SonnofaBitch!
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?
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.
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.
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..
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!
An Open Invitation to Anyone who harms a Street dog- ever!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
You Are Kidding Right?
You Are Kidding Right?
A few days ago, for whatever reason that triggered my anger, something everyone knows I am not prone to do, I finally said, “Enough!”
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.
Common Courtesy
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!
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
A few days ago, for whatever reason that triggered my anger, something everyone knows I am not prone to do, I finally said, “Enough!”
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.
Common Courtesy
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!
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
Friday, September 10, 2010
The 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.
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.
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?
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.
The First Commandment: "Thou shalt not make to thee other gods"
I like it. This should include professional athletes, egomaniacs and politicians
The Second Commandment : "Thou shalt not profane the name of God."
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.
The Third Commandment : "Thou shalt keep the sabbath holy"
Ever since shopping has become a competitive activity this Commandment has lost all meaning.
The Fourth Commandment : "Thou shalt honour thy parents"
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.
The Fifth Commandment: "Thou shalt not steal"
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!
The Sixth Commandment: "Thou shalt not commit adultery"
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.
The Seventh Commandment: "Thou shalt not kill"
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.’
The Eighth Commandment: "Thou shalt not bear false witness"
It is wise to never lie about bears.
The Ninth Commandment: "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house"
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.
The Tenth Commandment: "Thou shalt not covet (or desire) thy neighbor’s wife, his manservant, or his maidservant, his ox, or his ass"
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.
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.
I hope it is a heaven where the chicks are topless and the bar is always open.
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.
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?
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.
The First Commandment: "Thou shalt not make to thee other gods"
I like it. This should include professional athletes, egomaniacs and politicians
The Second Commandment : "Thou shalt not profane the name of God."
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.
The Third Commandment : "Thou shalt keep the sabbath holy"
Ever since shopping has become a competitive activity this Commandment has lost all meaning.
The Fourth Commandment : "Thou shalt honour thy parents"
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.
The Fifth Commandment: "Thou shalt not steal"
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!
The Sixth Commandment: "Thou shalt not commit adultery"
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.
The Seventh Commandment: "Thou shalt not kill"
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.’
The Eighth Commandment: "Thou shalt not bear false witness"
It is wise to never lie about bears.
The Ninth Commandment: "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house"
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.
The Tenth Commandment: "Thou shalt not covet (or desire) thy neighbor’s wife, his manservant, or his maidservant, his ox, or his ass"
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.
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.
I hope it is a heaven where the chicks are topless and the bar is always open.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
OBJECTIVE CHILD REARING PART 1
I 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
There were certain ‘rules’ in our family when I grew up.
1) NEVER LIE
2) Elbows off of the dinner table
3) Chew your food with your mouth closed
4) Do as you are told
5) Always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’
6) Open the door for women and elderly people
7) Never wear a hat into a building
8) NEVER EVER LIE
9) Don’t start what you can’t finish
10) You can question the rules when you pay rent
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.
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.
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.
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.
I strongly believe the average male is all for spanking except for the following reasons;
1) Our Hippie parents told us spanking was bad
2) Our Hippie teachers told us it was bad
3) Our wanna be Hippie wives won’t let us spank our children.
4) Everyone wants us to use logic and reason on toddlers.
Why I think this is wrong;
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.
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!
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
There were certain ‘rules’ in our family when I grew up.
1) NEVER LIE
2) Elbows off of the dinner table
3) Chew your food with your mouth closed
4) Do as you are told
5) Always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’
6) Open the door for women and elderly people
7) Never wear a hat into a building
8) NEVER EVER LIE
9) Don’t start what you can’t finish
10) You can question the rules when you pay rent
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.
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.
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.
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.
I strongly believe the average male is all for spanking except for the following reasons;
1) Our Hippie parents told us spanking was bad
2) Our Hippie teachers told us it was bad
3) Our wanna be Hippie wives won’t let us spank our children.
4) Everyone wants us to use logic and reason on toddlers.
Why I think this is wrong;
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.
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!
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?
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
For My Friend
I had said in my previous post that I had never been prouder of Bob the Dog. I was wrong.
Lori spent all day Friday over in Michigan at a veterinary clinic with Bob. All tests were inconclusive of his conditions but the vet gave him a cortisone shot and prescribed him several medications to help ease the swelling in his head.
We both spent Friday night on the floor just petting Bob and talking to him. He whimpered a few times as he struggled to stand up. When he did manage to stand up his balance was shot. When we fed him that night we had to hold his dish up to him and help him balance so he could eat. Bob slept through the entire night.
I left work early on Saturday morning. Lori was sitting beside him petting him and telling him he was a good boy. He knew I was there and tried to get up but just didn’t have the strength. I sat down and petted him. Lori and I agreed it was time. She called the vet clinic.
When we arrived one of the girls who works there, almost in tears, ushered us into an examination room. The vet, a caring soul, came in, offered his condolences and sedated Bob. Bob sniffed around the room, bumping into everything for about ten minutes before his legs started to give out. I picked him up and placed him on the table.
Lori talked to Bob the entire time. Bob was Lori’s dog. Bob was Lori’s guardian and would do anything to protect her and make sure she was always safe. On many occasions the little goof would look at me with curiosity and wonder if the hug I had given Lori was ok or not. In his own oafish way he would push his way between us if he thought I was hurting his best friend. On occasions too often to count this typically happy go lucky mutt would turn into a cross between a full grown lion and a werewolf if any other dogs or animals came too close to Lori for his liking.
Eventually the vet came back and proceeded with required steps to free our friend from his pain. With a slight yelp, the deed was done. Lori held his head and spoke calmly to Bob as he began to pass. Lori did not cry. I was proud of her for that. I think she didn’t want her friend to worry about her as he always did as he crossed the river to his next life. I stood strong as I petted and talked to Bob as he fell to sleep. I began to break down when I felt his heart beat slowing down and then disappear.
I think I was close to panic and worry that I had done something I shouldn’t have. Possibly I cut his time short and didn’t let a miracle come his way. I know our friend was in pain and I did what I would want done to me.
The house was quiet on Sunday as the 9 year old ‘puppy’ we loved was not there lumbering around and chasing his toys all over the house. I missed his light snoring on Saturday night. I never thought I would miss him getting in my way whenever I was doing anything outside. I did. Bob broke up any monotony by being a goofy older dog with the heart of a puppy. I know Lori is still sad. She took Bob in when he was abandoned and never let anything bad happen to him. Beauty and the Goofy Beast.
I hold solace in the fact that Bob is now free. There are no fences to stop him from chasing the squirrels he held as his nemeses. All the ditches are full of muddy water and all the bean fields give him cover as he bounds through them tirelessly looking for something to chase. And everyday he can do it again.
I am proud of Lori for being there and taking care of her friend till his time was up. I am proud of Bob for teaching me some patience, for sitting down beside me on the stairs and just staring off into the distance, not wanting to disturb, but being there in case I needed to pet him.
I hope Bob watches us from wherever he is. Guarding and caring for us as he always did.
For Bob the Wonder Dog April 2000 – May 23rd 2009
Happy Hunting.
Lori spent all day Friday over in Michigan at a veterinary clinic with Bob. All tests were inconclusive of his conditions but the vet gave him a cortisone shot and prescribed him several medications to help ease the swelling in his head.
We both spent Friday night on the floor just petting Bob and talking to him. He whimpered a few times as he struggled to stand up. When he did manage to stand up his balance was shot. When we fed him that night we had to hold his dish up to him and help him balance so he could eat. Bob slept through the entire night.
I left work early on Saturday morning. Lori was sitting beside him petting him and telling him he was a good boy. He knew I was there and tried to get up but just didn’t have the strength. I sat down and petted him. Lori and I agreed it was time. She called the vet clinic.
When we arrived one of the girls who works there, almost in tears, ushered us into an examination room. The vet, a caring soul, came in, offered his condolences and sedated Bob. Bob sniffed around the room, bumping into everything for about ten minutes before his legs started to give out. I picked him up and placed him on the table.
Lori talked to Bob the entire time. Bob was Lori’s dog. Bob was Lori’s guardian and would do anything to protect her and make sure she was always safe. On many occasions the little goof would look at me with curiosity and wonder if the hug I had given Lori was ok or not. In his own oafish way he would push his way between us if he thought I was hurting his best friend. On occasions too often to count this typically happy go lucky mutt would turn into a cross between a full grown lion and a werewolf if any other dogs or animals came too close to Lori for his liking.
Eventually the vet came back and proceeded with required steps to free our friend from his pain. With a slight yelp, the deed was done. Lori held his head and spoke calmly to Bob as he began to pass. Lori did not cry. I was proud of her for that. I think she didn’t want her friend to worry about her as he always did as he crossed the river to his next life. I stood strong as I petted and talked to Bob as he fell to sleep. I began to break down when I felt his heart beat slowing down and then disappear.
I think I was close to panic and worry that I had done something I shouldn’t have. Possibly I cut his time short and didn’t let a miracle come his way. I know our friend was in pain and I did what I would want done to me.
The house was quiet on Sunday as the 9 year old ‘puppy’ we loved was not there lumbering around and chasing his toys all over the house. I missed his light snoring on Saturday night. I never thought I would miss him getting in my way whenever I was doing anything outside. I did. Bob broke up any monotony by being a goofy older dog with the heart of a puppy. I know Lori is still sad. She took Bob in when he was abandoned and never let anything bad happen to him. Beauty and the Goofy Beast.
I hold solace in the fact that Bob is now free. There are no fences to stop him from chasing the squirrels he held as his nemeses. All the ditches are full of muddy water and all the bean fields give him cover as he bounds through them tirelessly looking for something to chase. And everyday he can do it again.
I am proud of Lori for being there and taking care of her friend till his time was up. I am proud of Bob for teaching me some patience, for sitting down beside me on the stairs and just staring off into the distance, not wanting to disturb, but being there in case I needed to pet him.
I hope Bob watches us from wherever he is. Guarding and caring for us as he always did.
For Bob the Wonder Dog April 2000 – May 23rd 2009
Happy Hunting.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Bob the Wonderdog
Bob the Wonderdog
This last week has really made me think about a lot of things. Last Saturday Lori and I came to realize that our dog Bob has some type of neurological disorder that is causing him to go blind and have seizures.
I can honestly say that I have been in tears a few times watching the poor dog constantly circle to the left, bump into things and lose his balance. It’s very hard to have to watch my friend lose what I may call his dignity.
I have never been prouder of the big orange goof. Not once has he cried or yelped. Not once has he stopped trying to carry on with his life. Even though he can’t see he finds his food and water and does not stop being ‘Bob’.
I can’t help but wonder what drives him to keep going. Every time he hears a sound he wants to get up and protect Lori and myself. The medication he is on really knocks him out but he still gets up and does his best to patrol the house and make sure we are safe.
I find I am trying to get home from work earlier. I miss not seeing Bob come to the door with his tail wagging and his chew toy in his mouth. This is Bob’s offering to Lori and I. I miss seeing the clod run like a deer and bound off the patio to make sure the backyard is safe. We now have to help him down the stairs and make sure he doesn’t fall into the river behind our house.
I want to be home and make sure my friend is as comfortable as possible. I know he is confused now and wondering what is happening. I’ve found myself lying on the floor next to Bob with his head across my left shoulder just talking to him so he knows I am there. I have never felt so peaceful when I know he is asleep and his soft nasally breath slows down.
There are no other words to describe the feeling. Love and loyalty. From Bob to us, and, from us to Bob. All of this for food, water, a roof over his head and a pat on the head.
It hurts to watch this poor dog have seizures. It hurts more to know that after he has stopped I think he feels bad for what he has done and tries to lick my face as if he is trying to say he is sorry. Exhausted and barely able to move he wants me to know he is sorry.
All I can do is hope. I will keep just talking to Bob and petting him until his time comes. I pray that it is peaceful and I pray that I can be there petting him and softly talking to him.
This last week has really made me think about a lot of things. Last Saturday Lori and I came to realize that our dog Bob has some type of neurological disorder that is causing him to go blind and have seizures.
I can honestly say that I have been in tears a few times watching the poor dog constantly circle to the left, bump into things and lose his balance. It’s very hard to have to watch my friend lose what I may call his dignity.
I have never been prouder of the big orange goof. Not once has he cried or yelped. Not once has he stopped trying to carry on with his life. Even though he can’t see he finds his food and water and does not stop being ‘Bob’.
I can’t help but wonder what drives him to keep going. Every time he hears a sound he wants to get up and protect Lori and myself. The medication he is on really knocks him out but he still gets up and does his best to patrol the house and make sure we are safe.
I find I am trying to get home from work earlier. I miss not seeing Bob come to the door with his tail wagging and his chew toy in his mouth. This is Bob’s offering to Lori and I. I miss seeing the clod run like a deer and bound off the patio to make sure the backyard is safe. We now have to help him down the stairs and make sure he doesn’t fall into the river behind our house.
I want to be home and make sure my friend is as comfortable as possible. I know he is confused now and wondering what is happening. I’ve found myself lying on the floor next to Bob with his head across my left shoulder just talking to him so he knows I am there. I have never felt so peaceful when I know he is asleep and his soft nasally breath slows down.
There are no other words to describe the feeling. Love and loyalty. From Bob to us, and, from us to Bob. All of this for food, water, a roof over his head and a pat on the head.
It hurts to watch this poor dog have seizures. It hurts more to know that after he has stopped I think he feels bad for what he has done and tries to lick my face as if he is trying to say he is sorry. Exhausted and barely able to move he wants me to know he is sorry.
All I can do is hope. I will keep just talking to Bob and petting him until his time comes. I pray that it is peaceful and I pray that I can be there petting him and softly talking to him.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Las Vegas- Part Dos.
Las Vegas- Part Dos.
Likely I am flawed in my Logic, but if you can’t afford a baby-sitter-chances are you can’t afford to be in Vegas. Who brings their the children to Vegas? Morons.
Vegas tried to be kid friendly by making amusement parks at the casinos. It didn’t work. Vegas was designed for gamblers. Not strollers and rides on the god damn spinning Tea Cup. ‘Mommy mommy, I frew up my buffet on the Pirate Ship! I want more cotton candy!’ What the hell is going on? Oh and being hungover at a breakfast buffet and having adorable little Johnny keep cutting in front of me, and touching and coughing on everything just turns my arterial screw one notch tighter. Shut up and eat your pancakes you little turd. You are four years old and nobody cares what you have to say so quit talking and squirming and sit there – peacefully.
I can’t get mad at the kids as much as I want to. I do feel the desire to slap the parents around though. What are you thinking? Or not thinking? Drunk, chain smoking, sleep deprived people trying to enjoy or lose themselves for a weekend do not want to trip over your kids, or have to hear them screaming when we are eating.
Parenting Tips From a Childless Contractor ( Some Comments stolen from other rants)
1) Your child is special- to you and you alone
2) It is not cute listening to your child belt out Barney songs at the top of his or her lungs in any restaurant. Thank the gods that civility still reins or your little tone deaf soprano would be wearing risotto and osso bucco and possibly scalding hot coffee
3) When I am on vacation and there is any type of bar or cooler around filled with delicious alcoholic drinks, do not even consider asking me to, ‘Tone it down’, or ‘watch my language,’ or ‘Please put some clothes on!’ there are children around! They are not my children. I have enough sense to know people like me will likely be at the places I go to. Be prepared for little Billy and Samantha to be well versed in hydraulic power and the word ‘fuck’.
4) I know it is a sign of the times but please teach your child some table manners.
5) I reserve the right to yell at your child if they mouth off to me. Your child will know fear by the time I finish.
6) Your child is not ADD or ADHD or any other AD_____. They get away with so much that they have not learned to focus. Proper beatings will cure your child of ADD or any other Bull-hit disorder they may contract.
7) IF you say your child has ADD most people think your kid is retarded. Unless they have to read books upside down and backwards- your child does not have ADD.
8) If your child is hyperactive-tie them to the lawn mower and have them push cut the entire neighbourhoods lawns. After a week or three of this they will learn not to be so hyper.
9) Children will eat whatever is put in front of them. If they do not like what is being served they are welcome to not eat and go to bed hungry. They will eventually eat. It shouldn’t take more than 3-4 days for the child to finally admit they are hungry and come to their senses.
10) A size 9 or greater boot is a great way of getting and keeping a childs’ attention.
Back on the Street
When I trip over your child, swear and fall into a flower bed, please have enough sense to run away or at least sashay away at a moderate pace. There will be swearing and possibly overstated posturing.
Who on gods green earth thinks it could possibly be a wonderful place for a child on the streets of Las Vegas at 1:30 in the morning? Really. What trailer park did you just roll out of ?
I also need to ask why you have to walk down the centre of the sidewalk. You make it impossible for anyone to get by you and you generally move one half of the speed of people who only possess an IQ of 75.
Here’s another idea. Take your kids to Circus Circus. There is an amusement park there. When it closes at 9 or 10 pm – go back to your hotel – and stay there.
I don’t think I am the only person who thinks you are retarded for bringing your children to Las Vegas. I do think I am the only person who will go out of my way to write about it.
Enough With the Kiddies
The second day in Vegas is usually spent at a trade show. Something glamourous like ‘CONEXPO,’ or ‘World of Concrete.’ The shows are huge and usually take two days to see every piece of crap being offered. Companies will try the sex appeal thing by hiring over chested bimbos running around in spandex with rock drills or caulking guns in their hands. I am ok with this. It takes away from the monotony of seeing Asians climbing over every display with cameras and tape measures. Pretty subtle those Asians are.
My favourite display was the pneumatic hammer display where the sales team got the crowd ooohing and awing that there breakers had a lot of energy and where still light enough for even small women to use. Not to my surprise up came a tiny little woman from the crowd to ‘test’ the product.
Here is the blow by blow.
‘Mrs Tiffany Ballbreaker grabs the breaker in both hands and is impressed with the size of the shaft. She mockingly does curls with the breaker and decides to get down to business. Oops, you have it upside down there Tiffany, there you go, pointy end down sweetie, that’s right. Outfitted with a hard hat, safety glasses and earplugs she’s ready for work. One more set of earplugs please, Mrs. Ballbreaker thought they were Chiclets.
She places the point on the concrete slab and pulls the trigger. The sound resonates thru the show area. It sounds like 10 machine guns spraying the area with cover fire. Tiffany holds on to the surging beast. She is being shaken and rattled and pushed around as the hammer bites into the concrete. It appears that resonance has been located and Tiffany’s breasts are the metronomes. The pulsing of the breaker has dislodged her breasts from her bra and the sizable endowment that Mrs. Ballbreaker possesses is starting to dance to another drummer. I imagine if her shirt was off, the movement of her breasts would resemble two single bladed windmills turning in unison. Thud. She has broken of a large piece of the concrete slab. Tiffany releases the trigger and slowly puts the breaker down. She asks for a cigarette and if the company builds a breaker that knows how to mow the lawn. Sorry Mrs. Ballbreaker but you’re going to have to keep the fat ass you married.
Juvenile? Yes. Good, cheap entertainment? Hell yeah.
I stop for a $5.00 bottle of water and a cigarette and I have the opportunity to people watch. It is easy to see that everyone, except the North Americans are dressed in business casual. The North Americans are dressed in the typical white trash ensemble. There is a time and a place for shirts that say, ‘I am Here about the Blowjob.” This isn’t the place. Women wearing tank tops and showing off their tattoos seems to be the norm. God Help us all.
Most of the people here simply want free stuff. Hats, pens and rulers are their mission. Logically they could have stayed home, saved the $90 entrance fee and bought pens and rulers but what do I know.
Enough for today. I start to walk back to my hotel or at least some off the main drag beer joint for a happy hour pick me up. I refuse to wait in line with contractors for a ‘free’ shuttle bus ride back to my hotel. Contractors are an unruly and untrustworthy bunch. After a couple ‘pops’ I slowly walk back to my hotel. Ahhh! Air conditioned splendour. A quick shower feels great.
I meet up with my brother and we both head off to the ‘Steakhouse’ at Circus Circus. Feeling rather spiffy in our sport coats we are seated right away. People in ball caps, torn jeans and t-shirts mumble about my brother and I getting seated right away as we pass. In my head and possibly with my outside voice I think or say- ‘Douchebag’ as I pass. These restaurants never used to let anyone in if they were not wearing at the minimum a sport coat. Now they seem to let anyone in due to the economic climate. The restaurants still give preferential treatment to people who don’t look like they just rolled up to the doors in a Winnebago.
This is another way of life that annoys the piss out of me. What the hell is wrong with at least putting on a dress shirt and a pair of pants without holes in them when you go to a nice restaurant? What manner of fiendish turd could possibly think it is ok to wear a god damn NASCAR hat in a restaurant? Beat up running shoes? I can see the holes in your sock ya ass! I am sorry but the friggin’ soup here costs ten bucks and if you have only one drink you are still not escaping this place for under $75.00 per person. If you have enough money to eat here, chances are you have enough money for socks. Moron! And please take of your fucking hat. Nothing screams loser as much as a loser who won’t take off his loser hat inside any building let alone a nice upscale dining establishment. Oh I know you want to be seated over in the nicer part of the dining room, but you will have to notice that everyone over here isn’t dressed like a trailer park turd. You will sit over in the turd area with the rest of the turds. Maybe I am somewhat elitist in matters like this, but I know damn well the people with manners, common sense and traditional values are pleased with me as I sit over in the nice area of the dining room. And get your fucking elbows off the table! You sir are the Turd King!
I do have the advantage that my wife is very pretty so when we go into places, any places, I generally go unnoticed. On the slim chance the waiter may talk to me I want to look presentable. Put a suit on, impress your wife or girlfriend. Actually look at the wine menu, and touch your chin like you are pondering a very important decision. Say please and thank you like a human being. Don’t be a lazy crap weasel and present yourself like you just rolled out of bed and decided to grace everyone with your stylish flip flops and ‘Who Farted?’ t- shirt. Loser!
Resuming our dinner we order our dinner and drink a few glasses of wine while we BS each other. Our meals come out and I swear to Neptune that I have half a cow on the plate before me. OH MY GOD! I have found the best prime rib I have ever had in my life. Sorry mom but this one has yours beat. Barely able to finish we roll out of the restaurant in the bloated euphoric state that can only be enhanced by cont’d drinking and gambling.
END PART 2
Likely I am flawed in my Logic, but if you can’t afford a baby-sitter-chances are you can’t afford to be in Vegas. Who brings their the children to Vegas? Morons.
Vegas tried to be kid friendly by making amusement parks at the casinos. It didn’t work. Vegas was designed for gamblers. Not strollers and rides on the god damn spinning Tea Cup. ‘Mommy mommy, I frew up my buffet on the Pirate Ship! I want more cotton candy!’ What the hell is going on? Oh and being hungover at a breakfast buffet and having adorable little Johnny keep cutting in front of me, and touching and coughing on everything just turns my arterial screw one notch tighter. Shut up and eat your pancakes you little turd. You are four years old and nobody cares what you have to say so quit talking and squirming and sit there – peacefully.
I can’t get mad at the kids as much as I want to. I do feel the desire to slap the parents around though. What are you thinking? Or not thinking? Drunk, chain smoking, sleep deprived people trying to enjoy or lose themselves for a weekend do not want to trip over your kids, or have to hear them screaming when we are eating.
Parenting Tips From a Childless Contractor ( Some Comments stolen from other rants)
1) Your child is special- to you and you alone
2) It is not cute listening to your child belt out Barney songs at the top of his or her lungs in any restaurant. Thank the gods that civility still reins or your little tone deaf soprano would be wearing risotto and osso bucco and possibly scalding hot coffee
3) When I am on vacation and there is any type of bar or cooler around filled with delicious alcoholic drinks, do not even consider asking me to, ‘Tone it down’, or ‘watch my language,’ or ‘Please put some clothes on!’ there are children around! They are not my children. I have enough sense to know people like me will likely be at the places I go to. Be prepared for little Billy and Samantha to be well versed in hydraulic power and the word ‘fuck’.
4) I know it is a sign of the times but please teach your child some table manners.
5) I reserve the right to yell at your child if they mouth off to me. Your child will know fear by the time I finish.
6) Your child is not ADD or ADHD or any other AD_____. They get away with so much that they have not learned to focus. Proper beatings will cure your child of ADD or any other Bull-hit disorder they may contract.
7) IF you say your child has ADD most people think your kid is retarded. Unless they have to read books upside down and backwards- your child does not have ADD.
8) If your child is hyperactive-tie them to the lawn mower and have them push cut the entire neighbourhoods lawns. After a week or three of this they will learn not to be so hyper.
9) Children will eat whatever is put in front of them. If they do not like what is being served they are welcome to not eat and go to bed hungry. They will eventually eat. It shouldn’t take more than 3-4 days for the child to finally admit they are hungry and come to their senses.
10) A size 9 or greater boot is a great way of getting and keeping a childs’ attention.
Back on the Street
When I trip over your child, swear and fall into a flower bed, please have enough sense to run away or at least sashay away at a moderate pace. There will be swearing and possibly overstated posturing.
Who on gods green earth thinks it could possibly be a wonderful place for a child on the streets of Las Vegas at 1:30 in the morning? Really. What trailer park did you just roll out of ?
I also need to ask why you have to walk down the centre of the sidewalk. You make it impossible for anyone to get by you and you generally move one half of the speed of people who only possess an IQ of 75.
Here’s another idea. Take your kids to Circus Circus. There is an amusement park there. When it closes at 9 or 10 pm – go back to your hotel – and stay there.
I don’t think I am the only person who thinks you are retarded for bringing your children to Las Vegas. I do think I am the only person who will go out of my way to write about it.
Enough With the Kiddies
The second day in Vegas is usually spent at a trade show. Something glamourous like ‘CONEXPO,’ or ‘World of Concrete.’ The shows are huge and usually take two days to see every piece of crap being offered. Companies will try the sex appeal thing by hiring over chested bimbos running around in spandex with rock drills or caulking guns in their hands. I am ok with this. It takes away from the monotony of seeing Asians climbing over every display with cameras and tape measures. Pretty subtle those Asians are.
My favourite display was the pneumatic hammer display where the sales team got the crowd ooohing and awing that there breakers had a lot of energy and where still light enough for even small women to use. Not to my surprise up came a tiny little woman from the crowd to ‘test’ the product.
Here is the blow by blow.
‘Mrs Tiffany Ballbreaker grabs the breaker in both hands and is impressed with the size of the shaft. She mockingly does curls with the breaker and decides to get down to business. Oops, you have it upside down there Tiffany, there you go, pointy end down sweetie, that’s right. Outfitted with a hard hat, safety glasses and earplugs she’s ready for work. One more set of earplugs please, Mrs. Ballbreaker thought they were Chiclets.
She places the point on the concrete slab and pulls the trigger. The sound resonates thru the show area. It sounds like 10 machine guns spraying the area with cover fire. Tiffany holds on to the surging beast. She is being shaken and rattled and pushed around as the hammer bites into the concrete. It appears that resonance has been located and Tiffany’s breasts are the metronomes. The pulsing of the breaker has dislodged her breasts from her bra and the sizable endowment that Mrs. Ballbreaker possesses is starting to dance to another drummer. I imagine if her shirt was off, the movement of her breasts would resemble two single bladed windmills turning in unison. Thud. She has broken of a large piece of the concrete slab. Tiffany releases the trigger and slowly puts the breaker down. She asks for a cigarette and if the company builds a breaker that knows how to mow the lawn. Sorry Mrs. Ballbreaker but you’re going to have to keep the fat ass you married.
Juvenile? Yes. Good, cheap entertainment? Hell yeah.
I stop for a $5.00 bottle of water and a cigarette and I have the opportunity to people watch. It is easy to see that everyone, except the North Americans are dressed in business casual. The North Americans are dressed in the typical white trash ensemble. There is a time and a place for shirts that say, ‘I am Here about the Blowjob.” This isn’t the place. Women wearing tank tops and showing off their tattoos seems to be the norm. God Help us all.
Most of the people here simply want free stuff. Hats, pens and rulers are their mission. Logically they could have stayed home, saved the $90 entrance fee and bought pens and rulers but what do I know.
Enough for today. I start to walk back to my hotel or at least some off the main drag beer joint for a happy hour pick me up. I refuse to wait in line with contractors for a ‘free’ shuttle bus ride back to my hotel. Contractors are an unruly and untrustworthy bunch. After a couple ‘pops’ I slowly walk back to my hotel. Ahhh! Air conditioned splendour. A quick shower feels great.
I meet up with my brother and we both head off to the ‘Steakhouse’ at Circus Circus. Feeling rather spiffy in our sport coats we are seated right away. People in ball caps, torn jeans and t-shirts mumble about my brother and I getting seated right away as we pass. In my head and possibly with my outside voice I think or say- ‘Douchebag’ as I pass. These restaurants never used to let anyone in if they were not wearing at the minimum a sport coat. Now they seem to let anyone in due to the economic climate. The restaurants still give preferential treatment to people who don’t look like they just rolled up to the doors in a Winnebago.
This is another way of life that annoys the piss out of me. What the hell is wrong with at least putting on a dress shirt and a pair of pants without holes in them when you go to a nice restaurant? What manner of fiendish turd could possibly think it is ok to wear a god damn NASCAR hat in a restaurant? Beat up running shoes? I can see the holes in your sock ya ass! I am sorry but the friggin’ soup here costs ten bucks and if you have only one drink you are still not escaping this place for under $75.00 per person. If you have enough money to eat here, chances are you have enough money for socks. Moron! And please take of your fucking hat. Nothing screams loser as much as a loser who won’t take off his loser hat inside any building let alone a nice upscale dining establishment. Oh I know you want to be seated over in the nicer part of the dining room, but you will have to notice that everyone over here isn’t dressed like a trailer park turd. You will sit over in the turd area with the rest of the turds. Maybe I am somewhat elitist in matters like this, but I know damn well the people with manners, common sense and traditional values are pleased with me as I sit over in the nice area of the dining room. And get your fucking elbows off the table! You sir are the Turd King!
I do have the advantage that my wife is very pretty so when we go into places, any places, I generally go unnoticed. On the slim chance the waiter may talk to me I want to look presentable. Put a suit on, impress your wife or girlfriend. Actually look at the wine menu, and touch your chin like you are pondering a very important decision. Say please and thank you like a human being. Don’t be a lazy crap weasel and present yourself like you just rolled out of bed and decided to grace everyone with your stylish flip flops and ‘Who Farted?’ t- shirt. Loser!
Resuming our dinner we order our dinner and drink a few glasses of wine while we BS each other. Our meals come out and I swear to Neptune that I have half a cow on the plate before me. OH MY GOD! I have found the best prime rib I have ever had in my life. Sorry mom but this one has yours beat. Barely able to finish we roll out of the restaurant in the bloated euphoric state that can only be enhanced by cont’d drinking and gambling.
END PART 2
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