last quip of the day

"I didn't have the balls (to join the military)", a woman said today.

Well, duh. No balls!

bleary-eyed and sleepy

Rampelter -- one who thows rocks and Spring March-April born persons +

I am a Ram, born also under the Chinese Zodiac of the rooster "cock"

Ramcock -- stupid fool, a tool, serving only, never thinking.

And to think that I dispelled the zodiac as hogwash.

Ramcockpelter -- one who justly stones to death people unwilling to speak his mind and do the right thing

+ submission for game of Balderdash

I would like eleven lumps of sugar, please.

"I'm a monster; I'm not sweet enough."

Thanks Little Bear for putting into words, that which I could not.

hmmm

I sinned, she wept, and it got crappy from there ...
"Don't do it ... don't do it", my mind beckoned. "Please, don't ... it will turn sour", my mind shouted.

It wasn't ever wine, not really roses, but it spoiled just like them. It got sour, dried up, curled, blackened, smelled of simple death. A spark, what was thought as life, wasn't never even a heartbeat. Yet, there it smelled of death, just as bloated and foul and as recognizable as matted piles on the roadside.

Damn! Why, oh why did I do it. Damn! One fleeting breath of, "ah", then the smell of morning breath. I roll over in disgust ... I can't stand the whole thing. I can't stand me most of all.

@#$@!#$@!$@!$@#$!@$@*&%$(*%&$#@! Where was my !@#!#!@$! stop sign?!

"I didn't mean to turn you on", thanks Robert Palmer, though poorly timed. The radio mocks me as I exit, no flee. I'm not running from her, but me, but no matter where I go, there I am. Oh, like drinking drano, you hope to puke and reverse it, but no ... you're dead. I want to reverse it ... go back, say no ... have the balls to walk, have the balls to talk, like trying to lie

"The broken lamp? I don't know anything about it" Oh, any lie sounds good, but they all sound bad. I let my *^!#@! do the thinking.




Remorse ....

again.


I'm stupid,
a moron,
a sinful sot,
ruining everything,
I ...
I ...




I didn't do it. I had all of this in my head ... that is why I walked. I walked and had balls this time. I had the nerve to say no, to me.

I can almost smile, for I didn't make things worse by nodding blithly where I needed to command a "no"! I am today happier, for I said no. Let's hope that I remember this skit next time, so I don't regret, have remose and go sullen with fears and angst.

More crafty Southern Fried pickin'

Daggum homolexuals innfearin' wit our ways and all. I tell ya, it just ain't righ to have one mannnn readin to anudder ... it jus ain' natral

Dey gone in dere li-bary and starded readin'. I tell you it was disss-gustin'! Ruminds me of doze him-hawin', high faluting lawyaz ina state gov'ment! Day alwayz tryin' ta take my gunz! I sa---yy we runz dem homolexuals righ' out uh hee ... all dat book lurnin' dun nottin' fo' no body. I gots me a who' 8 yeas of schoolin' and walkd out in turd gade cuz dey wazn't teachin' me nuttin'. All dat numbers dun make me crazy -- ain't none of it true. 'Cept Cooter, who by-the-way iz da best damned road-side cooka eva, no body need ta count more'n twenty nohow.

Cooter, see, he gots kids ... more'n he can count, and he count lots bett'rn me.

Cooter one time fixed a mean ol' steak o' deer, no more'n four day ol'. Shit -- done nottin' wrong wit it ... weren't no huntin', just found dead on road. And we claim it first -- you got dat Elmer! We claim it first!

mullets for bullets

"getting the South into the war -- they want to take your liquor and keep you from having alcohol, especially beer"

They would like abolish NASCAR

And so, this propoganda poster worked ... the South entered the fighting and wanted to put a stop to those agin the shine

They weren't too happy to hear that these danged for'ners also married kin and had many wives -- much like themselves. They were happy to find Allah-Damnit to be a fun phrase to say, or "itterate" for those "lexuals"

I share a birthday with him, to who I hold no candle

Jefferson, not George and Weezie, but this man. Writer, who had an abolition of slavery in his first draft of the Constitution, author of much more, only later mired in the hypocracy of slavery and abolition. A "founding father" of our nation, once President, and with him, I share only a birthday. Greatness is achieved, not granted or inherited.

foul mouthed, dirty minded, I fit right in

I made a comment, "flash some leg", which was disregarded as a quip, an attempted, "ha ha", thakfully not festering into a sexual harrassment suit. My other visual remark was when a couple of guys spent their attention, not on me while helping them, but rather on the butt of a nice-looking woman/girl+ at work. She didn't seem to "enjoy" the knowledge that her butt got so much attention.

Other antics at work are from the septic mouths of persons spouting jokes -- demeaning to ethnic groups, sex, and general belittlement--unrestricted. Yet, some other comments are leading double-edged swords and inuendos cubed. "That's not what she said", and "That's what she said", "You said you want to [rude]?"

Sometimes it is, in most respects, a "good old boys'" club. Where the moon shines, your cousin is your wife and sister, and non-white know dey place. It is this "good old boy" retardity (not mentality) that I find disturbing. Sure ... dirty jokes, stuff I find insulting, that's just about anywhere you work, but the "Dat's da way it always bin ... ain' gonna be" is, well ... 16th century. "Them thar 'puters iz takin' over" I can hear tumble-drying in their minds.

+ I include "girl" as she is younger than myself

a lot like bitching

So ... I find error, point out error, then another and another. Be it nagging or bitching, be it "consulting" or "critiquing", it is bitching. I try to work through it ... saying nothing, rotating it in my mind, shift pieces like a Chinese Box, then I'll call it ... art, intriguing, useful, or just plain crap. Often, the "box" as it were is just plain crap ... much like I knew it when I first saw it.

So ... I'm not bitching as much, but I find that crap is crap is crap is crap. I just don't bother labeling it crap anymore, because I know it's crap. I can avoid some of it, for if you can step around crap, you don't get it on your shoe. That's what I'm trying to do now. I'm just trying to step in less of it, and know that remarking that it smells, for frantically worrying about my shoes -- unimportant. It's crap; avoid it; don't bother mentioning it to those around you.

"You don't have to tell me that my coffe is good. [She] buys crap!" +

+ Pulp Fiction

the man she marries

the second time, isn't the fun, exciting, bad boy -- the notorious A.S.S. (hole), but rather the stable, nice guy she poo-pooed so often. The man she marries is the man who was right, was right there, but now isn't all that interested in the 9 days old stew.

So, there she is -- "in tatters" + vying for the attention of that stable, nice guy, who now needs a lot of coaxing. Worse still, he isn't clay to be molded. Uh-uhn. Nope. He is what he is. She may or may not have kids, still ... life unhappy, perhaps her heart shattered a few times.

So, lowered expectations, you accept, tolerate, then find dis-satisfaction again. Now marriage three ... "Look! I'm comfortable with who I am now. Damn it if he doesn't appreciate me." So, then there is are the years of separation --- denial, of where things went wrong.

I am the stable guy, the nice guy, the ninth draft, far from the motorcyclist arrogant, abusive (on some level), pig, who is the favorite pick of women. "Gosh! He's such a bastard ... I want him!" Now, after being with Bastard, she finds a nice guy, but ... he is much more passive and so ... failure again. Somewhere down the road, she finds, "this guy", seems attentive, courteous. She tries to interest him, but her years of baggage, she's never unpacked or disgarded win her "no points" with the stable guy who now can opt out.

I'm the marrying guy, the one who is the ninth draft ... the dead center pick ... not the end and not the first. The middle-of-the-roader, when she can't find love, she'll accept patient affection, but be bitter that it isn't love. She's bitter, not really with him, though he gets the brunt of it. She's bitter with picking ass, after bastard, after selfish jerk. So, guy four has no real competition other than he looks a little like the ghosts of her past.

So ... is love worth it, you wonder. When you find that you lump together because you can, not because you fall in love -- therein is life and "love" at forty.

+ Rolling Stones

You say it's your birthday?!

It's late, but I bid a very happy and fond
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
to ISJ (J Q), born on the first of April
and to my sister Debbie "Doodie" born on the second of April

soon is the birthday of my neice, on the eighth