October 26th, 2007

#657: Mumbles

I slept today. A lot.

My original plan had been to go get some errands done, then clean out the garage a little more--beyond what we did to get the boat motor out--and free up some more room.

I actually ended up running the errands, coming home, and going to bed.

Wendesday night I woke up in pain and unable to move, so I called off work, took ibuprofen, and went back to bed. I then woke up again around 4 AM feeling better, so I made the above plans.

Every once in a while I get these stabbing stomach pains, and when I say "stabbing" I am not far from being literal--they hurt like someone's sticking something right into my stomach (and out my left side, when it's really bad). And nothing seems to modulate it; it comes and goes as it pleases, and neither bland diet nor antacid nor Nexium nor anti-anxiety medication seem to affect it.

These pains first struck me when I was 12. An upper GI revealed they were coming from my duodenum. Then they went away for a long time, finally coming back in 2001. When I went to see the doctor about them, she ran an EKG to make sure it wasn't my heart--well, it wasn't; it was my stomach.

The pain varies from mild to "just shoot me", and today it was somewhere in the middle, just above "I can't do any work". So I didn't go to work and I didn't get the garage cleaned out.

What I did get was 13 hours of sleep, though. Got home from the errands at 11, went to bed, and zonk. Suddenly it's almost midnight....

But in this state I have no appetite--not surprising, that--and no energy. Normally my stomach clock wakes me up, but today it let me sleep.

* * *

Having made a dent in about 10% of the garage, I really want to do more, though.

There's a lot of junk out there. I'm not talking about antique stuff; I'm talking about junk, stuff Dad didn't want thrown away because...because, uh, someone might want it.

*sigh* Depression mentality....

So we have a lot of junk in the garage which has zero utility or value, which we couldn't throw out because Dad wanted it saved. Well, Dad's in the Happy Hunting Grounds now, so he no longer has a veto, so I can finally throw some of the trash the hell out and reclaim some more garage for useful things. Or, at least, things which have the potential to be useful.

We have, for example, a folding bed frame out there. No folding mattress for it, though we do have the mattress for my bed there. (And I'd bet it's full of mice by now.)

This house has two sofas--one of which converts into a bed--and Dad's now-vacant bedroom with a nice new bed in it. If we really needed another mattress, we could get a self-inflating jobbie from K-mart or Target for not a lot of money that would have the added benefits of storing in a small space and not containing mice and/or hantavirus.

It's like the box springs I threw out a couple months ago. It was a twin-size box spring vintage 1955 which hadn't been used since the 1960s at least; and if anyone was going to use the bed that they were for, he would buy a new box spring for it which wasn't rusty and squeaky and didn't look like the junk it was. No one was ever going to use that junk. Out it went. It should have gone out years decades ago.

There's a bunch of stuff I won't toss. Okay, I realize that, for example, that ancient TV set--vintage, oh, 1952 to hazard a guess--is not junk, whether it works or not. The big table, that's not junk. I'm on the fence with regards to my paternal grandfather's fake fireplace, but there's plenty of stuff next to it that I know I can't get rid of.

But the cots that my Dad put in his 1988 Chevy pickup, which he traded in on the van he bought in 1995--the cots which bent the first time he tried to use them and never used again--why do we still have those? Dad didn't want them diposed of, so we had to keep them, despite the fact that they had never worked. Those cots--the cloth got removed and the aluminum will be recycled.

There's an assload of other stuff in there that I'm itching to get rid of. Some of it will require a "command decision" from Mom but if she says it can go, it will go. And I'm not talking about useful stuff; otherwise I would contemplate a garage sale. No, I am talking about JUNK.

* * *

In this vein, then, I've been thinking about getting a trailer hitch put on the Jeep, and then going to Harbor Freight and buying one of their 4x4 trailers--they're running about $150 right now. It'd be great for hauling away the junk in the garage; and when it came time to, for example, take the '86 Fiero's engine to the machine shop, I wouldn't have to dirty up the interior of the truck to do it. I could use it to haul my dirt bike to places where I could actually ride it, too, which would be fun.

Naturally it'd end up costing me a bit more than $150. I'd be buying a spare tire, of course, and I'd have to put some money into building a bed and sides for the thing. But $150's not a bad price to start from, and it would be really useful, and it would be light enough that I could park it on the back patio, out of the way.

I keep thinking about building a small trailer and have to realize that I'd probably spend $150 before I even got one piece of steel attached to another, just in parts--axle, hitch, etc--so the only thing that would get me would be a bit more flexibility in the design.

So, right now, the only real issue is finding a hitch for the truck and finding time to build a trailer and install a hitch. Well, maybe if I wasn't sleeping 13 hours at a stretch....

* * *

We had some rain and I finally established that the Jeep's rear axle is not limited slip. Oh well. Guess you don't really need it when you've got four-wheel-drive....

* * *

Crete has become noisier. I used to be able to sit on the back patio and enjoy quiet nature; now it's only quiet when:
  • no trains
  • no cars
  • no morons with stupid-loud bass anywhere in a half-mile radius
  • no airplanes
  • no unmuffled motorcycles
I mean, I know that my ears have not gotten more sensitive, so I figure the noise level must have increased without my noticing.

Well, winter's a-comin', and with the vinyl siding covering a half-inch of high-density insulating foam, it's a lot quieter inside the house, anyway.

* * *

I found all the folding chairs that I've bought over the years during my little excavation, the other day. All of them, which I wasn't able to find when I wanted them earlier.

They should have been put in the basement, not in the garage; but I fixed that error.

* * *

Border's is trying to avoid getting my money.

When I go to that place to buy manga I have specific titles and volume numbers in mind. They've not bothered to re-stock what I'm looking for; I was last there three weeks ago and the selection of titles has not changed.

I want Someday's Dreamers 4; they only have 1. I want Strawberry Marshmallow 5; they're totally out. I want Here is Greenwood 3; they only have 1.

I did buy Suzuka 5, but I think that's as far as that series goes right now, so I have no reason to go back there for at least a couple months, now.

I looked in vain for Pretty Cure, but I don't think that's even being marketed here. (Yet, anyway.) I thought it was--maybe it was, by TokyoPop (neé Mixx)--but if it ever was, it's not now. *sigh*

And there's nothing else I want to buy. The SF market is pretty crappy right now--there is nothing new I want to read out there.

The current stable of SF writers just leaves me cold. Greg Benford (I think it was Benford) believes "global warming=man-made=apocalypse"; I can't take him seriously. Kim Robinson writes books about manned space exploration but personally believes that manned space exploration is a waste of money that would be better spent "on Earth". Bear--I haven't read anything of his since he blew up the Earth, and his books were always kind of iffy in my estimation anyway. Gibson's a hack. I haven't read a single work of his that I enjoyed.

The same goes for "straight" fiction and "spy thrillers". Clancy lost whatever edge he had. Clive Cussler's books about Dirk Pitt's son leave me just as cold as his "also wik" books written about So-and-so Austin; it took me weeks to get through Polar Shift--me, the guy who can read a Clancy novel cold in one weekend.

Jim Butcher's Dresden Files books are excellent, but his fantasy epic--the name of which I haven't bothered to store in permanent memory--does not interest me. I read the samples included with the Dresden books and said "no".

Fantasy, pretty much as a rule, does not appeal to me. There are very few exceptions to that rule and they are all considered major works to one extent or another. Certainly Little Miss Tuffet's "ZOMGDragonWizardElf!" book will only annoy me rather than entertain me. (Robert Jordan? Pfft, whatev.)

Nonfiction? What am I going to do, start reading political books again? I discovered something about them: they're either so viscous they keep you from getting any entertainment from them (Bork and Nixon) or so thin you burn through them in a couple of hours (Goldberg, O'Reilly). That's on the conservative side, anyway; I won't read the liberal side because they way they play fast and loose with facts is invariably too infuriating.

It's why I spend so much time on the internet, both reading and writing. First, it doesn't cost me anything; second, I can find what I want pretty easily.

* * *

Last year at this time I really wanted to get an N-scale train set. Having bought one in January--and having bought extra track and a good transformer--it's gathered dust. *sigh* I was going to build a small model railroad but apparently that only lasted until I'd "played trains" a bit.

I still get Model Railroader and Trains every month, and still read them, and still think, "Man, that's cool" but I just haven't had any desire to go any further. Argh etc.

* * *

Well, there are fresh anime torrents up for series I'm following. That stuff's not going to download itself! Later.

#658: Ignorance x3: Racism, ignorance, racism.

I may as well start with Zimbabwe.

The linked article is a good encapsulation of what has gone wrong with Zimbabwe in its post-colonialist period. Extremely good, in fact. So good I can't amplify it at all.

Dumb kids? Or what? Remember I was ranting about education in America not long ago? This is another article which neatly encapsulates the issue, again, beyond my ability to amplify.

And so we come to Iraq and democracy. And I think the writer's view is racist. He might as well say, "Well, as we all know, the WOGs are incapable of appreciating the democratic process." Democracy is impossible in Iraq because they're not civilized over there.

We should not, says the article, bother trying to democratize Iraq, because sometimes democracies end up being tyrannies.

Oh, okay. By that thinking, why should we bother to live? We're all going to die anyway, right?

The article lists some current tyrannies: Venezuela under Chavez, Zimbabwe under Mugabe. They were democratically elected!

WTF, dude. Hitler was, too. So were Lenin, Stalin, and Mussolini. And Ho Chi Minh and Mao Tse Tung claimed democratic victories. Does that mean that democracy in Iraq is impossible?

I honestly don't think it does. The fact that a system can be perverted by evil people does not invalidate it; and there are just as many evil people in the first world as there are in the third world.

The people of Iraq want democracy; I believe that because I've seen the pictures and read the reports of them defying terrorists--who were actively blowing up polling places--in order to cast their votes. The people want it. I doubt they are in any more danger of voting in a dictator than we are: Hillary Clinton is the odds-on favorite to take the 44th Presidency of the United States, and her policies make me nervous at best.

The idea that "Well, we shouldn't bother, because they're too stupid or ignorant or uncivilized to avoid screwing it up" is ludicrous. Set Iraq up with a new government that is a democratic republic. If they screw it up, it's not our fault.

Saddam Hussein, he was our fault; we supported him during the Iran-Iraq war under the theory that "the enemy of my enemy is my friend", which is a common theme for all international relations. But Hussein became a problem later on, when he invaded Kuwait, and we should have cleaned up that mess then. (The same goes for Bin Laden, now that I think of it.)

But articles like this one, always critical of our efforts in Iraq, don't offer any alternatives. Okay, so what we're doing won't work, what do you suggest we do? You can say, "Oh, we shouldn't have done that!" but it's too late and you might as well cry over spilled milk for all the good it will do now--so what do you suggest we do? You seem opposed to the idea of a democratic Iraq, for whatever reason; will a Caliphate work better? Or installing a new "strong man" in Saddam's seat?

I'm saying this because I'm getting very tired of all the people who piss and moan about how "bad" it is in Iraq without learning anything but what the mainstream media (MSM) tells them about it. Recently we learned that the MSM considers the recent seventy percent drop in violence a non-news "beginning of a trend" but an equally sudden increase in violence would be "stop the presses" front-page news. What does this say about what we're being told about Iraq?

I'm not being a Pollyanna about this; I know there are serious challenges to be overcome and no democracy is going to work if we pull out tomorrow. We were in Japan and Germany for over a decade after the end of WW2; right now we've been four years in Iraq.

Democracy will work there if we give it a chance to. But if we insist on going home because of a bloody nose, we're going to leave a worse problem than we found when we got there--exactly the same as with Vietnam.

#659: Oh, shut up!

I just opened a container of sour cream. Mom made Mexican lasagna tonight and I was having a post-shower meal.

Under the cap: "A friend is like a rainbow: always there after the storm!"

STFU. Okay? STFU, before you make me barf.

I am really down on the idea of friendship, companionship, and "relationships". I have read and seen and heard all sorts of these platitudes in my life, took them to heart, believed in them the way I believe in God and Jesus.

And continue to have faith in them because I'm not ready to be such a cynic, but I have never actually experienced that kind of friendship.

Maybe my expectations are unrealistic. I don't know. But I can illustrate my point by discussing the life-crisis that struck me in late 2003.

It was not a banner year. I spent 2002 unemployed, trying to find a job; on 1/2/03 I started a new career as a certified nurse's assistant. It was hard work, painful (both physically and emotionally).

In early 2002 my friend Darla's father had to be convinced, by a social worker, to go to the freaking hospital, where the ER attending described him as a "train wreck" with a blood glucose reading of 360 (3x normal), diabetic neuropathy and atrophied leg muscles to the point that he couldn't walk, and he'd spent the last month in the same chair without getting up at all. You can do the math on what that means.

Darla had lived upstairs while all this was going on. Knowing her father I bought her version of events, but now I have to wonder...but screw it, I don't care anyway.

With her father in a nursing home for good, Darla's siblings gave her an ultimatum: pay for the utilities on that drafty old wreck of a house (the heating bill alone: $400 per month) or move out.

I offered her my spare bedroom. Half of my rent and half my utilities was about $400 per month. She accepted. We were "together" anyway, boyfriend-girlfriend, so it even made a kind of sense, especially since my unemployment was running out and I faced moving back to Illinois if I didn't find a job and soon.

I did this out of friendship; I was giving up my art studio/computer room so she'd have her own bedroom--I knew it was important that we each have our own space. She didn't have anywhere else to go, anyway.

Fast-forward to July of 2003, then. We were helping a neighbor get into his apartment; the guy fell and I tried to break his fall, and ended up breaking my little finger. It needed an ORIF--open reduction internal fixation--and I had a stainless steel pin sticking out of it for six weeks. I couldn't work as a CNA, they wouldn't put me on light duty, and there wasn't anything else I could do. So I basically ended up out of a job. I was still on the payroll but I had no hours, and no guarantee that I would have a position when my leave was over.

In October, when I was cleared to go back to work, there were no hours for me. And no other nursing homes were hiring, except for the worst "stack-'em-like-cordwood" place in the county--a place which was notorious for using up CNAs, paying them shit wages, and spitting them out when they couldn't do any more. I wasn't going to work there.

But I couldn't get a job anywhere else.

Meanwhile my relationship with Darla was getting better, and we'd discussed the things you usually discuss when you're in that kind of relationship. In late November, with her birthday approaching, I was going to go hock some of my tools to buy her a "promise ring", a kind of "engaged to be engaged" ring. I asked her for her ring size, telling her of my intentions, and she told me "no".

Over 40, fat, plain, and I was the only man who had ever expressed an interest in spending his life with her. Okay, whatev.

But it pretty well ended my existence in Iowa. I hadn't worked since July, and was ineligible for unemployment; I had no money and no wherewithal to get a new place to live, nor could I continue to live there: her rich mother wouldn't send her any more money if we lived together. (How convenient, I thought.) When she said, "One of us has to move" I took the high road and just moved out. I could have made her move first and then moved out--and the thought did occur to me at the time!--but I didn't.

I moved back to Illinois. Less than three months later it was obvious that it was a good thing that I had, but at the time all of this was the emotional equivalent of a live grenade in the shorts.

At the time I was a regular at Mark's D&D game, every other week. But living in Illinois meant a 4.5-hour drive to Cedar Rapids on Friday night (or Saturday morning) and an equally long drive home on Sunday afternoon.

Could Mark let me use his sofa on Friday night? No. No, I could have it on Saturday night, but Friday I'd have to go elsewhere.

If I went to Robb's house Friday night, I didn't get to sleep before 3 AM at best, because Robb would be up until then on his computer--and Robb's kids would wake me up at 7 AM with the TV. Robb, of course, would be asleep in his bedroom with his wife, and they could easily sleep until 11. 11-3=8; 7-3=4: I was getting about half the sleep Robb was.

If I drove there on Saturday, I had to leave Crete at about 7 AM. Mark was very particular about people being on time to his game. You can't be late, oh no! You have to get there before and be ready to go at 1 PM sharp, or else!!

Either way, I was getting up at 7 in the freaking morning to play a stupid game. But okay, okay--these are my friends, I'll do it.

Then Mark complained that I always seemed tired when I was there and not interested in the game.

Okay, look here, fuckstick: I'm driving four fucking hours to be here for your game. You won't let me sleep on your sofa two nights every other week even though you let so-and-so sleep on your sofa for three freaking months straight. I'm sorry that I'm tired, but I can't help it; and since I am making such an effort, the fucking least you can do is not be such a fucking douchebag about it!

Oh! But what's-his-face drives four hours! He can game just fine!

Yeah. He stays Friday night with his sister, and I'm betting he's not sleeping on a sofa--which literally smells like ass, by the way--for four hours before being awakened by Saturday morning cartoons. I'm betting he gets at least six hours, maybe more, before sauntering over to your double-wide.

I mean, how much do I have to do, here?

Mark subscribed to approximately the same definition of "friendship" that I do, so I just don't get it. What I do get is that if the situations were reversed I wouldn't begrudge a friend the way he begrudged me: "This is the limit of what I am willing to do," he said in one e-mail.

For Christ's sake, I wasn't asking for his first born; I was asking to sleep on a freaking sofa two nights in a row, and have a couple of showers. I'm talking about arriving late on Friday (around 8, 9 PM) and going to bed relatively soon thereafter, not getting there at 3 PM and hanging around eating all his food and camping on his computer all night.

I rapidly realized that his definition of "friendship" and my own were, in fact, rather at odds.

Actually, the way it worked out, it was how he applied that definition to me, not his overall definition. Apparently he was willing to make that sacrifice for others, but not me--as I'd said, one of his gamers slept on that sofa for three months, and afterwards he had Robb's entire family over there on Saturday night. So much for "we don't want a lot of people staying over on game weekends". So I finally realized where I fell in his estimation, anyway: by myself I was more annoying than two people and their two single-digit-age children.

But what annoys me is that I was expected to make all kinds of sacrifices--time, money, effort--and he was not required to do anything, not even by friendship.

The same kind of situation was demonstrated in my recent breakup with what's-her-face in the Philippines. I spent $1,800 on airfare and hundreds more on "pasalubong"--souvenirs--for her friends and family, and traveled halfway around the planet to meet her. Why did she call off our engagement?

Well, for one thing, because I never made her "feel special". WTF!

(Apparently I could atone for this sin by sending her $330 per month. She told me she wanted me to support her and that she needed P500 per day, which is about $11; and when I told her that was not going to happen, she never wrote another letter.)

That is to say, Ed: what you're doing? It's not enough. Sorry, pal. You might think it's a big deal, and maybe it is, for you--but for me, it's nothing.

I'm all for understanding the other person's side of issues and trying to accept that not everyone thinks the same way, but these are times when I just think, "What in the fucking hell--?"

And in some cases it amounts to sheer stupidity on my part, too. I had a friend, Mike, who consistently acted like a dickhead towards me for years and I always forgave him for it; my one condition was knowing what he had been doing that had made him blow me off. Finally that got to be too much for him.

I mean, I'd call him and set up a day for us to get together. He'd agree to it. On the day, I'd give him a call and get the answering machine. Call later, same thing. Call again, same thing. Most of the time I'd finally get a call around 9, 10 PM from him.

Oh, but I was badgering him to set up a get-together! Well, WTF, you're my friend, for reasons that mystify me; I would like to see you once in a while. Jesus Christ, if my presence is so goddamned onerous why don't you just fucking say so, asshat? Call the friendship quits and I'll never bother your sorry ass again, douchebag.

But that would make him the bad guy, you see. This way it's all my fault.

And that behavior went all the way back to the earliest days of our friendship; maybe that's why I didn't really notice it until it became obvious. "Marcus called me first," he'd say. If I called him the night before and set something up, the next day it'd still be "Marcus called me first". Clearly he would rather spend time with Marcus than me, but that didn't become obvious to me until much later.

I don't associate with people I don't like, so I don't understand that attitude. If I don't like someone I won't let him think he's my friend--it's dishonest at best.

I'll tell you what it is: I was the "backup"--if Marcus was busy, I could be counted on to be there. And it was the same situation with another friend in the other example I gave--I was second fiddle, to be associated with only in case of the emergency of friend #1 not being around.

(I might add that I was not the only person he treated that way. I was friends with his first girlfriend and he treated her that way, too.)

What kind of friendship is that? I mean, it obviously works very well for him, of course; he's always entertained. But isn't there supposed to be a mutual component to friendship?

Mike also felt that it was perfectly fair for him to make fun of me for various things; but if I made fun of him for various things I was being cruel to him. I mean, I can remember times when he, his brother, and Marcus ganged up on me and teased me a lot, and that apparently was perfectly okay, but I'm not allowed a friendly dig here and there. Okay.

...and he never bothered to tell me that it bothered him, either; oh no. He didn't even try: "I knew you wouldn't stop, so I didn't bother!" Except, y'know, if he had told me, "Look, honestly--it really does bother me when you do this" I would have stopped. I had used that technique with startling effectiveness on other friends even when I thought it wouldn't work. But if you never tell me, if you don't let on that it bothers you, if you give no response--okay, gee, I guess I'm an asshole for not understanding your complete lack of communication.

I don't expect perfection from anybody. I accept that my friends are not always going to do things or make choices that are to my liking. But I expect them to give me the same regard; and if they don't, what am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to change myself to suit someone else? Do others have to change themselves to suit me? Who decides that, and how?

In every case I've cited above, by the way, I am not claiming to have been 100% perfect all along. I have my warts, too--everyone does--and I know it. But part of friendship is, I thought, understanding and accepting your friends for who they are, not who you want them to be. If you don't like who they are, you don't sit there and hold a grudge about it and act like a jerk; you tell them about it and then you decide whether or not you're going to keep associating with them.

In every relationship and friendship I've had since junior high school I've done my best to be forgiving of the foibles of others and to accept my friends for who they were. I haven't been Mr. Perfect--far from it--but I've assumed that the asinine things I do were offet by the asinine things they did. But that's not correct.

No, in just about every case, it was always my fault.

Marcus? He hasn't associated with me since 1994 because I "never wanted to do anything". For example, I wouldn't go out to a bar at 11 PM on a work night. "Well, I have to go to work tomorrow, too!" Oh, yeah, you do. You drive half an hour to get to work at noon. I drive 1.25 hours to get to work at 8 in the morning. Notice the difference?

Mark? Haven't heard a word from him since 2004, and I'm not sure I care at all. But it was my fault things turned out the way they did, because I was being "unreasonable". After all, he was doing "everything he was willing to do" and that just wasn't enough for me.

The consistent thread of "you've been there when I needed you, but I don't have to be there for you" has been too consistent in my life, and it's what makes me think that real friendship is a myth.

I helped Mark with a lot of things, being a sounding board for serious problems in his life and validating his views on them--and I mean serious stuff, like having a daughter get hospitalized after she tried to kill herself, having a former friend sue him, etc. Granted my efforts were little enough, but they were all that I could do for him. I helped him move; I helped him rebuild his front porch.

I helped Marcus with a lot of things, too. His parents all-but-divorced, and I was there to listen to him. He and I were best friends for decades, even to the point of treating our cars like communal property.

Mike? I sent a mass e-mail to everyone on my e-mail list in January, telling them about the death of my Dad. He didn't send any reply, which was fine since we'd fallen out of contact a few months earlier. But now his dad has died and he sent me an e-mail about it; I don't know what he expects from me. (This is the situation that prompted #651, by the way.)

Or is it really me that's the problem? I regularly look at myself and my behavior and I can't see anything so seriously wrong with me, but self-knowledge is not my strong suit.

Still, when I compare my behavior to the behavior of others I certainly see no disparity; in fact I see people who are much bigger dickheads than me who have a wealth of friends and significant others. So what the hell?

I guess what I'm saying here is that my faith in the good things about life and people has been shaken. Friendship is apparently worthless. Love doesn't seem to work either, at least not for me. What the hell is left? What do I have to look forward to? Is there no one I can count on?

Am I wrong?

#660: Hell house *sigh*

Hell house...again.

"'Eternal Nightmare' will feature walk-through scenes that depict 'the horrors of drugs, alcohol, abortion, self-mutilation' and more, said the Rev. Jim Cookson, pastor of the church."

At the end? Jesus! "The final scene will present the story of Jesus Christ as the answer to those horrors."

Yeah, okay. Whatever floats your boat. But the only people going to that thing are going to be Christians; non-Christians who go there expecting a haunted house are going to be royally pissed off.

#661: So why is there an afterlife in it?

An atheist's answer to Chronicles of Narnia portrays the afterlife as "...a dank and dreary 'prison camp' afterlife." There is no "heaven" as Christians think of it.

But the books are apparently full of angels and there is an afterlife in it. God is portrayed as a whiny crybaby loser who is destroyed and who didn't create the universe; he's just an angel who took over.


To say that's "incoherent" would be giving it too much credit. There is no God but there are angels and an afterlife?


If there's no such thing as God, why are there angels? Why is there an afterlife?

The thing is, it's a polemic, and there is no story there if people just end when they die. If there's no afterlife, the writer can't make his point. And so, ironically, the atheist's point that there is no God and no afterlife can only be made if there is an afterlife and a defective "God"-analogue? Do I understand this?

Filing Golden Compass under "worthless tripe" and heading for bed. See ya!

#662: W...T...F!

And that's less than half of the whole ad.

Okay, it's obvious to me that she's a big Star Wars fan. I mean, ZOMGWTFBBQ-level fan--and that's okay. It's nice that there is at least one Christian out there who can love something other than Christ and be okay with it. That's fine.

I even have to admit that the ad is intriguing enough to me that I was tempted to reply to it. I mean, if she's that nuts about SW how bad can she be, really? And the parody she displays there is very well-written, which must mean she's got at least half of a functioning brain, right?

Well, reading further along--and translating as I go--I realized she's really into Bible study, which I am not, and she specifially says that Bible study is a must-have. Oh well.

Besides, she didn't post a picture.

#664: Spam spam spam spam eggs and spam.


Mabel A. Cuevas should learn to tell me things that I don't already know! I already leave problems with penis size to losers, because I have more important things to worry about!

Lenny Z. Clements is trying to help me. The problem is, I already have enlarged my pole! It's currently 46 feet high! Too much bigger and I'm going to have to put warning lights on it! And the guy wires are already at the limit of my property. If I make the pole too much taller, I don't know how I'll keep it erect.

Also, the village wants to know why I've got a 46-foot tower on my property. I tell them it's a radio mast, but they don't seem to believe me.

What the--? You people are SICK! I'm talking about an aluminum antenna pole, here!

But the girls love my pole.

Raymond L. Nadeau! I don't want a "bigger penis" in my shorts. There's already one there and there isn't room for two! And we shouldn't be showing any penis on TV whether it's bigger or smaller, lest we incur the wrath of the FCC.

Cruz J. Lara advertises new sexual pleasure--oh, wait. Hey Cruz? There's something seriously wrong with your keyboard, dude--new sexual pleasure with a NEW bigger penis!

Hey, wait a second. One of two things has to happen for me to get a "new" penis, and neither one sounds like fun. Either the one down there has to go first--and I'm used to my old buddy!--or else another one has to sprout from somewhere; and either way, I want no part of it. No thanks, Cruz.

Mauricio is talking about my "artitude". My "artitude" on my hand! OH NOES! ZOMGWTFBBQ! I--

...you know, I have been using that "ZOMGWTFBBQ" stuff too much lately. Well, I just like the sound of it. WTF isn't enough. OMG isn't enough. ZOMGWTF isn't even enough, but if you just add BBQ to the mix, you have a winner!

I am also thinking about my reference, in #657, about Little Miss Tuffet's fantasy epic, "ZOMGDragonWizardElf!" If that's not a fantasy book title, it damn well should be!

In fact, such a novel would probably win the award that fantasy novels win.

--my hand! My freaking hand! My artitude is on it! WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO NOW???

What is "artitude" anyway?