” This is also a lie. Christie has been in and out of rehab since she was fourteen. Currently she is shacked up with a Jamaican Weed King and Oh God please don’t let her get pregnant.
“Charlie is still very interested in pursuing law and spends most of his time studying.” False. Charlie can’t stand the sight, thought or sound of his mother so he locks himself in his room. He has taken to rage and has spent multiple months in county lock up for yelling obscenities and flashing the Womens League at that bi-monthly white glove picnics.
“Ken is still go go go with the company. He just won’t retire and I really think the Bumble Brothers Stapler Works would go out of business if he retired. He’s very loyal and dedicated.” Ken has been installing the same retainer spring in staplers for 40 years. He hates his job but can’t stand the thought of retiring and having to spend more time with his nattering, never happy wife. Ken also has a great fear of retiring and at some point having to eat dog kibble as sustenance because his wife won’t stop buying crap she doesn’t need with money she doesn’t have. Ken prays for the angel of death to release from his shackles of servitude.
“Since my accident I have been working on healing myself. I have found a Shaman healer who has done wonders for me physically and emotionally!” My plastic surgeon’s name is Tonto RedCLoud. He caused my lips to swell up to gargantuan proportions- this was my “accident”. Since I threatened to sue him I have had boob, butt, face, lipo and botox surgeries on the house. Dr. Tonto says I am pretty and that makes me feel good.
Generally I feel good when I see a Christmas letter. It makes me realize that although my life isn’t perfect, I don’t have to make crap up in an attempt to elevate myself or drag others down. My crap is my crap and I hope you enjoy a crapless Christmas.
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Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-63134204979579909062013-12-11T08:10:00.000-08:002013-12-11T08:10:17.917-08:00Come Gather Around the Holiday Tree.
We as a continent have given up our spines and have forced ourselves to kowtow to the Birkenstock wearing, granola guzzling twits who have deviously, as a minority, somehow made society feel bad about saying what they want.
CHRISTMAS TREE. There I said it. I will continue to say it and be pronounced a heretic until the day I am hung on a, ‘t’ (we can’t say cross can we due to religious inference?) and forced to consume tofu and bean sprouts until I pass into the next phase of my carbon footprint- I likely can’t say, ‘until I die and pass through the Pearly Gates’-that’s radical thinking. You know me; I’m a radical Christian zealot.
Oh Christmas Tree. Oh Tannenbaum. Why are you being forsaken? Some self proclaimed righters of wrong have declared you a public menace. Your days as a symbol of the most hopeful day of the year are being whittled away. This may be the first step into madness. Next, inexplicably and without our consent owning a Christmas or Holiday Tree will be a punishable offence. ‘Death by Tofu!’ will be their rallying cry. Save a Tree-kill a human! This is the problem with people that believe that Christmas Trees are now to be called Holiday Trees. If they win their fight, they will move on to having something else banned because it offends them in some way. It will never end and we let it happen.
Tell you what. I am offended by their being offended. The offensiveness of their offending is oppressively onerous and off-putting to oafs such as me. Does that mean anything? Nope, but I don’t care. If narrow minded morons can have their say then this narrow minded moron wants his. Does that offend you? Guess what. I DON’T CARE! Christmas Tree-Christmas Tree- Christmas Tree! God- God- God. National Anthem –National Anthem-National Anthem. Have I offended? Hang on to your butts because this pig just grew wings.
This Holiday Tree thing is just a small item. It should be a non issue. Matters like this start small. We dismiss them and think, “What jerkass came up with that idea and what jackass politician would listen to them?” Next thing you know something has been banned or deemed inappropriate for all because of the whining of some. They natter. They call and they inundate the powers that be until they get what they want. They cause a rift or a crack. When they get what they want they start on something new. It won’t stop. After a while we sit around with our thumbs up our butts and just give up.
Not me. Not this guy. It may be a small revolution but it’s my revolution. I’m saying Christmas. I’m saying Christmas Tree. I don’t usually have a Christmas tree because I spend Christmas in some shit hole Mexican Bar singing horribly butchered Spanglish Christmas Carols but I refuse to let some causist do gooder take away what I believe in. Kiss my hairy butt do gooder. Go eat your tofu turkey under your Holiday Tree you turd of a human being.
Maybe I’m exaggerating a tiny bit. Maybe I’m not. I refuse to placate some self righteous do gooder with no clue just to keep the Peace. No way. Not going to happen. We have to fight these people. The, ‘Seasons Greetings’ sayers, the ‘Holiday Tree’ morons must be beaten back to their Fairy Tale World. They must return to their unicorns and Happy Happy Bunnies of LaLa Land. Have I offended you yet? Good.
Merry Christmas to All.
Vive La Christmas Tree!
Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-53923988281458876742013-09-16T14:21:00.000-07:002013-09-16T14:21:01.696-07:00And the Story Droned On and OnAnd the Story Droned On and On
Seldom do we run into a person who can tell a good story. A person who can turn the most mundane topic into a pants pissing saga that will never be forgotten.
Now, a lot of people think they can tell a story well. Some people even think the stories they tell are interesting. This is not true.
Personally, I am horrible at telling stories. I tend to leave out key pieces of information and I use a lot of fluff to buy time while I try to remember how a story goes. Public speaking has never been my forte’. If you’ve ever heard the Sean Connery ‘bar’ joke, I am certain that I tell stories in the same manner.
“This guy walks into a bar with a dog under one arm and a 2ft salami under the other….I forget the rest but your mother’s a whore.”
Self admittedly I am horrible at re telling stories, anecdotes or witticisms. I wish most people could realize that they suck at it also.
Two days ago, an acquaintance somehow managed to capture me in between my just parked vehicle and the fifteen foot dash to my front door. The ensuing story made me want to cut open my stomach and hang myself with my own intestines. It went something like this;
Him-Hey. I need to ask you something.
Me- Okay
Him- Do you know that barn on 42?
Me- Maybe. Which one?
Him- The one near Paul Thurbengurben’s brother’s place.
Me- I don’t know who that is.
Him- Sure you do! He’s the guy whose niece who won the pig foot eating contest in Yokelville 27 years ago!
Me- I’m drawing a blank. I’m sure I don’t know any of those people or even where Yokelville is.
Him- Come on! It’s near Makanudo Heights. On the east side of NeverWannaGoThere River
Me- Positive I don’t know where that is. Are we done? I’m hungry and I have to pee.
Him- You know where it is. I remember I was loaded with used condoms, lots of drag due to wind resistance, twenty six thousands up front and forty thousand rears pulling fifteen speeds through a modified Fuller with double down ace over jacks split when I first met Eunice.
Me- Who the fuck is Eunice?
Him- You know Eunice! From north of Makanudo stupid. Her brother Charlie, you know Charlie- he perfected the ground hog no hands breeding technique for the cross breeding of ground hogs. She works at the diner!
Me- In Makanudo?
Him- You don’t listen. North of Makanudo!
Me- what happened to the load of used condoms?
Him- Well, that c17 Cat broke a post free and the pre cups lost purchase so I had to kick her in the bum and load up the pyrometer.
Me- So, you put the condoms in your bum or you burned them?
Him- What are you, stupid.
Me- I’m coming to that conclusion, yes.
Him- I dropped them off in Utica, at the Wonderball plant near Kirby’s
Me-Who’s Kirby? Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Stupid Brooks!
Him- Kirby. George’s boy the dentist who juggles cats!
Me- Who juggles cats? Kirby or his dad George? Dammit!
Him- George is a dentist. Kirby juggles cats.
Me- Ahhh! Now we’re getting somewhere.
NOTE- by this point I have travelled to places unknown and met people I know but don’t really know and learned more about trucks than I ever wanted to know. I’m hungry and my eyeballs are now sight glasses for the urine building up in my system.
Him- So you know the place I’m talking about?
Me- No! I don’t any Thurgensons. I don’t know Paul, Eunice, Kirby, Charlie or George. I don’t know where any of the places you mentioned are except for the slim possibility of Utica- and that’s based on the wild guess that we are still in North America. I don’t know how you kick a truck in the bum either. I don’t care either. I don’t care. What do you want?
Him- You’re a dick! Never mind. I’ll borrow a 2x4 from someone else. Ass.
Son of a bitch! Why can’t you just ask for the damn 2x4? Why do you feel the need to drag my mind through a story that would require a team of code breakers years to decipher. You look at me like I’m mid lick on a dirty window when I don’t know who or what you are talking about when you’re the person who can’t tell a story without having some validation that you aren’t as stupid as people think. You are! Focus. What are you trying to say? Get to the point. The longer you drone on the lower I know your IQ is and that is coming from a guy who thinks the Three Stooges should be in Parliament-even though they’re dead.
Simply because you know someone does not automatically guarantee that I know that person. Please believe me when I tell you I do not know the person you mentioned when I say I don’t know. I’m not lying-maybe I should so your asinine, pointless story will end more quickly.
Dammit! Now I’ve forgotten what the hell I was blathering on about and what the point of this story is. Oh yeah! Don’t do drugs.
Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-34300728235030440642013-07-10T07:48:00.002-07:002013-07-10T07:50:50.594-07:00Oh the Humanity-Again
It’s been a long while since I tried to fabricate a coherent thought and vomit it out in written form for the small amount of people who read my blather.
Writing while fired up or angry has suited me in the past but I have been told that I am sometimes too simple, too aggressive and not grounded in political correctness. Ahem. Fuck you!
Starting with the first thing that I can remember that pisses me off;
1) Our Beliefs – Whether it is our political affiliations, our stance on Gay marriage or basically anything involving society as an actual group with opinions and feelings- Don’t tell me I have to agree with anything. My opinion is my opinion for my own reasons. I don’t have to agree or approve of anything if I don’t truly support it. I was never for or against Gay Marriage for the simple reason – I Don’t Care! I don’t have a dog in this fight and if two same sex persons want to go out and lose half of their belongings if the marriage ends that is their decision-not mine. Join the party pal. But nooooo! If you don’t support Gay Marriage you’re a homophobe, cretin or dinosaur. Maybe you’re all three of those things in no particular order. So you can be an overbearing banner waving causist but I can’t be neutral in my opinion? That sounds fair.
“Exaggerated sensitiveness is an expression of the feeling of inferiority. “
Alfred Adler
2) Following up on the last smattering of insults – Gun Control. This is a tough one. If all the guns on the planet were melted down into structural steel we would still, in the name of religion, mental instability or need for over compensation revert to flinging rocks and poop at each other. Maybe if we got rid of religion we wouldn’t have so many guns?
3) Banner Waving Causists- Before you speak I suggest you actually write down what your message is and if you tell me that by doing what you want will save just one life, or that I need to think of the children I will punch you in the throat. Your cause is not necessarily my cause. So don’t call me wrong or misguided for not supporting you.
4) Loud Talkers. Talking loudly does not make you right or even remotely interesting. If you were interesting people would listen to you but as it sits right now you’re not interesting, you’re just loud…and annoying. I’d move across the room but I’d still hear you clearly over there so I will just leave because you are such a needy annoying turd that you have become a fun vacuum that you have sucked any possible enjoyment out of the night, unless of course there was a bet to see if anyone could actually toss a pool ball into your mouth while you’re being loud with a side bet of whether or not you would notice. Takers?
5) Turning signals. Don’t be an ass. Use your turning signals properly while driving. As much as I enjoy testing my mental telepathy as often as possible myself and all the other drivers with a clue would really appreciate your courtesy and common sense by the simple effective usage of your turning signals.
6) Ask the question. We all ask questions. Some of us even ask intelligent necessary questions when faced with a situation we are unfamiliar with. There’s a trick to asking a question- it’s called actually asking the damn question. Don’t dance around the root of your inquiry with supposition. Just ask the question you need or want answered. Translating your ten minute babble session into the real question is pissing me off and making me think you are trying to slide something by me. Just ask the damn question. I also need to add that I really despise being cornered with an onslaught of questions of what I am doing on a certain day at this certain time, with whom, etc, ad nausea. You need help with something? Just ask. Don’t try to coral or guilt me into it.
7) English and Math. Learn it. Live it. Love it. Our society has become so bad at speaking let alone writing our chosen language that we are turning into piss poor communicators. Sure we can all speak but a lot of us don’t speak well enough to convey a point. If there is no point, no moral or no direction to what you are saying then you are just making noise and sucking up oxygen. Using big words where a small word will do makes you look like an ass to the rest of us mouth breathers. Quit being an ass.
All through high school I sucked at math. X is a letter, as is Y and has no place in math. I finally figured out why I was so bad at math. There was no application I could find for wanting to know if something was greater than or less than at that time in my life. I now use math almost every minute of every day on things that interest me. Hydraulic pressure, air pressure, volumes, rpm’s, gear reductions, cyclical rates, conversions. These are things I need to know and in my business close enough works for most of what we do. It’s math that can be utilized for an actual use and I enjoy applying it. It disturbs me to see people who do not know how to calculate simple volumes. The type of math the people in construction use everyday for ordering concrete, fuel, materials. If you can’t do the math or won’t even try I hate to say it but enjoy your career in the fast food industry.
8) Move. I don’t care where you move to just get out of the way. You know who you are. You are the people who drive down the middle of the aisles in parking lot looking for that magical parking place that will make all your dreams come true. Oblivious to anyone or anything around you hoard the center of the road waiting for your moment to pounce on the perfect parking place even though a 20 step walk from the near empty part of the lot is right there-20 steps away. No signal. No plan and No clue. You exist solely for your selfish existence and pay no heed to the chaos YOU have created. Move! I’m postulating that these are the same people who block the store aisles with their carts or body’s as if annoying and inconveniencing every person in the store is your right or mission. Hike up your MooMoo, shove another cupcake in your screaming child’s fat face and MOVE! I don’t know whether to pity you because you are stupid or despise you because you are ignorant-and likely stupid.
9) Put down the cell phone! I see you trying to hide the fact that you’re talking on your cell phone while driving. Everyone sees it. We also see how that while doing this you can’t keep your vehicle in its lane. You’re a horrible driver. You would have trouble driving without the cell phone distraction but there you are doing two things you likely suck at. Driving and talking. Put it down and focus what little mental ability you have on arriving home safely so you can ignore your children and place Farmville all night. Another thing- we go out for dinner and you can’t stop looking at your phone. Sorry for boring you jackass. Try a wrist watch if you want to be subtle about checking the time or don’t go out for dinner with us. You know what would be entertaining and lessen your boredom? Me-having a heart attack from chasing you around the restaurant while trying shove your cell phone up your butt. I’ve had a few drinks and I’m willing to give it the old college try. You’re going to look silly pushing on your gut to check or send incoming texts but I’ll be chuckling from my ambulance gurney. Shit head!
10) Please and Thank you. Try it. It is so simple to say thank you when someone holds a door open for you or lets you go in front of them at the grocery store because you only have a few items. Just say, ‘thanks’. Life is easier when we don’t allow the Douchebags and entitlement whores win by being stupid.
I feel better, slightly.
Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-67793715357914473082012-12-13T06:45:00.000-08:002012-12-13T06:45:04.776-08:00And So it Has Begun,<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And so it has begun. Christmas Season, 2012.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The first gunshots could be heard in the US on Black Friday
as people swarmed into WalMart and other stores with elbows flying, guns a
blazin’ and knives a stabbin’!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For what? The next great gadget or toy? Black Friday is a
good name but , “Look at the Morons Lined Up in the Cold to buy Crap they Don’t
Need”, although not as catchy as Black Friday, better describes the scene.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“It’s a tradition!” interviewees of local broadcasters
proclaimed. Tradition? What the Hell is wrong with you? “Well last year I only
got stabbed once and merely grazed by a .45 caliber slug. This year I’m going
all in and hoping for a full exit 9mm hole on my leg or shoulder!” IF this your
tradition, to slug it out in armed combat for a Penelope Pees A Lot Doll,
you’re an asshole. Thanks for helping to flush the toilet of humanity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Let me get this straight. You wait in line for days, to buy
crap you don’t need at a price you think is great, with a credit card that is
set to explode. I don’t get it. These are things. Gadgets. They are time
wasters. Distracters. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I am the last person on the planet who would ask you to hug,
hold hands and sing folk songs around a fire in the belief that World Peace
could be achieved by doing so. Unity is great thing but individuality is
better. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Observing others has become a bit of a past time for me
lately. Over the last few weeks when I venture into the grocery store or drug
store or wherever, I have clearly noticed what the Christmas Season does to us.
Refraining from tossing shopping carts out of the way from people who block the
aisles, I wait. I watch. Like clockwork there is always someone who will be so
put out by this older woman who is looking for baking supplies that their arms
go up in disgust, their head whips back and the “Tccchhhh!” sound comes
screaming out of their noise holes. Ass! She’s 80 years old! Help her put the
flour in her cart and shut up. Waiting in line at the video store there is
inevitably a person who needs to ask a question that never seems to end. Let it
go. If only for the Christmas Season, let it go. So you get home sixty seconds
later. Let it go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This Christmas, take a few minutes to remember what
Christmas is about. The spirit of the Season lies in giving and not receiving.
Simple acts of kindness are great gifts. Help someone put their groceries in
their car. Go visit the older couple whose kids aren’t coming to visit them for
Christmas with a bottle of wine. Take the kids and donate even five dollars to
the Pediatrics Ward of your local hospital or the Humane Society or whatever
Charity you believe in. People will remember these gifts long after the tree is
taken down and toys are broken. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Simply being nice to one another, helping where you can, is
how we achieve peace. What better time to start than now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For those of you scratching your heads and wondering what
the hell is wrong with me I can say these things;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>I
am not suffering from trauma to my brain or body</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>I
have every intention of continuing to be a Jack Ass. I am going to be a helpful
Jack Ass achieving it by sarcasm, humiliation or other diabolical means.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But I heard him exclaim ... as he rode out of sight,<br />
" Merry Christmas to All ,<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be nice to each other or I’m coming
back to see you with a baseball bat " Or something<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Merry Christmas to All, and to all, a good night.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span> </span></div>
Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-89619816458191930962012-12-08T19:47:00.002-08:002012-12-08T19:48:22.979-08:00Here We Are<a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/imperfection.html#sLCSsh1qpjxIVCQ7.99" style="color: #003399;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Here We Are.</div>
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Tis’ the season, to tolerate crying kids, pissed off adults
and horrible parking lot traffic. </div>
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I don’t ‘shop’. I don’t like crowds. If I am buying
something I like to haggle. These qualities (or deficiencies) in me basically
mean that if step foot in a mall, I will spontaneously combust- is it
spontaneous if you know it will happen?</div>
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My brother has two kids. One boy –whom I call ‘the Boy’, and
one niece, whom everyone calls ‘Bob’ for some reason. When they were little kids Lori and I would split Christmas
shopping for them. The “Boy” got Legos, or remote control cars from me. Bob got
frilly fru fru dresses from Aunt Lori. It was a great system. It was fun
watching the niece and nephew spaz out when they opened all of their gifts. It
made Christmas fun. That and the abundance of alcohol my brother and sister in
law provided freely.</div>
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Now they are hitting their teen years and they both have
much more advanced vocabularies than I do. I’m now known as Uncle Caveman. Good
old Uncle Caveman. </div>
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It’s not as much fun at Christmas now. I can’t buy the boy a
pellet gun. The boy wants Airsoft or Paintball gear. That stuff is more
expensive and causes less permanent damage than a pellet gun. Remember the neighbourhood kid with the
stutter? He didn’t used to stutter until I got my first pellet gun. When it comes to Niece Bob I am at a
complete loss. I don’t have kids and if I did have kids I am not the type of
guy who should raise a daughter. I’m a
little rough around the edges for that adventure. God give her a good sense of
humour if she looked like me too, and a lot if razors.</div>
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Now the kids want Gift Cards for iTunes, or simple bank
transfers to their accounts. I have never transferred funds ‘electronically’
and I am hopeful that I never do. Smug little pishers!</div>
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Funny how time changes us. I’m pretty sure we all ‘see’ the
same things. We all react differently – or don’t react at all to Christmas
circumstances. I see men in varying states of pain during the season to be
festive. I see women getting obsessive
about having the perfect Christmas party- I haven’t been invited to any of
these parties but I see it through
their windows. Relax. Nothing on this planet is ever perfect.
Imperfection is the sauce of life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="hugebqquotelink"><span style="color: #99cc00;">As
machines become more and more efficient and perfect, so it will become clear
that imperfection is the greatness of man.</span></span><br />
<span class="bodybold">Ernst Fischer</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="bodybold">Put the turkey in the oven late-more
time to drink and talk. Let the kids peel off their ridiculous sweaters and run
rampant. It’s one day. Only one day. So what if all your wine glasses don’t
match. I’d drink wine from a dog’s bowl
if I were having fun with friends and family. Triviality. We focus too much on
things that are ‘fluff’, They look good. They taste good. There’s uneasiness
about the situation though. I better use the right fork and gods forbid I break
wind or I will destroy the effort she put into this day. Women! Relax. Have
fun. Let all of the foibles of the day guide us. Imperfection is perfection.
Glasses will break. Tablecloths will be ruined. Grandma will spill the beans on
Mary Sue’s 5-month pregnancy and chaos may occur. Breathe it in. These are the
best of times.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="bodybold">We are who we are. We don’t have to
know each other. We don’t need to like each other for whatever misconceived
notion we hold. One day. One day is all we need. Drink. Laugh. Eat. Joke. Tell
Stories. Sit back and think. Watch the
kids run pandemonium gauntlets. Watch cousin Ray’s elbow slide of the mantle
midway through his drunken epistle. Smell the burnt whatever erupting from the kitchen.
Is it perfect? No. Would you change it for the world? I hope not. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="bodybold">This Christmas I ask that you realize-
Christmas will never be perfect. It can’t be. There is no fun if it is. Let it
go. Ride the whirlwind. Take it all in and enjoy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="bodybold">Had not been for the sweetest woman I
have ever known I would not know these things to be true. Merry Christmas to
all and thank you, Mrs. Anderson for
being and showing me the true meaning.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span class="bodybold"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">God Bless.</span></span><br />
<div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
</div>
Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-19229705739313485752012-10-03T07:16:00.000-07:002012-10-04T04:23:55.404-07:00Tool Chest<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I understand mechanical things-to a degree. I understand
hydraulics, line speed and pull and how to utilize mechanical forces. I
understand foot-pounds and torque- real foot-pounds and torque-not the pissy
little stuff motor heads dream about. Applying theoretical outcomes to
situations involving smacking object A with large steel object B and timing the
moment of panic and running away are part of my repertoire. These are the tools
in my tool chest. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I was a period in time I would have to place myself
between the first air breathing slug and the last dinosaur to say, “Ooh! Look
at the pretty meteorite!” Extinction for people like me is imminent but we’re a
stupid type of person and we will continue our hunch backed, club dragging
march to the top of the active volcano.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Understanding technology is not easy for me. I can use a
computer and I am thankful for Excel and online porn and all but other than
just making the computer make whirring sounds and typing I am at a loss. I
don’t ‘install’ things and I pee my pants when an error message pops up. IT was
created for people like me. My incompetence with computers supports the
employment of people I used to make fun of.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To assure you of how computer ignorant I am, the other day I
walked into a video store to return a movie that would not work in our Blu-ray
contraption. Video stores are places that rent DVD’s and Blu-ray to people who
don’t ‘stream’, ‘pirate’ or ‘download’. Prior to DVD’s and Blu-ray these
physical location stores used to rent videotapes of movies on VHS tapes and for
a while on Betamax tapes. It was necessary to actually travel to these places
and physically take the movie from the store, return home, start the family VHS
player by lighting a small fire underneath the hamster powered ‘electricity
generator doohickey’, place the tape in the player, hit the play button by
walking up to the machine and physically touching and engaging a ‘Play’ button
that was usually the size of a Winnebago, sitting down and watching the movie. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there I stand mumbling through why I was returning the
disc to a kid not even half my age. He was a very nice guy. He explained to me
that I may need to blah blah blah recognize the device yadda yadda yadda
download and upgrade I like blueberry jam so our BluRay player would perform
properly at the Copacabana and it is very simple. I have not, in a very long
time, wanted to smash a guy’s face in. I really did want to at that moment.
“Can I trade the BluRay for a DVD?” I mumbled. ‘Sure but the quality of the DVD
compared to I’m a little teapot short and I know you will enjoy this much more
on BluRay!’ Remember the scene from Fight Club where Edward Norton pummels the
handsome blond dude’s face to the point where he looked like Sloth from
Goonies? That was what I wanted to happen to this poor, nice, helpful soul. The
look of desperation in my eyes must have finally caught the kid’s attention. He
apologized profusely as he handed me the DVD version of the movie and offered
me a lollipop and a hug.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few weeks earlier my nine year old nephew was over and
wanted to play PS3. I had trouble switching the thing that makes the PS3 work
thru the DVD player. Noticeably frustrated by my lack of knowledge he asked me,
“Are you routing an HDMI input from the PS3 to the receiver?” You’re NINE! A)
How do you know this? B) I think I’m glad that you are a smart kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>C) Shut up!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Roughly five seconds after my fifteen minute attempt to get the thing
running he got it to work and started a conversation about pixels and picture
quality. I ate my breakfast in the garage surrounded by wrenches and power
tools. My happy place just wasn’t cutting it that morning so I started a list
in my head – Them vs. Me. The results to date although not surprising- have not
made me feel very good.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>THEM</u><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 6;"> </span><u>ME</u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Young<span style="mso-tab-count: 7;"> </span>Not</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clean Cut<span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Haggard
and frightening to small children</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good Hand-Eye
Coordination<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Thankful
my hands and eyes still function</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like School and
Learning<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Made teachers
very happy when I finally graduated</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Social and friendly<span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alcohol required</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Computer literate<span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>I can
make little rocks out of big rocks</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You’d be correct in assuming that list is longer and not in
my favour. As I sat in my cave rhythmically tapping to two stones together and
scratching myself at undisclosed locations due to bearskin chafing my bare skin,
I pondered the future for myself and the kids. Then I had a sandwich.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One major thing divides my generation from the up and
comers, patience. I had patience, the lesson of learning and being patient,
rammed into my skull as a kid. I am impatient about a lot of things but I know
under the right circumstances, patience will pay off most of the time.
Especially when the worm turns and you can cram a valuable lesson and invoice
up someone or some company’s keester.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my business you used to start in the trenches making
crappy pay, acquire skills and work your way up to less crappy pay and some job
security. It was common knowledge that until you had skills and moved up the
company ladder you were a cost to the company. The company took you on to train
you-at the company’s cost- with the hope that you MIGHT be a productive
profitable asset in the future. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now I get kids who went to Training School to operate heavy
equipment who think they just hit the lottery and now just have to sit in the
shovel for the rest of their lives. They aren’t taught maintenance, most of
them don’t know what a grease gun looks like and some of them get down right
indignant when you ask them to clean the tracks of a machine they just buried
in the mud. Add to this the fact that most of them do not have field
experience. My industry has decided that if I accept a person like this, just
out of school, he or she is worth full union rate for that position even though
he or she is going to destroy my equipment and not be productive enough. It
isn’t right, or maybe I’m just mad that I didn’t grow up at this time. I spent
years with a hand shovel throwing gravel fill in behind sheet pile walls. I had
thick callouses on my hands to the point that I never wore gloves when I was
cutting steel with a torch. It wasn’t about being ‘tough’ it was just the way
it was. The only callouses I see now on the next generation is on their
disjointed thumbs. Off in their dream world playing video games. They seem to
want it all-now-without earning it by learning it. Simple truth- a company will
invest time and money into inexperienced person IF that person does not cost
the same as an experienced person. They need to apprentice at a lower rate.
Companies don’t want to and won’t hire people who can’t produce if they can
hire an experienced person who will produce.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘It’s much more difficult for young people nowadays!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bullshit. Trying to pay rent for a piece of
crap house, buy groceries and have enough money to take your girlfriend to a
movie working for $12.00 an hour was what most of us went through in the late
eighties and early nineties. We didn’t have cable or satellite television and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘stream’ involved water, fishing, swimming or
hiding evidence and ‘download’ was a bad bathroom joke. We got yelled at during
work and some of us got a swipe in the back of the head once in a while when we
weren’t doing our job or we were being stupid and unsafe. Guys who worked on
cars did the work themselves. They didn’t put disco lights, tv monitors and
stainless steel exhaust systems worth thousands and thousands of dollars on
cars worth five hundred bucks. We had one tv in the house. Two maybe three
phones in the house and cell phones, you know the old bag phones that resembled
and weighed as much as a cinder block were ‘high fallootin’ gadgets. We sat and
had dinner as a family- every night. I believe this was done simply so we were
within arms reach of dad while mom, with disgust in her eyes, told everyone
that one, (possibly three) of our teachers had called her that night and told
her what chaos we had caused in the classroom that day and how unacceptable our
behaviour was and how it looked bad to the rest of society. Also note that this
was a period in time that teachers would drag- not metaphorically- actually
drag you out into the hall and knock you around if you were being a shit. I
remember pleading with a few teachers not to call my dad. Anything the teacher
could do to me was better than dad and the growly voice of justice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is no glass tower for me. I’m too busy to put myself
in that position and I don’t do windows. I see and hear about kids not finding
work out of university, low pay and horrible hours. Get over it. We did it. They’ll
live. Cut the cord.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kids today know about electronics and gigs and megs and how
flush toilets operate. I hope that this continues and there is a market for
these skills. It bothers me that advancement through academic learning seems to
be the only thing we want from kids now. Some of you may have but not want to
admit that your child, well, isn’t very good in school. This shouldn’t bother
you. It should motivate you. Find out what your child would be good at. Maybe
he or she would be a good crane operator, dozer operator or directional drill
operator. These are skills that are needed in Canada. The pay is good and they
will get to meet and work with some of the most interesting lunatics in the
country. University isn’t for everyone and going to university doesn’t
guarantee you a good job. I find it funny that if asked what type of schooling
I have, most people look shocked when I tell them I graduated from Michigan State University.
I’m a bum. I don’t shave everyday, I wear jeans and work boots everywhere-
basically I do summon the vision of a person who was chief window licker on the
very short bus. I get to play with large Tonka toys and every day the scenery
changes. It’s hot in the summer and bone chilling cold in the winter and I
would have it no other way.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Turn off the television! IF you watch the news and believe
everything the media says, I’m sure you know that there is a pedophile, a
serial killer, a meth lab and terrorist cell all within a one-block radius of
your home. It has to be true. They can’t lie or skew facts on the news! Let
your kids outside. Let them fall of their bikes or out of a tree. At the rate
we’re going everyone is going to be Elmer’s Glue pasty white and have to wear
welding goggles outside so their retinas don’t melt if we keep sheltering them
so much. Let them fail. Help them back up when they do. Let teachers discipline
them when it’s appropriate without fear of parents taking their kids’ side
without hearing what happened. Publicly embarrass them when they are rude and pat
them on the back when they are courteous without being told. Don’t do their
homework for them. Teach them that they need to accomplish goals by themselves.
The only good teams are sports teams. Other than that, teams, committees and
panels are the tools of Tools. People who can’t accomplish anything like
“teams” and “committees”. It’s a simple way to confuse an issue and avoid real
work. We have to work together- BUT- we must advance. Kids need to know this.
So far my method of yelling and sarcasm has not paid dividends on teaching our
youth. I am not the right person for this type of job. I am a dinosaur after
all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-30692987684982608272012-03-18T11:40:00.001-07:002012-03-18T11:47:08.159-07:00Is It Even a Word? The Torment of Being ‘Unfriended’<span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">Is It Even a Word? The Torment of Being ‘Unfriended’</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">And so it begins. Again. Is that really a beginning or is that do-over from previous beginnings? Or do we just call it a continuation or a déjà vu of something I have possibly experienced before. Maybe?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">Anywho, it is with deep sadness that I, Brooks Dean, have to announce that I have been unfriended from not one, but three people from Facebook. Let me rephrase that whole ‘sadness’ part, because in reality, I only knew one of those people. The other two were acquaintances of someone who knew me, through contact with someone they knew, who thought they knew me. They thought it would be fun to buy the ticket and take the ride. They were wrong. So very, very wrong. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">Deep down in my bowels I know it is my fault. I have done something to drive a wedge between me and these people. It could be my lack of sensitivity. A lack of Political Correctness on my part perhaps. Possibly I offend with poopy language and the constant use of the word ‘retard’. I don’t know. I just can’t wrap my fucking head around the whole steamy pile of irrelevant monkey shit.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">Somewhere, deep in my soul, I feel bad. Have I scarred these people? Have I ruined the way they will forever view certain situations. Will they forever turn away from Tim Horton’s in the fear that walking in that place may turn them into obese mindless troglodytes? Maybe it’s just horrible gas pains I feel in this deep down place.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">The stinky finger of judgment is pointing at me. Have I crossed over the line of ‘joshing around’ and landed with both feet in the world of grown up things? Is it within the realm of possibility that I was unfriended because I’m simply a dancing monkey on a leash and the organ grinder isn’t playing anymore because he’s either dead or in the whore house down the road playing ‘Does this look normal to you?’ with a Thai shemale who doesn’t speak English? I’m betting that’s what it is. The music stopped. The ride ended. Two of the victims got sick from the ride and the third one is holding their hair while they barf into a garbage can. I am hardly palatable to the mature set of society. Hell, most days I can hardly handle being me. Being awesome is tough work. Awesome is the word that best describes guys like me who still giggle when we hear the word ‘poop’, right?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">I’m fairly certain all of us, whether we want to admit or not, really want to be liked. At the very least, we don’t want to be disliked and being ‘unfriended’ from the largest social media source in the world reeks of not being liked. I, for one, am offended by the swamp gas reek of this whole thing.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">Here’s the kicker! You ‘friended’ me. Would you think that before you go stampeding for the ‘Add Friend’ button you might want to ‘get in the backseat’ with me. See if you like the suspension? Noooo! You just slammed the ‘friends’ thing into drive and headed out on the highway with your foot pinned to the floor boards. I’m the rental car and you drove me like I was stolen. Now, I’m left here with an empty tank, gum stuck to the gear selector (I was unfriended by women, so I assume they don’t know how to drive a stick- I know four women who know how to drive a manual and they are cool in my book!) and crappy club music with too much bass set on every radio preset button.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">You tuned into my rants. You possibly even chuckled or saw some truth in my lack reasoning and patience, and then you got sensitive. Somewhere, while we were all enjoying the open road, you got offended by what I said. So offended that you got out of the car. Of course you did it quietly while we were at the gas station buying more beer and Whip-its. The only reason I noticed you were gone was that it was your turn to pay. You ride for free and when it’s your turn to pay you get offended or hide in the bathroom complaining of cramps. I see how it’s going to be. I get it. Non-contributor!</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">It’s time for another purging. IF I haven’t spoken with you for 6 months or I never read your Facebook updates, it’s time for you to go. Or for me to go.<span> </span>Or for both of us to go. Somebody’s going and it may as well be me.<span> </span>You’re probably busy washing your hair, being self- important and joining every Cause you will never get involved in. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">Truthfully, I don’t have 196 friends. I likely know 196 people and I can remember things about them, but to me a friend is someone who can make me look back in time and have a definite memory of them. Someone who made me laugh, helped me out or who is just there at the right time to say the right thing or a memorable thing. Some of the people I consider friends I haven’t seen in 20 years. We’ve spoken on the phone or emailed but I remember these people for something they have done or imparted to me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">Maybe this is paralysis by analysis, but most of the people on my Friends list are friendly ‘acquaintances’. I’ve made you laugh and you have done the same for me. If we met at a party, I’m positive we would become friends-except for those uppity types and the ones I owe money too, of course. We are in the ‘dating’ stages of friendship. We’re friendly and enjoy each others company, but we aren’t going to start passing gas in front of each other just yet. I look forward to the day when we are that close.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">So I’ve been ‘unfriended.’ I’ve used Facebook since 2008, I have owned and worn the same underwear longer than I have known the ‘unfrienders.’ And underwear actually serves a purpose. It supports me and keeps me from getting chafed. That’s what friends are for!</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">So long, riders of my coat tails! You have been reduced to a less useful thing than underwear. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0pt">We’re fueled up, we have beer and a dozen cans of Whip-Its and the top is down. It looks like rain ahead so we’ll have to drive really fast! It’s been a hell of a ride so far. Time to go for broke.</p></span>Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-5364766355947058152011-12-06T14:39:00.000-08:002011-12-06T14:50:37.865-08:00A Merry Shopping Trip<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s been a year since my last shopping expedition to the United States. I didn’t miss it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">For those of you who don’t enjoy my upbeat, ‘everyone wins’ style of storytelling, I will summarize as thus:</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:36.0pt;text-indent:-18.0pt;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="font-family:Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family:Wingdings;" ><span style="mso-list:Ignore">ü<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>Woke up, got out of bed in a good mood.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:36.0pt;text-indent:-18.0pt;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="font-family:Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family:Wingdings;" ><span style="mso-list:Ignore">ü<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>Had coffee and breakfast – better mood.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:36.0pt;text-indent:-18.0pt;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="font-family:Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family:Wingdings;" ><span style="mso-list:Ignore">ü<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>Was informed I was going shopping over in Michigan – pouting and whining ensued.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:36.0pt;text-indent:-18.0pt;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="font-family:Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family:Wingdings;" ><span style="mso-list:Ignore">ü<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>Went to Michigan.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:36.0pt;text-indent:-18.0pt;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="font-family:Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family:Wingdings;" ><span style="mso-list:Ignore">ü<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>Shopped.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:36.0pt;text-indent:-18.0pt;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops:list 36.0pt"><span style="font-family:Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family:Wingdings;mso-bidi-font-family:Wingdings;" ><span style="mso-list:Ignore">ü<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>Returned home angry and disillusioned.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Morons! Dolts! Imbeciles! Morons!</b> What better way to spend your day than fighting traffic in parking lots, fighting to get around people in Lil Rascal powered chairs, teenagers who can’t or won’t take their eyes off of their damn cell phones, and husbands dragging their feet like they are reenacting the Bataan Death March. Don’t forget the lame-o’s who just stop dead in their tracks like they just figured out the cure for cancer or really have to readjust their underwear after dropping a stink bomb in the hallway. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Why? Why do people ‘go to’ the mall? Most of them don’t appear to be shopping. They just move slowly and then congregate en masse at the most inconvenient possible time and location. It’s a mall. It’s a place where people who don’t like themselves or have no hobbies or jobs go to feel better about themselves. Buy something nice just for me! That will make me feel much better about being a socially inept outcast! Instead of taking up space in the mall why don’t you take a class or something on Sunday, Dolt!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">You’re going Christmas shopping. Here’s a hint: Don’t bring your whiney little snot monster with you. Leave it out in the car or with a stranger. Make the little bastard thankful for something, mainly his life. If I understand this correctly – you are Christmas shopping and you bring your kids. Why? So they can tell you if what you bought them for Christmas was the right colour? At least three times I saw little kids griping and begging for their moms to buy them something right there, right now. One of the little angels had picked up a ‘massager’ at Brookstone and man did he want it. I am pretty sure his mother wanted it too, but this is a Christmas blog so keep your mind out of the gutter. Thinking back on it, she likely did buy the ‘massager’ for little Tommy (wink wink, nudge nudge).</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Human Carnage.</b> That’s what I see when I go to a mall. People wanting things they don’t need and things they can’t afford (this is an assumption based on the latest reliable news source around: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">The Onion</i>). Most kids don’t need more toys. They need a swift kick in the ass. That’s what Santa should give out this year. Swift kicks in the ass. Do you know how many people would line up to play Santa? For free? Jewish people and Muslims would even line up for that. I feel bad for all the winos who would lose gainful employment, but we are talking about Santa freely giving away kicks in the ass here. Of course, some jerk would ruin it by kicking the kids too hard, in the face, maybe. But I’m a pretty quick learner, and would do my best to not kick the kiddies in the face, often… </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Luckily Lori is a good shopping partner. She doesn’t allow me to do any shopping, but she also doesn’t make me hold her purse, either. Standing outside of JJill waiting for her and not holding her purse while all the other forlorn husbands turned their heads in shame whilst holding onto their wife’s purses elevated my social standing from zombie hall stander to rock star hall stander.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Outta My Way, Suckholes!</b> We’re done at the mall! We’re leaving! I jubilantly strut down the aisles in glee, pushing Lil Rascals out of my way as I go! So long, Douchers! I’m free!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jubilation turns to panic as Lori locks the car doors and informs me we are going ‘shoe shopping’. Her evil “moohahaha” laugh tears strips of flesh from my body as she wheels her car in and out of oncoming traffic for dramatic effect.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Can I wait in the car? Take a nap?” ‘You get out of that car now, or I will make you hold my purse!’ The word ‘purse’ isn’t even finished and I am out of the car and the car door is shut. Surprisingly, Lori doesn’t take very long and the imaginary bamboo slivers under my finger nails recede as quickly as my hairline did. Ahhh! The car doors lock and I am informed we are now going to Target. I can live with that. They sell beer at Target, right?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">If you have ever been in a Target store you will notice that some devious bastard has placed the women’s unmentionables in the first section of the store. In that section they always leave the brassieres facing the aisle. Of course, this is not a big deal for a mature person, but it poses a problem for me. To top it off, some sick bastard always leaves the bras that are, well, friggin’ huge exposed for all to see. I try to walk by and think about baseball, but some unearthly force slowly and painfully turns my head towards the largest cupped bra of all of them. With my teeth clenched and silently chanting my mantra, “Shut your mouth, Brooks”. “Shut your mouth, Brooks!” “For the love of God, please don’t say anything, Brooks!” the inevitable verbal poopoo comes flying out of my mouth, “Holy crap! Look at the size of that bra! A person could use that to store basketballs!” Crap, crap, crap! Lori doesn’t hit me while I’m awake. I get *the look* and quickly look down to see what my shoes are doing at that precise moment. I don’t remember much after that, but I must say Target really keeps their floors clean. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">One More Stop: Meijer. </b>For those of you unfamiliar with Meijer, allow me to enlighten you. Meijer is like Wal-Mart. Meijer would have its own website dedicated to the people who shop there if Meijer was a nation-wide chain. Meijer is the place you go when you need beer, condoms, shrimp and firearms at three in the morning. Meijer also has a wide array of people wearing sweat pants, pajamas, wife beaters and interesting tattoos. English is not spoken a lot at Meijer. Holding up check-out lines because some person who doesn’t speak English is insisting that their 3-year-old coupon for canned salmon is still valid is commonplace at Meijer. I have only ever seen one Asian person in Meijer. Meijer has Ben and Jerry’s “Pistachio Pistachio” ice cream. I like Meijer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am not sure what we bought at Meijer, but getting to see Gummy and Coughy Alice again were definitely the highlight of my day.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">The Return Trip. </b>The real excruciating part of shopping in Michigan is returning home. Not because I want to stay in Michigan, but due to the pain of declaring things to the Canada Border Services Agency. The officers are generally nice people, considering they have deal with idiots all day. I just find it annoying that a simple task of paying blood money to our government can become such an agonizing experience because some slack-jawed diddlyboob, who has somehow made it to the cashier, wants to argue about what is charged duty and what isn’t. Urged on by her like minded diddlyboob friend, she digs in her heels and demands again and again why she has to pay duty. When the correct answer is not proof enough, she demands to know why she has to pay duty...again! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">With all the money our government has spent protecting our border, one would think they could afford one spring-loaded clown shoe to be shot out of the ceiling at jackasses like this lady. Get Out! You are dumb! Leave! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Finally, we get our blue or yellow paper and we are allowed to leave. Freedom! </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Next year, Christmas giving is going to be different.</b> Socks for everyone. Not new socks, just random socks I find in the dryer, at the laundromat, at the beach, etc. I aspire to be *that* person: the person who gives socks. Almost as hated as the idiot who gives advice – about everything. “Merry Christmas, Timmy! Here’s your holey plaid sock!” “But I wanted a puppy!”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“My, my, Timmy! Santa would never give you a puppy! You’re eight and you don’t even know how to brush your teeth! No, little Timmy, you’re too stupid to take care of a puppy! In fact, I don’t think you’re smart enough to own a sock!” Yoink! “I almost forgot! Here’s your kick in the ass for being such a smug little bastard!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dare to Dream of my Perfect Christmas. Wishing everyone the Best of the Season!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-6665247424099897272011-06-08T23:26:00.000-07:002011-06-08T23:29:40.471-07:00COURAGE<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 16pt;" lang="EN-CA">COURAGE</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">This has been a week that I will never forget. Even if I wanted to I will never let myself forget the strength and courage I saw over a two day period and the weeks that preceded it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">There is no real beginning or end to this and I can only convey what I saw and heard and how I understood the goings on.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Over the last seven weeks, with quiet honour and indomitable spirit, one of <span style=""> </span>my best friends stood vigilant and strong while his beautiful wife succumbed to cancer and was summoned across the river to the Great Ever After.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">It wasn’t until last Saturday that I understood how bad things were. I got a phone call from Shawn’s closest friend telling me what was going on. Until that phone call I had stayed away and just kept checking in to see if my friend was doing okay or if he needed any help. I had not gone to visit his wife for fear of being in the way. Sunday passed and I did not know what to do. On Monday I found out things had gotten really bad and Randy and I went to the hospital to be there for our friend. He was tired. He would not sit down. His eyes were controlled but had worry in them. He spoke with clarity and Randy and I knew his concern was for his children. Randy and I visited with Shelley. I held her hand and tried to smile. She said “hi” and faded back into sleep. We left the room and stood by our friend in the hallway.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">As the kids approached he never flinched, never wavered. They all went in to say what were likely their last good byes. Randy and I sat in the lounge and waited. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to fix everything but couldn’t do anything. I wanted to drag Shawn away, even for 15 minutes to just get him away and let his guard down. He wouldn’t have gone anyway.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">On Tuesday I got a text telling me Shelley had passed away. Shawn was by her side.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">I want anyone who reads this to know that I am proud of my friend. He displayed courage, caring and strength in what became an unwinnable circumstance. Not once did I hear him bemoan the situation or give up hope. I cannot describe the strength I saw in Shawn. As usual, he took care of everyone else and held everything together the way he always does.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">The black veil of sadness is hitting me. I am sad for my friend. I am sad that this has happened to him, but I know I will never have to worry about him after witnessing the strength he possesses. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">There is no doubt in my mind that all of Shawn and Shelley’s friends and family will form the village of support our friend may need moving forward. He may not want it or need it but it will be there if he does.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style=""> </span></span></p>Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-68055902628967607582010-12-21T13:23:00.000-08:002010-12-21T13:40:38.638-08:00Excuse Me While Take a Powder!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Excuse Me While Take a Powder!<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Christmas Time.<span style=""> </span>The time of year when traffic moves slower. People become dumber and children become even whinier. It’s the time of year when I would be willing to smash myself in my man bits with a sledge hammer rather than have to go shopping. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">That being said, some manner of shopping is inevitable. Living on a border town and having the Canadian dollar nipping at the heels of the Greenback opens up an entirely new shopping experience for me. Aside from having to cross the border, shopping in the States is a pleasure. The people are just as dumb and slow as they are in Canada but the Americans do this crazy thing I have rarely experienced in Canada.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">You know when you walk into a store, there are people that are supposed to help you. These are referred to as Sales Associates. While I was in the states I was approached by one of these ‘sales associates’ and asked if I needed help with anything. I quickly raised my hands in the air and yelled, “ I didn’t steal anything!” After a very uneasy chuckle the sales associate asked me if I wanted to try on the pants I was looking at. She directed me to a change room and instructed me to call her name if I needed and further ‘assistance’. Nervous and confused I hid my wallet in my underwear and tried on the pants. I knew something bad was about to happen. The pants were a little bit snug around my waist, which is a conspiracy against me and all size 35 waist pants I try on. I called the sales associate over and told her that I must have grabbed the wrong size. As I hid behind the door of the changing room she told me she would go get me the next size up. I knew she was lying and the hidden camera in the change room would be taping me standing in the change room nervously scratching my butt and obsessively pulling my socks up. Embarrassment coursed thru my body. Of all the days to wear a thong. About thirty seconds had passed and I was near tears when a soft voice was heard and a pair of pants were lightly placed on top of the change room door. Could it be? Is this really happening? I have heard of this sort of behaviour before. I believe it is called SERVICE! I was so happy that I tried the pants on, liked them, put them back on the hanger and walked out of the change room. I made it about six feet before I realized joy had fogged my brain and the pants I had worn in were on the floor of the change room. I didn’t care. I was feeling something I had never felt before. Satisfaction from shopping.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">I paid for the pants and thanked the lovely lady who had ‘helped’ me and decided I needed more of this ‘Service’ thing. I bought more crap than I could ever use but I didn’t care. I was flying high on this crazy rollercoaster drug called Service.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">When we crossed the border back into Canada I was on edge. I needed a fix-bad. “Pull into Home Depot!” I screamed. Trembling and shaking I walked into the store to buy a Round Tuit. I walked up and down the aisles looking for my little drug called Service. As I asked other shoppers for Service I began to crash. “Maybe they don’t have ‘Service’ in Canada?” I queried to Lori. “ I saw him. I saw Service. He was wearing a little orange apron!” I shouted as I ran to the end of aisle. With the hope of<span style=""> </span>a young child wanting to catch a glimpse of Santa before he climbs up the chimney on Christmas eve, I jumped out of the end of the aisle and screamed “Service!” with my arms wide open. Service had already disappeared.<span style=""> </span>Lori ran up to me and wrapped her arms around me like a protective loving something. “It’s ok Brooks. I’m sorry I have to tell you this, but there is no Service in Canada- now do up your fly!”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">It can’t be. I refuse to believe it is true. I made Lori drive me to Canadian Tire. I walked around aimlessly for an hour. I never found Service there either.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">I’ve grown up and matured a lot since last weekend. A lot of thinking has taken place over that time and some of it was done by me. Do Canadians in the service industry exist? Are they simply Hollograms put in place to help defend against shop-lifting? How can so many people possibly suck so bad at sales and SERVICE, in the same store, at the same time, that I could write this much gibberish about Service? </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">It isn’t just retail stores either. Lumber yards, restaurants and industrial supply houses suck just as bad. If I want to be ignored I will go home and stand naked in front of the television.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Buying anything in Canada is a task. You need one little microscopic screw to finish your masterpiece. You go to the hardware store and you get Igor the Mute janitor or High Pitched Voice Eyes Rolling Girl as your choice for assistance. Neither one knows shit about shit but Igor is somewhat amusing in the adorable way he tries to talk. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">In a previous Rant I mentioned running bare ass naked down the aisles of these stores and tackling the Sales Associates. I now realize that this is not possible. You can’t tackle what is not there. I just want to know how the hell I got tazered and thrown out of the store so quickly when I dropped trow and ran into the Power Tools area. Little Ninja Bastards!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">You’re not happy with your job. You don’t make enough money. Your boss is an idiot. I get it. I understand. You took the job though. Do your goddam job! Your job is to help customers. Customers come to the store to buy things. It’s really hard to buy things when you can’t find those things. Enter- YOU! The sales associate. Full of life and willing to help. I see you! You can’t hide behind that thing you’re hiding behind! Don’t run away you little bastard! C’mere! Here! Good boy! Where are the toilet Plungers? The industrial size plungers? </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">It hurts me to say this but when it comes to sales – Canada sucks. Our service industry bites. The US thrives on being able to sell things. Things we don’t think we need. They sell things that don’t even exist over there and we are damn happy to a premium for them.<span style=""> </span>Sales in Canada on the other hand is akin to torture. “I will make you talk Sales Associate person! When and if I ever find you – you will talk!”<span style=""> </span>You can actually hear the theme from Benny Hill playing as you chase down an employee at any big box store in Canada- unfortunately we never get the Sexy Party or the Sales Associate.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">IF you are in Sales are there are a few things you should know;</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">1)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">I am the customer. I may not be right but I have the money.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">2)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">One sale will lead to other sales. Help me out finding what I need and I will return to your store.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">3)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">Never roll your eyes at a customer. You are there to help the customer- you bitter little fuck!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">4)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">Don’t pretend to be stocking shelves that are full. I know you are trying to hide in full sight but c’mon- you look like a retard pretending to put things on that shelf!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">5)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">I admit I do not know the names of certain hinges or wall anchors. THAT’S YOUR JOB! Don’t look at me like I just fell out of the shortbus. Jerk!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Another service industry Blunder. Life is a negotiation. Get used to it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">When I have to stay out of town in a motel I like to get some value for my dollars. By value, I simply mean the place better be clean, have a shower and no dead bodies under the bed. To me this is worth $50.00 per night. Don’t tell me you are full up and only have the Heart shaped Jacuzzi room full. I can see there are no cars in the parking lot. It is eleven o’clock at night- you aren’t going to get many more people. I want the $50.00 room- not the vibrating $125.00 room. Don’t bullshit me. I know your little crap weasel manager who looks like a ferret with glasses is making you lie to me about rooms being available. Step up-make the sale. Part of something is better than all of nothing sweet cheeks. No? Thanks for your time- go fuck yourself. It’s amazing that when you turn to leave the hotel staff will inform you that a room just opened up and they are dreadfully sorry but there was a problem with the computers. It is usually this point where I keep walking out the door. LIARS! WHORES! I’ll sleep in my truck before I give you lying whores cent one of my money. WHORES! That’ll teach ‘em where the bears shit in the buckwheat! Many a night I have driven back to a construction site and slept in my truck gleeful that I really taught those pricks a lesson!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u><span lang="EN-CA">Brooks’ Tips on Buying a Car</span></u></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">1)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">Never take your wife with you when you go out to buy a car.<span style=""> </span>I am generally easy to get along with, but when it comes to buying cars, equipment or property I am whirling dervish of a heartless bastard. I don’t care who you are- you will think I am a bigger asshole than I actually am once we sit down and start to deal. I negotiate every day and I know how to get what I want – and if I can’t get what I want I know I can always walk away. It’s not personal. It’s a simple – you have something I am willing to pay X amount of dollars for. IF we meet on the price and the scope of what I want, we are good. If we don’t I walk away. Don’t embarrass your wife when you negotiate – leave her at home.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">2)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">Never ask for things you don’t want or need when you negotiate. “I’ll take the car but you have to put Christmas lights on it and 39 snooker balls in the glove compartment!”<span style=""> </span>Stay on point. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">3)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">Do not be friendly with salespeople. Their job is to suck as much money as they can out of you. You don’t have to be a prick to them but I find it helps.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">4)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">Always be ready to walk away. It’s your money and if you aren’t happy with the deal- you never will be. Walk away if you aren’t satisfied with the deal.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">5)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">Two major character flaws will hurt you when you buy a car or anything – Lack of intelligence and lack of patience.<span style=""> </span>I have neither patience or intelligence so I know what I am talking about. Making a rash uninformed decision will cost you money and you will not be happy afterwards.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">6)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">To help speed up price negotiations and a fair deal remember to take your handgun out of your jacket and place it on the table, barrel pointing towards the salesperson and say, “ I hope you don’t mind, I don’t want that puppy going off by accident like it did the last time I bought a car.” You will have a low low price and no haggling very quickly.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u><span lang="EN-CA">Myths and Rumours</span></u></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> </span></span></u></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">1)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">All big box stores have teleportation devices for their employees – FALSE. All big box stores have trap doors and underground passageways to give the appearance that the sales associates have ‘disappeared’ into thin air or ‘teleported’ to somewhere other than the place you are.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">2)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">In the rare case that you actually corner a sales associate caution should be used. TRUE! <span style=""> </span>When cornered or asked to answer a question that requires any thought sales associates typically react in one of two ways.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">a)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">The Old Possum Ploy – feigning a heart attack this sales associate will pretend he is dead – right there in the middle of the aisle. Try as hard as you want but kicking them won’t work. Running over to the automotive department for a battery and some jumper cables will not work even when they are attached to their naughty bits. This is the highest form of disciplined laziness.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA">b) The Old Deaf or Can't speak Trick - just walk away. Peaceful thoughts.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">3)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">Breaking wind after a long night of cheap draft beer and Mexican food, while standing next to freshly captured sales associate is inappropriate. <span style=""> </span>FALSE. Not allowing the sales associate to leave the immediate stinkified area is inappropriate. Funny, but inappropriate.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">4)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">Asking for the store’s manager is a waste of time. TRUE. Do you really think that an effective manager would let his sales associates be so utterly useless? Asking and waiting for the manager to see you is useless. You may as well run around talking to a wheel of cheese for all the benefit of talking to the manager dunderhead will bring.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="">5)<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-CA">Sending a complaint letter to Corporate headquarters should help the company right? FALSE. Emails sent to corporate never reach the right department simply because this email function on the company’s website was never enabled. Grab your wheel of cheese and start running around again.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u><span lang="EN-CA">Simple But Effective Shopping Tips for Men</span></u></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">DON’T! Men aren’t supposed to be in malls. Malls were designed for women. Women are smaller and typically more agile then men so they can dart in and out of crowds easier and do acrobatic stunts over displays to grab, kick or punch their way to the last whatever thing they want and don’t need.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Alcohol, cars, power tools and firearms are the only items men should shop for. Not the lollygagging/browsing/price comparison shopping thing. Men have internal clocks that allow them only so much time in crowded places other than bars and strip joints. It’s like the longest breath we could ever take. After that – we gotta go or we may die. Shopping for these items is smash and grab guerrilla warfare. Run into the store for vodka, an air filter, a mitre saw and a 12 gauge- run out, gasping for air with Schnapps, valve stems, welding rod and Nerf Gun- doesn’t matter- don’t care. I am done Christmas shopping-enjoy your welding rod. No sales associates required.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Do Not fall for the ‘I need to pick up a few things at the mall. Let’s go together and then we can have lunch!’ trick. A ‘few’ things means the things are very large or there is a lot of them. She needs your pick up truck to fit it all in. She won’t be done picking up her ‘few things’ until the mall closes. Enjoy holding her purse, telling her the ninety five pairs of pants she tries on don’t make her ass look big and the 3 Tic Tacs stuck to the bottom of her purse will have to hold you over until you get home or die of boredom.. You Fool! </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Enjoy your Christmas and all the joy it will bring. It will be over soon and returning to work will feel like the best vacation you never had.</span></p>Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-53298685766463656752010-12-13T12:54:00.000-08:002010-12-13T12:55:02.726-08:00Taken to School.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Taken to School.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">I thought I would never forget what a party is and how to do it.<span style=""> </span>On Saturday I was taken to school and made to realize I haven’t really partied since my late twenties.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">I had a sense going into this thing that I would need to be prepared. That little voice in my head that usually tells me to light things on fire, had changed. It was telling me to put some aspirin and Tums in my pockets. Psshaw- I don’t need those things I told myself out loud. The voice in my head eventually won. I am thankful that I listened to it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">We arrived at the party and immediately were offered any type of beverage we could have wanted. I played it cool and decided to damage myself with beer. I wanted to be a friendly drunk and not the ranting lunatic that takes over my mind and body when I drink liquor. Brooks 1 – Raving Lunatic 0.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">There was no small talk at this party. Not once was ‘How about this weather?’ or ‘Did you get all Christmas shopping done?’ uttered. Straight for the jugular, hell bent for leather conversation was the mission. ‘Did your wife let you wear you balls tonite, cause you’re going to need them!?’ <span style=""> </span>was one of the first questions asked of me by our gracious host and Birthday girl. I rifled through my wife’s purse and as usual , came up short. Dammit! No balls- at least not mine, in her purse. I informed the host of my lack of balls. With all the compassion of a rabid wolverine she laughed at me and dragged me to the bar to do a shot. I felt much more relaxed when we finished our shot and the Birthday girl patted me on the shoulder and said, ‘You’ll get better at drinking Princess!’ </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">It was about this time that a busload of<span style=""> </span>people showed up and things started to get really going. Like a tsunami the crowd rushed by and engulfed the bar like locusts. I was impressed. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">It was great to see some familiar faces from long ago. It was nice to see that everyone looked happy and had nice lives.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">To the Bar! Shot after shot was poured. Toasts were made and faces winced as shots were swallowed, slammed and refilled again. My little voice told me to take an aspirin and a Tums. I obliged. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Holy Hell! How can a little woman drink that much? One after the other this little girl kept the drinks a flowin’. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Time to dance- not me but the chickies. I have no idea what the dance was called- possibly the ‘stagger step drink spill’, or the ‘someone’s getting lucky tonite’ shuffle. <span style=""> </span>Likely it’s me and my failing vision but all of these girls looked awesome. I can say unabashedly that if I ever had to make a choice, I would take a good looking 40 something woman with confidence and poise over some self–esteem lacking psycho 20 something any day of the week. These woman were good looking and confident. I was very afraid of each and every one of them.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Shortly after eleventy two beers and 96 shots things got very very strange. A gorilla dressed up like Elvis appeared and serenaded the birthday girl.<span style=""> </span>As far as I could tell the gorilla did a good job staying in tune and not marking his territory by thrashing anyone. He did get distracted by an impromptu Sipandbale dancer thrusting his way across the floor in what can only be described as a black piece of something glued to his nether regions. Much like a train wreck- no-one could look away. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">I never found out what happened to that gorilla and the mysterious thong guy. I hope that they are happy. I hope they are doing what they like to do. Hip thrusting and singing their way to a place where they can be free and happy.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Things started to slow down and for me at least, age and lack of training kicked in. My aspirin and Tums had kept me in the game, well at least on the bench, near the game-but alas – I had been taken to school by a crazy little blonde chick on a mission.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Maybe I would have faired better if I had brought my stunt liver. Maybe I just can’t mix metaphors or alcohol. Maybe I am just getting old. Can’t be, I love alcohol!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">I woke up foggy but not in pain. Thankfully the weather was not cooperating so I gave myself a pass on cutting firewood. Sleep it off or sweat it out. I chose the sleep. Oh sweet sleep.<span style=""> </span>For me, nothing is better than sleep. Or waking up spooning a seventy pound mutt- that’s the best!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">It’s been a long time since I have been to a party with that much, dare I say it?, energy.<span style=""> </span>I don’t think there was one rational conversation in that house the entire evening- and I loved it. People were just being themselves and having a great time. They took Lori and myself in like we were old friends and it was a great feeling. I haven’t laughed that hard since I saw the fat kid a few doors over trip on the stairs and smash his ice cream cone into his face. Fat kids are funny!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">I am torn whether I should get myself ready for my next show down with the little crazy blond chick. She is now 40 so therefore she is officially old. I have to check with Lori first so I unofficially drop the alcoholic glove and issue the challenge to any takers- my turf – your booze – January – woodlot- prepare to freeze and be beaten by the local Zero the Hero. IF you aren’t brave enough for that there is always the Goose in the spring. So long suck-holes!</span></p>Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-45004762735401637062010-11-12T05:02:00.000-08:002010-11-12T05:05:57.357-08:00NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED.NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED.<br />Muslim group burns poppies on Remembrance Day –Toronto Sun<br />Rage fills me right now. Disgust and outright rage. ‘Muslims Against Crusades’ defiled Remembrance Day yesterday by burning poppies, disrespecting our moment of silence and informing us that Muslims go to Paradise and our soldiers go to Hell.<br />“We want the government to pull the troops out from these countries and to stop interfering in our affairs." Stated one of the non caped ‘Crusaders’. I’ve got news for you Skippy – you are in Canada and you better be a Canadian citizen but it likely doesn’t matter to you since you refer to your former home country as “ours”. I am guessing that you are in Canada for a hot meal and free healthcare.<br /><br />Things I’d Like to Point Out.<br /><br />1) I am not against Muslims, Jews, Catholics or any religion.<br />2) The only reason you can be in Canada or the US and have a right to protest is due to the fallen soldiers of Canada and the US fighting and dying in some foreign land to preserve rights you now enjoy.<br />3) Most Canadians are not bleeding hearts and we are getting tired of your bullshit.<br />4) I think you would be hard pressed to find any Coalition Soldier in Afghanistan who would not like to be home and not have to be in your homeland ‘walking the wire’ everyday defending the rights of people who wouldn’t stand up for themselves.<br /><br />‘Crusaders’ – you fled your homeland. You didn’t stand up for yourselves or your beliefs when you had the opportunity. Canadian soldiers came to fight for your freedom and die for your freedom. You ran away. But here you are, safe and taken care of, disrespecting the soldiers who marched into Hell while you fled from it.<br /><br />You are welcome to go back to ‘your’ country. Protest there for what you believe in. You can likely do that now since OUR soldiers have paid the price to give you freedom. You won’t go. You will stay here, in Canada and continue to be a victim of your own circumstance. You will stay in Canada and enjoy your right to protest and piss people off.<br /><br />It is upsetting to me that these people were allowed to protest on Remembrance Day. It disturbs me that this manner of protest is allowed at all. I am embarrassed that any level of Canadian government would allow this slap in the face to our veterans and active soldiers to occur.<br />Perhaps there is lesson to be learned. ‘No good deed goes unpunished’. Possibly the next time our soldiers are called to some foreign shore to deliver freedom and the right of every human to exist with dignity and rights, we as Canadians should just coldly close the door and worry about ourselves. When refugees gather at our gates for protection and freedom we just close the gates and send them on their way.<br /><br />I want to thank all of our Veterans and active soldiers who were and are brave enough to step up and fight for what is right. I can rant and write like to this because of the sacrifices you made.Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-2034523026623402172010-11-05T12:15:00.000-07:002010-11-05T12:19:27.809-07:00Anti-Kid?It has come to my attention that some people think I am, ‘anti-kid’. Nothing could be further from the truth. I believe kids are a valuable resource, like playing cards or firewood.<br /><br />I jabber on about kids and young people much like any old fart who espouses their generational logic to anyone who doesn’t want to listen. I don’t have kids so I think that makes me very objective on certain issues.<br /><br />For Instance;<br />Many of you who have kids make it your mission to tell everyone that, ‘Having children was the greatest thing that ever happened to me!’ Devil’s Advocate – What else can you say besides nothing? You can’t reverse you having kids. Instead of saying nothing though, you feel it’s your duty to urge others to make the same mistake you did. “ You know…having my leg torn off by rabid bunnies was the greatest thing that ever happened to me! I feel so much lighter with just one leg! It’s great! You should try it!” Not gonna happen Stumpy! I confronted a friend of mine once with the same paradox, about having kids, not the rabid bunny thing. When he finally understood what I was really trying to tell him he actually agreed, and then took his foot off of my throat.<br /><br />I have seen the ridiculousness of parenting, and I cringed.<br /><br /> If a child is unable to cut the grass because of allergies, why is ok to give that child money to go golfing? Did I forget to carry the zero? You gotta be shittin’ me?! Stop! Please do not say, ‘Golf is exercise for the kids and is safer than cutting the grass!’ Bullshit! Give the little lump of precociousness an old fashioned reel mower and a half an acre of crabgrass. His or her fifteen year old baby fat will be gone before school starts in the fall, and if they lose a digit or two good for you! It’s hard to hold a golf club with your thumb and pinky. No expensive unused golf clubs taking up space in the garage.<br /><br />A Gold Star for Everyone!<br />Understand this- not everyone is equal. We all have equal rights as citizens. That’s as far as equality should go. Equality is a right but lately it seems to be melded into a catch-all that has to mean everyone is equal. This is a lie and an outright bastardization of the true meaning of equality. <br />Why is it right to reward everyone equally? That’s not a reward- it’s a nail in societies casket. I’m sorry your husky special little guy looks like a puppy screwing a football as he gasps and gallumph’s his way to the already broken ribbon of the 40 yard dash. Tough luck kid. Just remember every sports team needs a statistician and someone to run the scoreboard. If the same wheezy kid kicks butt academically and averages 95% in all his classes, is it fair to give everyone 95%? I don’t think so and I believe you would be pissed if your little genius didn’t get his due. I don’t mean to stereotype the fat kid. They usually weren’t gifted academically or athletically.<br />Many years ago I was playing hockey with my nephew. I kept knocking him out of the way, shooting and scoring. I had finished three beers and figured I was up about 15 to minus 10. The little bastard slashed my shins and dropped me like a stone. He took off down to the other end shot and scored. He came back laughed at me and informed the score was zero/zero. I asked him how he figured the score was zero all. After he sighed in disbelief at how stupid I am I was informed that the teams in his hockey league were not allowed to keep score. Some of the parents (a small minority I found out later) didn’t want the kids to get hurt feelings by being told they lost. I slapped the glasses right off of my nephew and told him not to be stupid. He took off, grabbed the puck, and headed down the ice, whiffed at the puck and slammed into the net crossbar. The goofy little guy really needs his glasses. Five year olds are funny. Stupid but funny.<br />I left the little guy in a pool of his own blood to stay warm and stormed off to demand answers, more beer and some chicken wings.<br />You can rest assured I got those chicken wings and a cold beer and then got to asking some questions. The boy was right. They weren’t allowed to keep score. I was shocked but after and hour and a half of deferring and ignoring questions like,’ where is the boy?’ and ‘why can’t we see the boy?’ and ‘why is the boy’s coat blowing across the lawn?’ and ‘what are those coyotes doing out near the net?’ I had proof that we are all screwed. Shortly thereafter the door swung open and there was my favourite nephew. He looked a little pale and he must have tripped on his glasses, slammed head first into the ice and cut his ear wide open. The poor little guy vomited, mumbled something about wolves and head trauma, cried about his glasses and then fell asleep right there in the foyer.<br />If a five year old can stitch his own ear and gaping head wound you can be pretty damn sure he and the rest of his booger eating kind can count how many times they have put a puck in the net and how many times the other guys have put the puck in the net, perform some math magic and figure out who won the damn game. What soft brained, self-involved dolt could think this ‘everyone wins’ scenario is good for everybody? I’ll answer that by saying it’s the parent(s) who dropped the ball raising their kids. If you don’t teach your kids to fight and fend for themselves I truly believe you are not doing your job as a parent. Life isn’t fair. We all get up every morning and face challenges we may not want to deal with but we have to. If we don’t have challenges in our life we don’t learn.<br />I write this with conviction. I and others like me will ‘inherit’ your children when they go out into the workforce. If I inherit your children it is likely that they did not go onto to post secondary education proving my point that kids are dumb. I have inherited a few really good, hardworking kids. I have also gone thru ten times the number of good ones, of horribly misinformed and outright dumb and living in some entitlement ‘zone’ bad ones to be fortunate enough to get and keep the good ones I have.<br /><br />The Misinformed and Hopeless I have had to sort out;<br />1) You don’t tell me what your work hours are going to be. I tell you. Like it or leave.<br />2) I don’t know everything but I have been doing this job for a very long time. You’ve been doing it for, oh, less than five minutes now so you know everything? Get over yourself kid.<br />3) Just because you took a day class to learn how to run a fork lift does not entitle you jump in my equipment and operate it.<br />4) I spent my time in the trenches so if you want to pout about me sitting in the operators seat of MY equipment you are definitely fighting a losing battle.<br />5) When you see me with a hand shovel on your site working- chances are I am doing your job.<br />6) See all those things lying on the ground that people keep tripping on? Do you see me picking that stuff up? Chances are I am doing your job.<br />7) Don’t tell me you need 15 minutes to wash your hands and to get ready to go home. The only way you could have possibly gotten dirty is if you tripped and fell into a puddle. You didn’t get dirty working.<br />8) If you see me driving a survey stake into the ground right next to you don’t be scared. I am putting the stake there as a reference to see if you are actually moving.<br />9) Don’t come to me when a piece of slag falls down the tongue of your boot. I told you to keep your pant legs over top of your boots roughly seventy two thousand times. I also told you to always carry a knife in your pocket. The knife is back up for your stupidity if you DID forget to put your pant legs over top of your boots. I know molten metal burns and I know you wish you could get your boot off. If you had a knife you cut your laces and kick your boot off and lessen the degree of the burn. If you had kept your pant legs over your boots we wouldn’t be having this talk. You see junior, I still have scars from doing the same thing.<br />10) Water up to your knees is a six pack. Anything over your knees is a case of beer. I had to buy so you have to buy.<br />11) You do not get to take your birthday off unless it falls on a Saturday, Sunday or Holiday. You’re a year older and no-one gives a crap. Grow up.<br />12) You forgot your lunch you want me to handicap a crew while you go and get something to eat? Why don’t you go home for the rest of the day and take tomorrow off too.<br />13) I swear on all things Holy- if your wife calls me and complains about the hours you are working one more time I am going to be forced to solve the problem, my way. Enjoy unemployment and all the time you will get to spend with your wife. She is always so pleasant to deal with.<br />14) No I do not want to hire your son. If the way you work is any indication of the mentoring you have undertaken with your son I am positive I could do better by leaning a broom up against a wall.<br />15) If I wanted a bad idea I would have asked you right at the onset of this catastrophe. Close your mouth and walk away.<br /><br />This is business. If your kid can’t cut it feel free to blame me. Always remember that when your kid is thirty years old and living in your basement with his ‘old lady’ that you the parent are the only one to blame.<br /><br />Kids need to get beat up, fall out of trees, cut the grass and have responsibility they don’t want and consequences they can’t bear. Please quit trying to be their bestest buddy. It’s a joke and you are the punchline. You can be friendly to your kids but until they are on their own you can’t be friends. It complicates the chain of command and gives the kids one more thing they can blame or guilt you with.<br /><br />Teach your kids to overcome obstacles. Teach your kids consequences. Make sure they know you love them no matter how hard they make you hit them. Do you think I like having to write like this!Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-65114375565554037302010-10-12T18:26:00.000-07:002010-10-12T18:29:29.792-07:00The Death Knoll of CourtesyThe Death Knoll of Courtesy,<br /><br /><br />As I held the door to the local Tim Horton’s for a woman of about the same age as myself I can’t barely contain my want to, in a calm voice, say, “You’re welcome! Bitch!” I know I look like the type of person you would cross the street to avoid but as luck would have it we both happened to be entering the same building at the same time and through the same door. Since it outwardly appears that you are a woman I decide to be my normal self and open the door for you. This does two things. It means the door is held open for you showing COURTESY and it also means that I am letting you get in line before me inside. I know this is the wrong thing to do. After you self importantly ignore me for holding the door open for you I know damn well that you are the breed of human being that, even though you have been ordering the same thing for 30 years, you always feel compelled to read the entire menu board, slowly, before ordering the same damn thing – again. In simple terms – you suck as human being. You are rude, self- involved, and selfish-therefore you are a bitch! On top of your outright twittishness somehow, every time you order something you manage to forget that you eventually have to pay for the things you have ordered. I and the other aggravated people in line watch as you open every pocket your purse or steamer trunk sized ‘bag’ contains, patiently waiting for you as you decide to balance your check book and double check your grocery list in the midst of your searching for the $1.28 you owe for your diabetic coma inducing triple triple coffee. The poor girl behind the till is trying to decide whether or not to take a nap or kill herself. Do you see all the people behind you rolling their eyes? It is not admiration they are showing for you – it is contempt. Without a drop of sweat or any effort whatsoever you have the ability to annoy people just by being yourself.<br /><br />Granted I am not a very patient person. I don’t like waiting in line. I don’t enjoy waiters or waitresses sitting down and trying to be my bestest buddy when I go out to eat. I think ‘flare’ on any uniform is a sign of at least partial brain damage. Thank you for sharing your family lineage with me. Where is my damn meal and why didn’t your father tie you inside a gunny sack with some rocks and throw you into a river? If I was your father I would punch your mother in the face for bringing you into this world. I am not rude or caustic to people (qualified- until they have gone past the three times and rage rule). For the most part I enjoy meeting new people. Original people. Not people who act ‘wacky’ or push a bad conversation much much further than it should go. IF I want ‘wacky’ I’ll talk to Crazy Vic the coffee truck driver. He drives around with aluminum foil in his pockets to scare of alien vampires. He was also around when the Saxons landed in England. Funny guy. Crazier than a shit house rat, but nice. I admire him for his originality. That is some good crazy!<br /><br />Random Thought – Have you ever been ‘talked down’ to by a waiter or waitress? What the hell? You talk down to me? I am certain your degree in Social Science or Art Appreciation makes you qualified to comment on trivial, non life threatening issues like whether or not Chagal could beat up Godzilla, but really- you’re a fucking waiter! You could be replaced by an intercom and a hamster powered conveyor belt.<br /><br />Now back to my whining. I have decided to start a list of things that need to be changed for the betterment of society;<br />1) If I hold the door open for you- acknowledge me, kick me, spit at me just realize that action has been taken to try and show you civility.<br />2) If you are pulled off the side of the road with a flat tire or mechanical problem please don’t ignore me or sit in your car and talk on your cellphone while I change your tire. I am not your underling. You never know how many lug nuts actually got tightened unless you see all of them get tightenend.<br />3) If I do not give your child money for her Chess Team trip to Ottawa for her school- don’t throw your arms up and get all indignant about my choice. My choice to ignore you and keep walking is about the only thing keeping your kid out of therapy for not having to witness her father get beat up by a parking curb.<br />4) Standing during an entire concert or hockey game makes you look like an idiot. You paid for the seat – use it. The people behind you think you’re a moron and would throw a pop on you but are worried that their aim isn’t the greatest.<br />5) Please stop telling me how smart your kids are. I know you are lying, unless they are adopted then there may be some hope for them.<br />6) Ask me or show me- I will respond accordingly.<br />7) Always say good morning. I don’t care if I caught you mounting the neighbours Husky- be polite-say good morning.<br />8) If you ever say or infer, ‘ Do you know who I am?’ I will punch you in the crotch.<br />9) To be continuedBrookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-86120887421714868672010-09-28T15:40:00.000-07:002010-09-28T15:43:39.109-07:00SonnofaBitch!SonnofaBitch!<br /><br />Let me begin by saying that I would love the waste of skin piece of shit douchebag who caused my adopted/mutt/ trash dog physical harm- I would love to meet you in daylight wherever you want. How the fuck could you cause harm to an animal whose sole mission is to wag his tail and protect his ‘owners’? You suck. Not only do you suck as person, I want to make it mission in life to make sure your kids know you suck. You scarred a dog- permanently. Whatever you did to this slobbery jack ass scarred his legs permanently. He is fine with it. He never whimpers or slows down because of it. It isn’t a handicap to him. I want to be your handicap. I want to show up to your house or place of work and kick you in the balls. You are a cowardly piece of shit and I want to cause you physical damage. You threw boiling oil or water on a dog that was lost and hungry. What was your master plan Copernicus? <br /><br />Don’t misinterpret my rant as a need to gain entrance into the upper echelon of PETA. I don’t want or need anyone behind this mission. I want you to know I don’t need backing from anyone- I never will. I want you to step up and face an old fat bald guy. I WILL drive your head thru the asphalt of the nearest parking lot. Bring your friends. We’ll make it a day in the park.<br /><br />His name is Bart. He hasn’t left my or my wife’s side since we were lucky enough to adopt him. It’s been 2 years since I have had this much belief in humankind and it’s a scarred black dog that makes me believe that people can forgive and forget.<br /><br />Nothing would make me believe God/Allah/Yahweh is Just than seeing you being dragged behind GreyHound bus or Tanker truck with your scrotum wrapped around the driveshaft..<br /><br />I want to punch your sister in the throat just to get your attention. I want to punch your wife/boyfriend in their naughty bits to discourage them from procreating. You don’t deserve children. You deserve herpes and severe scrotal trauma. Do not ever think you are a man. If I ever find out who you are- this fat bald guy is going to make you talk with a lisp and a stutter and hopefully cause enough trauma that you have to wear Depends for the rest of your life. ShitHead! <br /> An Open Invitation to Anyone who harms a Street dog- ever!Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-8746272902181970812010-09-15T10:24:00.000-07:002010-09-15T13:58:44.363-07:00You Are Kidding Right?You Are Kidding Right?<br /><br />A few days ago, for whatever reason that triggered my anger, something everyone knows I am not prone to do, I finally said, “Enough!”<br /><br />There is an obvious lack of manners in our society. General courtesy has gone bye-bye. I feel it is necessary to provide the following tips to all in the hope of bringing some courtesy back into our society.<br /><br />Common Courtesy<br /><br />1) Take that stupid fucking Ball cap off when you are indoors. I don’t care if your hair is a mess, if you are embarrassed because you are bald or you are trying to hide a gaping head wound. When you walk into someone’s house, a restaurant, church, a mall – TAKE YOUR HAT OFF! This applies to men. When the national anthem is played, when a funeral procession passes or when a lady is present- TAKE OFF YOUR HAT! The only free pass on the hat etiquette ‘thing’ is for religious beliefs or ceremonies, women, and when you are in public hallways. IF the Pope is walking thru the mall and we are positive he is a man – He gets a pass. Other than that it is in poor taste not to take your hat off. SideNote- If you are one of the douches that think wearing your ball cap cocked to the side is cool – get off my blog page. I don’t want you on here and if I see you and your stupid hat I am going to turn it the proper way by punching you in the face with a tire iron until it has rotated into the proper position. A ball cap turned backwards (outdoors) is acceptable if you are using an Auto-level, a transit or other similar instrument, or trying wedge your head in between a vehicles firewall and motor to effect some type of inspection or repair- other than that – you are a jack ass and get off of my blog page- Douche!<br />2) Pull up your pants or push down your underwear. Seeing the top piece of some girls string thong may make me and others giggle with glee for a second or two but the fact that you are showing your unmentionables to guys like me makes me wonder what kind of gal you are. Are you an Attention Whore? Do you have low self-esteem? Do you have high self-esteem? Did you buy the wrong size underwear? Did you borrow the wrong size underwear? Did you or the person you borrowed the underwear from wash them? Maybe I analyze things too much but you and your high riding unmentionables have just gotten me a smack in the side of the head by my wife. Gentlemen – do you have any idea how absolutely retarded you look when your pants crotch hangs down to your knees and your underwear is riding up near your belly button? You look like you just fell off the short bus at Value Village. You look Stupid. Stop it!<br />3) Acknowledge others around you. Say hello to people, give them the 'guy' nod just to let them know that you know they are alive. Eye contact is a good thing. It helps people understand you are not some drugged out bag of crap with bad intentions. If you say hello and don’t get a greeting in return who cares? You can always follow them to their next location and slash their tires and not feel bad about it. Hey, you tried to be courteous.<br />4) Turn your god damned cell phone off. I am usually the first person to walk into a meeting, shut my phone off and toss it on the table. It’s a sign that you are specifically dedicated to the meeting at hand. If you are so important that the meeting you requested can be interrupted by calls on your cell phone or text messages all the while wasting my time – you sir/madam can go have intercourse with yourself. If you are in a restaurant and it is your mission in life to disrupt other diners by talking nonsense on your cell phone, please don’t be weirded out when I start offering advice on what you should do. If I can hear you, in my mind you have made your conversation public, therefore I have been invited to partake in your conversation. If your kids keep calling you when you are out with friends you are legally obligated to return home and beat the devil out of them - it’s in the Bible I think. Instead of cell phones I think children should have GPS microchips installed in their frontal lobes. By tying this technology into your cell phone you will always know where the kids are, what rate of speed they are falling out of trees at - you would also be capable of violently shocking them causing them to wet their pants and need to return home to change- leaving the parents in full control and not vice versa.<br />5) Be on TIME. If I take the time to make reservations or plans for an event don’t piss me off by making me wait for you to get ready. If you are going to be late call me and let me know or offer to drive yourself. I can’t help it. I feel bad possibly making a restaurant I have chosen lose customers because you couldn’t turn your damn tv off and get ready. If you didn’t want to go in the first place-just say so. Don’t bugger up my night because you didn’t have the courage to say no. Also note that if you don’t like the restaurant or concert I have chosen to go to – FUCK OFF! Don’t try to change my plans. If you didn’t get off of your ass and try to organize something you have ZERO say in the matter. Your only recourse is not going. I have rule about meetings. I will be on time if I call a meeting. I will also make the meeting as short as possible. Any meeting over one hour is complete waste of time in my opinion. If you call a meeting and don’t show up within fifteen minutes of the start, and you haven’t called anyone to let them know you are running late – I leave. If you catch me at the door and demand that I return to your meeting- I will tell you to go fuck yourself. It may be ego kicking in on my part but you called the meeting, you needed to talk to me about something- not vice versa.<br />6) Respect the Ladies. Sure most women are insane and hard to understand, but be nice. If your wife or girlfriend is late getting ready for something – it is your fault for not lying to her and telling her your reservations were a half to one hour earlier than you told her. They can’t help themselves gentlemen. They want to look their best for you. Simply lie to them about the time you need to be somewhere. In the end it works out for better for both of you. She will look great and both of you will have something to discuss over dinner – mainly what an asshole you are for lying to her. TIP – it is the pants that always make her ass look big – not the other way around.<br />7) Chew with your mouth closed. I had no plans of entertaining a Garburetor over dinner. I don’t want to see food in your mouth, falling out of your mouth or being hurtled towards me or my meal while you try to tell some story while you have your noise hole stuffed with artichoke hearts and croutons. What the Hell is wrong with you?<br />8) Get your elbows off of the Table. I am not going to try and steal your food. Would you feel more at home if I put a trough on the table? You know that thing you’re sitting on? That’s a chair. Most chairs have back rests on them so you can…rest your back against them. If the chair doesn’t have a back rest it is likely a stool so therefore you are in a bar, not a nice restaurant. Don’t mind me staring at you. I am wondering what's going to come first. You chipping your teeth on the table or the hump sprouting out of your back from you hunching over that horrible way you do. If you are going to hunch over like a troll go find some bells to ring and get the hell away from me. I should punch your parent’s in the face for not beating table manners into you.<br />9) Move! You know you are in the way. I know you are stupid. Get the Fuck out of my way. You aren’t grocery shopping – you’re trying to have dinner by waiting for free samples. The store could be serving cat crap on a cracker and there you’d be waiting, blocking traffic. You suck. Punch yourself in the head. I don’t want to get stupid all over my fist.<br />10) The Service Industry. IF we are at a restaurant or bar together and the waitress seems to be trying – don’t make crass comments to her. She’s handling my food also and may be dating the six foot four inch cook in the kitchen who just got out of jail for raping sheep. I don’t like my food violated. If you want to be ignorant move to another table- I’ll violate your food with the gorilla in the kitchen. Vice versa – if you are in a store and no service personnel, sales associate or whatever they call themselves now is around, you are completely within your rights to run down the aisles bare assed and tackle them. Being bare assed just kicks it up a notch. The next time you sneak past the store’s security guards and then remove the disguise you had to use- I guarantee the staff in the store will remember you. Poor Hector. You used to be so full of life. Now you just stand around, suck your thumb and shuffle from side to side.Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-10214627127201658392010-09-10T11:26:00.000-07:002010-09-10T11:27:48.000-07:00The Ten Commandments – My Way Part Un.I am not a religious kind of guy. I was baptized and dragged to church in my youth. I didn’t ‘get’ religion. I understood the concept but just never got into it.<br /><br />My disposition towards religion was cemented after attending a Catholic High School for two years. Priests and teachers shaking down kids for money for ‘Jesus’. The guilt pushed on kids and the general bullshit associated with not going to Hell.<br /><br />For the last few odd years I have realized that I am not anti-God. I am anti-organized religion. I cannot understand the concept of paying someone on earth to get into heaven. Won’t my deeds and actions decide whether I go to heaven or not?<br /><br />The foundation of Christianity is the 10 Commandments. I think they are the pretty good guidelines for living a good safe life. I think there may be some issues of the interpretation caused by two thousand years of interpretation.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.biblemeanings.info/Commandments/commandments.htm#com1#com1">The First Commandment</a>: "Thou shalt not make to thee other gods"<br />I like it. This should include professional athletes, egomaniacs and politicians<br /><br /><a href="http://www.biblemeanings.info/Commandments/commandments.htm#com2#com2">The Second Commandment </a>: "Thou shalt not profane the name of God."<br />I have a really tough time with this one. My first dog thought her name was “Goddammit”. I just rolls off the tongue too effortlessly and is more socially acceptable than the F – word.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.biblemeanings.info/Commandments/commandments.htm#com3#com3">The Third Commandment </a>: "Thou shalt keep the sabbath holy"<br />Ever since shopping has become a competitive activity this Commandment has lost all meaning. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.biblemeanings.info/Commandments/commandments.htm#com4#com4">The Fourth Commandment </a>: "Thou shalt honour thy parents"<br />Where to start on this one. I wish this was still the case but I hear kids say things to their parents’ I wouldn’t say to my enemies. I tried to honour my parents. This simply involved trying not to get caught when I was doing something dishonourable. When I did get caught thine parents’ smack on the ass usually brought me back into line.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.biblemeanings.info/Commandments/commandments.htm#com5#com5">The Fifth Commandment</a>: "Thou shalt not steal"<br />Easy, simple and correct. Don’t Steal. What the hell is hard to understand about that? Every politician, at every level of government and every corporate raider should have the Fifth Commandment branded on their forehead. I plead the Fifth!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.biblemeanings.info/Commandments/commandments.htm#com6#com6">The Sixth Commandment: </a>"Thou shalt not commit adultery"<br />There seems to be a lot of confusion with this Commandment but if President Clinton and Monica Dress Stain have taught me anything it’s that a cigar isn’t just a cigar.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.biblemeanings.info/Commandments/commandments.htm#com7#com7">The Seventh Commandment: </a>"Thou shalt not kill"<br />I have interpreted this to mean I shall not kill people… who don’t deserve to die or gets in the way of my vehicle, or happens to fall after I push them in the stairwell. The really nice thing about this Commandment is that it does not specifically state ‘ No thinning of the Human Herd.’<br /><br /><a href="http://www.biblemeanings.info/Commandments/commandments.htm#com8#com8">The Eighth Commandment:</a> "Thou shalt not bear false witness"<br />It is wise to never lie about bears.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.biblemeanings.info/Commandments/commandments.htm#com9#com9">The Ninth Commandment: </a>"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house"<br />I am good with this. If I coveted my neighbour’s house I would have to fill my house with feral cats, asbestos siding, 2 rotten motorboats, a broken down chicken coop/garage and collapse the roof on my house. Some things should not be coveted.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.biblemeanings.info/Commandments/commandments.htm#com10#com10">The Tenth Commandment: </a>"Thou shalt not covet (or desire) thy neighbor’s wife, his manservant, or his maidservant, his ox, or his ass"<br /><br />I don’t see what is wrong with coveting your neighbour’s wife. Especially if she has nice cans. The part about manservants and maidservants is a little antiquated and should be deleted. I live in Puce so coveting livestock is regionally acceptable and expected. I’m not a real judgemental guy so if you want to covet your neighbour’s ass go right ahead, I’ll be in the garage ignoring you and drinking my homophobia away.<br /><br />Basically, if you aren’t a self centered douchebag, if you help people by stopping when they are in trouble, or keep driving past them because you are too stupid to help them, in a way, you are helping. Be nice. Help out. Say good morning. Don’t kill and don’t lie. I am pretty sure most of us will get into heaven.<br /><br />I hope it is a heaven where the chicks are topless and the bar is always open.Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2116496764261619323.post-70258923478720161222009-09-30T05:47:00.000-07:002009-09-30T05:48:45.453-07:00OBJECTIVE CHILD REARING PART 1I read an article the other day dealing with children being spanked having lower IQ’s than children who were not spanked. Believe it or not I can read even though multi syllabic words still offer me great dif-fi-cul-ty. It is hard to write when I have to stop and clap out the syllables but I do my best.<br /><br />The article itself was blah and rife with ‘what about’s’ and ‘says who’. What really caught my attention were the comments about the article. No math was applied to deriving the percentages but I would say with a 10 % accuracy, 85%-90% of the comments were pro spanking. When I say ‘pro spanking’ I do not mean that all of those people wanted a league or association to judge or teach proper techniques in spanking. Nor do I mean there is an amateur spanking league and all the respondents/commenter’s wanted to move up to the big show of professional spanking. Even though I would train hard in order to beat the bejeezus out of random whiney children, this is not to be-yet.<br /><br />The majority of the comments were well written and grammatically correct which leads me to believe no one from Belle River responded and the average comment writer was fairly well educated. The few ‘anti-spanking’ comments seemed to be written from atop some ethereal pedestal. You could almost see the frizzy haired, jesus sandaled granola swilling peaceniks who wrote these comments dancing around an organic fire singing KumBaya all naked and hirsute and smelling like Patchouli and BO. <br /><br />I can, to some degree see the children who belong to these wanna be Hippie posers. I imagine that they are the people who bring their long oily haired ilk to everything, including your home, when they were not invited in the first place. They show up, open the gate to your rear yard and let the children go batshit crazy (or act normal for their standards). They play bumper mower with your lawnmower and wheelbarrow. Chase the dogs with your weed whipper and throw firewood and pruning shears into your pool. Nothing is left untouched. Your favourite dirtbike/motocycle/car that you wipe down with a diaper every Sunday is violated by popsicle juice and the darts you thought were hidden. Your dogs that would stand their ground against a rabid Grizzly cower under bushes or the patio. You are questioned about your choice in beer and asked to provide ‘vegetarian’ barbecue for them because red meat and chicken give Little Tommy the trots. It wouldn’t be a problem but 10 year old Tommy was never forced to accept toilet training and he can’t stand wearing diapers and they ‘Don’t want to have an incident!’ on your brand new carpet. <br /><br />The pendulum swings both ways in discussions like these. I am not grubbing for money to do research so I think I can be pretty objective on this topic. I have a suspicion that the simple word of ‘spanking’ automatically evokes images of drunken Goliath parent’s savagely beating their children for breathing too heavily. MY experience in spanking comes from seeing it and listening to parents talk about it. I have seen tiny women give their prescious children a swipe on the backside. I have seen very large people give their children a pat on the bum to get their kids attention. Never have I witnessed a parent using what I would deem ‘excessive’ force on a child. Once I saw a woman smack her child in the face. This woman was quickly threatened by an elderly gentleman who promised to do the same to her if she ever struck her child in the face again. I truly believe that the average parent would never want to hurt their child mentally or physically. I do think that an unruly kid should be subject to a swift smack on the bum or have their grubby little hands smacked when they are doing something or taking something when they shouldn’t. Don’t scar the child but get their attention and force them to listen to you. They are children and should do your bidding.<br /><br />There were certain ‘rules’ in our family when I grew up.<br />1) NEVER LIE<br />2) Elbows off of the dinner table<br />3) Chew your food with your mouth closed<br />4) Do as you are told<br />5) Always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’<br />6) Open the door for women and elderly people<br />7) Never wear a hat into a building<br />8) NEVER EVER LIE<br />9) Don’t start what you can’t finish<br />10) You can question the rules when you pay rent<br /><br />As a kid (I once was a kid believe it or not), every once in a while something would get me so wound up or excited that I would get on my parents nerves. After two verses of, ‘if you don’t settle down you are going to be sorry!’ I was usually very sorry. This usually ended up with me sitting in a car alone or being grabbed by the back of my neck and led around like a blind person. I had my mouth washed out with soap on many an occasion for using, shall we say, advanced linguistics not suited to an eight year old. The worst was the parental follow up to my trying to lie. I don’t know if any of you have done this but in my childhood mind, if a story went on and on and on with confusing twists and turns and poor character development there was no way possible mom or dad would ever figure out I was lying. Good theory until Pops Grizzly growled and would say, “ I am only going to ask you once…” - Always the negotiator and tactician he wouldn’t finish his words before I admitted I was lying. Down in the basement..crack crack crack –lesson learned.<br /><br />It is simple discipline. I needed direction- I got it. My father never wanted to spank me and he never caused any physical harm. Was I scared of the man? Damn Tootin’! When he spoke, did I listen? Always. What bothers me about some of the lawn apes today is that they are allowed to do whatever they want whenever they want. I don’t know if it jealousy or not but if I had ever spoken to my mother the way I hear kids today talk to their parents I would have been killed – by my mom and then my dad, and then my mom again.<br /><br />I remember my friend’s fathers and ‘The Look’. Every father seemed to have ‘the look’. IF you got ‘the look’ it meant shut up and calm down. The Look was usually tied into a dad growl. This was a tone, usually low and gravelly that, much like Pavlov ringing a bell, was used to convey that boundaries were being crossed that should not be crossed.<br /><br />I don’t hear the dad growl or see the ‘Look’ anymore. I do see the look of despair and the vacuous stare of men who could only wear a smile if they saw God’s hand holding a cocked pistol coming out of the sky to end their misery.<br /><br />I strongly believe the average male is all for spanking except for the following reasons;<br />1) Our Hippie parents told us spanking was bad<br />2) Our Hippie teachers told us it was bad<br />3) Our wanna be Hippie wives won’t let us spank our children.<br />4) Everyone wants us to use logic and reason on toddlers.<br /><br />Why I think this is wrong;<br />1) & 2) Our generation never got to smoke dope and have ‘free love’. Our generation got to deal with AIDS, MADD and ‘The War Against Drugs’. It seems our parent’s generation had too much fun and they didn’t want to share so they imposed all this crap on us.<br />2) Our wives don’t like conflict (except with us) so they forbid us from spanking or talking sternly to children. Even though you agreed to have children together and the understanding was there that spanking may need to be used- the deal changed as soon as Junior was born. You lost your rights – end of story!<br />3) You cannot use logic on a toddler. Toddlers do not understand the Laws of Physics. Toddlers believe trains can talk and fly. Unicorns are real, and a bath towel cape will make you impervious to injury. How the holy hell can you calmly discuss the disadvantages of trying to fly by jumping off of the roof to a Five year old who’s suited up with his Impervious bath towel and his flying footie pajamas? A little kid sees a piece of candy at the checkout and wants it real bad. Said little kid throws a temper tantrum after mom calmly explains to him that candy will deteriorate the enamel on his teeth and cause him dental problems later in life. Temper tantrum continues. That kid doesn’t give a rat’s ass about tooth decay or enamel. HE wants that piece of candy and is going to cry and whine until he gets it. Just say no! Like you did to sex and drugs in the 80’s and 90’s! It was easy for you back then, what has changed?Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16780865146859891726noreply@blogger.com2