A friend of mine recently wrote about reading another friend's blog about reading the owner's manual of his pistol. I only hope that criminals read the owner's manual as well since mine reads "Danger: This product is not intended for use by criminals or for the use in commission of crimes."
Also, there are no pictures to go along with this post since I was scared off of google after entering "gangbanger pics" in the search window. Don't try it. Just trust me.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Good news and bad news
Bad news: we elected Gilligan to be vice-president.
Good News: I got HD and a DVR!
Bad news: Swine Flu is the new AIDS.
Good news: I don't have to watch commercials anymore!
Bad news: Obama kills babies with his open heart and open mind.
Good news: I have a crystal clear picture and extra channels!
Bad news: Nancy Pelosi is obviously a zombie fire ant wandering aimlessly with no brain.
Good news: I'm paying less now than I was for regular TV!
I think the world is going to be just fine now!
Good News: I got HD and a DVR!
Bad news: Swine Flu is the new AIDS.
Good news: I don't have to watch commercials anymore!
Bad news: Obama kills babies with his open heart and open mind.
Good news: I have a crystal clear picture and extra channels!
Bad news: Nancy Pelosi is obviously a zombie fire ant wandering aimlessly with no brain.
Good news: I'm paying less now than I was for regular TV!
I think the world is going to be just fine now!
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Blame it on the Ambien
Ah, the miracles of modern medicine! In this life, sometimes things just don't go quite right. Sometimes a man just needs a little help. Know what I mean? Sometimes just a little bit of pharmaceutical help is all that's needed. Anything can be taken the extreme but I firmly believe that some medicines, in the right dosage, under a doctor's care can dramatically increase the quality of life. No great leap there, I know, but some people won't "do drugs" for anything even if advised by people that know. I have a friend whose wife should definitely go to the doctor for some happy pills. Nothing wrong with that. It doesn't make you a bad person if you need a little adjustment here and there. It happens to good people all the time.
My drug of choice is Ambien. I highly recommend it if you have trouble falling asleep. I don't know how it works but evidently it tricks your brain into thinking it's sleepy and you fall asleep but that trickery is caused by a strong hallucinagen. One can imagine the problems that it might cause but I like to think of it as opportunity. You have the opportunity to see things you wouldn't normally see and to forget things you might not want to remember. Lots of new doors can be opened with a good drug like Ambien.
Now so far Ambien and blogging have been a fun mix. I take the stuff about 9:00 or 9:30 and then go to the computer. Again, for some that might be a problem but not me. Just this morning, for instance, I was able to read my own blog like any other reader. I saw the last post about Gain detergent and thought, "Huh, I wonder what that's about". I have to admit that I had to read it a couple of times before I totally understood it but, hey, not bad for somebody totally out of their mind. So just to make sure it's clear: anything you read here written after about 9:00 or 9:30 does not necessarily reflect the views of the owner so please read with a grain of salt. At least I have an excuse for saying stupid stuff. What's Bono's excuse?
My drug of choice is Ambien. I highly recommend it if you have trouble falling asleep. I don't know how it works but evidently it tricks your brain into thinking it's sleepy and you fall asleep but that trickery is caused by a strong hallucinagen. One can imagine the problems that it might cause but I like to think of it as opportunity. You have the opportunity to see things you wouldn't normally see and to forget things you might not want to remember. Lots of new doors can be opened with a good drug like Ambien.
Now so far Ambien and blogging have been a fun mix. I take the stuff about 9:00 or 9:30 and then go to the computer. Again, for some that might be a problem but not me. Just this morning, for instance, I was able to read my own blog like any other reader. I saw the last post about Gain detergent and thought, "Huh, I wonder what that's about". I have to admit that I had to read it a couple of times before I totally understood it but, hey, not bad for somebody totally out of their mind. So just to make sure it's clear: anything you read here written after about 9:00 or 9:30 does not necessarily reflect the views of the owner so please read with a grain of salt. At least I have an excuse for saying stupid stuff. What's Bono's excuse?
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Beleive it or not, I'm not in this for the money.
I was cruising around my blog tonight just looking at different things and came across a section on the dashboard part of it behind the scenes that is labeled "Monetize". I, like some others, have a slight interest in all things money so I clicked over there. It gave tips and hints on how to add advertising to your blog by putting ads between the sidebar and below the post. They won't tell you how much you will make by doing it but this is to let my loyal readers know that you will not see any ads in my blog! Not me. No way, not the kid! I'm not giving in to the man. For love of the game...that's me. Nobody's making any money off those two stupid cartoons and a picture of John Wayne. That's right. Shoot it's time for bed. I sure am glad I bought Gain Laundry Detergent. My sheets have that willowy forest smell to it. It's the smell...the smell of clean! Ca-ching!
Monday, May 11, 2009
Storytime in parts
--Part XI--
Jimmy Robert Cade had a decision to make. He had always been down on his luck and had rarely kept the few meaningless jobs he had ever aquired for more than a few months. In his mind Cade (known by his associates as Jimbob) had always felt that he was under-appreciated. Employers rarely saw the diamond in the rough he was soon to be if he just had a break. If they would just give him some latitude in his work ethic he would show them pretty soon that he was a good worker but few employers were willing or able to see things as Jimbob saw them and now he had to make a decision.
The gun in his coat pocket made him feel powerful. It was the feeling he had never gotten any other way and the sensation was sweeping over him like a fever. It started in his head and had moved down his spine. It puffed out his chest and moved down to his feet that were now moving one after the other without his acknowledgment toward the building. His mind freewheeled over things that had been said to him and done to him. Most of the time he had not protested when he was fired from a job or turned down for an opportunity but some things were beyond his control. When he lost his job at the diner the owner said it was because he was continually tardy but Jimbob's car had broken down and he had yet to fix it. That's all. The owner said Jimbob "couldn't be counted on" and had fired him after only two weeks. "I bet he's not counting on this!", thought Jimbob as he walked down the sidewalk. He reached the door and paused, glancing in the restaurant and taking a deep breath.
Jimbob Cade was thirty years old but looked several years older. He grew his stringy hair longer on one side and combed it over the top assuming nobody would notice the bare spot. He wore a thread-bare gray suit his ex-wife had bought him years ago so he would have something to wear to church but even though Christmas and Easter rarely came around the suit was well worn. He thought he looked good in it and wore it nearly everywhere proudly. He never cared for a tie and usually opted not to shave since he had sensitive skin. He was average height but slightly built with a concave chest and narrow slumping shoulders. When he looked in the mirror he knew that his brown eyes were his best feature. His ex-wife had told him that years ago when they were dating so that is how he knew.
He stood on the sidewalk for a long moment screwing his courage up to a sticking place and letting the memories combine with the newly-felt power. This combination of repression of feelings, oppression of employers and depression of mind had left a lasting impression on Jimbob's psyche that he felt had to be released. At this point he had pretty much made up his mind but if he needed any more motivation to go in the door he saw a ferocious dog approaching him obviously wanting to do him harm and so he slipped inside the door as much for safety than as to get what he was due.
The bell hanging on the door barely caused any heads to turn and Jimbob was unsure exactly of his next move. He walked over to the wooden counter where the cash register was but there was nobody there. Just then the old waitress called out, "Seat yourself, honey" and continued filling a customer's coffee mug. Jimbob waited by the register with his hand in his pocket wrapped around the small revolver. He waited there for several minutes just feeling uncomfortable. He had seen things going differently than this in his mind. He had seen patrons climbing under their tables in fear of him and the owner crying out, begging him to spare his life. Jimbob was not wanting to hurt anyone. He just wanted them to be afraid, to show him respect but none of that seemed to be happening now and Jimbob was getting anxious.
The waitress finally came over to him and repeated her previous message but when she turned around Jimbob grabbed her by the arm and pulled out the gun. He again expected her to instantly cower in fear but instead she jerked her arm away and looked him in the eye. Not even seeing the gun Jimbob held at waist level, the waitress said, "Hey! What the..." and then finally seeing the weapon, slowly finished her sentence with what Jimbob recognized as disgust in her voice. "...blue blazes do you think you're doing?"
"Give me the money outta the...in the..." Jimbob was mentally over-stimulated at this point and although he was jerking his thumb toward the cash register, he couldn't think of what to call it.
"Gimme the money!" He finally said loudly. All eyes now turned his way. He turned to tell them all something tough like you would see in the movies but the only thing that came out of his mouth was, "Stop it! Shut up!" It did not even make sense. All they were doing was looking at him. Visions of ex-wives and ex-employers all rushed to his already overloaded brain. He felt impotent and foolish and wished he were someplace else. He closed his eyes for a moment and reached up to wipe the sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand that held the gun and felt the gun scrape against his fingers as it was pulled from his grasp in literally the blink of an eye.
His eyes popped open and he looked at the people in the restaurant. For a brief surreal second Jimbob did not know what happened. He even looked at his hand in disbelief. The gun was gone. One moment he had it and the next moment...he heard "Hey!" come out of his own mouth and then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around and saw the huge figure of a shabbily dressed man towering over him. He could smell alcohol and, oddly enough, bacon on his breath. The whole scene was more than Jimbob could process and he bolted for the door in a panic. He banged open the door, his every fiber wanting to find release from this situation. He heard the bell clash angrily against the glass door and saw the daylight but then as his foot hit the pavement he also saw the ferocious dog, mouth open and tongue out, waiting to bite him. The combination of momentum, adreneline and lack of natural coordination sent Jimbob flailing more sideways than forward and more airborne than running. He tried to jump over Teddy and turn at the same time and did neither very well. One leg hit the ground and gave him just enough distance to crease the lightpole with his eye socket on his way down to the sidewalk. Just before he passed out he could feel Teddy lick his nose.
Jimmy Robert Cade had a decision to make. He had always been down on his luck and had rarely kept the few meaningless jobs he had ever aquired for more than a few months. In his mind Cade (known by his associates as Jimbob) had always felt that he was under-appreciated. Employers rarely saw the diamond in the rough he was soon to be if he just had a break. If they would just give him some latitude in his work ethic he would show them pretty soon that he was a good worker but few employers were willing or able to see things as Jimbob saw them and now he had to make a decision.
The gun in his coat pocket made him feel powerful. It was the feeling he had never gotten any other way and the sensation was sweeping over him like a fever. It started in his head and had moved down his spine. It puffed out his chest and moved down to his feet that were now moving one after the other without his acknowledgment toward the building. His mind freewheeled over things that had been said to him and done to him. Most of the time he had not protested when he was fired from a job or turned down for an opportunity but some things were beyond his control. When he lost his job at the diner the owner said it was because he was continually tardy but Jimbob's car had broken down and he had yet to fix it. That's all. The owner said Jimbob "couldn't be counted on" and had fired him after only two weeks. "I bet he's not counting on this!", thought Jimbob as he walked down the sidewalk. He reached the door and paused, glancing in the restaurant and taking a deep breath.
Jimbob Cade was thirty years old but looked several years older. He grew his stringy hair longer on one side and combed it over the top assuming nobody would notice the bare spot. He wore a thread-bare gray suit his ex-wife had bought him years ago so he would have something to wear to church but even though Christmas and Easter rarely came around the suit was well worn. He thought he looked good in it and wore it nearly everywhere proudly. He never cared for a tie and usually opted not to shave since he had sensitive skin. He was average height but slightly built with a concave chest and narrow slumping shoulders. When he looked in the mirror he knew that his brown eyes were his best feature. His ex-wife had told him that years ago when they were dating so that is how he knew.
He stood on the sidewalk for a long moment screwing his courage up to a sticking place and letting the memories combine with the newly-felt power. This combination of repression of feelings, oppression of employers and depression of mind had left a lasting impression on Jimbob's psyche that he felt had to be released. At this point he had pretty much made up his mind but if he needed any more motivation to go in the door he saw a ferocious dog approaching him obviously wanting to do him harm and so he slipped inside the door as much for safety than as to get what he was due.
The bell hanging on the door barely caused any heads to turn and Jimbob was unsure exactly of his next move. He walked over to the wooden counter where the cash register was but there was nobody there. Just then the old waitress called out, "Seat yourself, honey" and continued filling a customer's coffee mug. Jimbob waited by the register with his hand in his pocket wrapped around the small revolver. He waited there for several minutes just feeling uncomfortable. He had seen things going differently than this in his mind. He had seen patrons climbing under their tables in fear of him and the owner crying out, begging him to spare his life. Jimbob was not wanting to hurt anyone. He just wanted them to be afraid, to show him respect but none of that seemed to be happening now and Jimbob was getting anxious.
The waitress finally came over to him and repeated her previous message but when she turned around Jimbob grabbed her by the arm and pulled out the gun. He again expected her to instantly cower in fear but instead she jerked her arm away and looked him in the eye. Not even seeing the gun Jimbob held at waist level, the waitress said, "Hey! What the..." and then finally seeing the weapon, slowly finished her sentence with what Jimbob recognized as disgust in her voice. "...blue blazes do you think you're doing?"
"Give me the money outta the...in the..." Jimbob was mentally over-stimulated at this point and although he was jerking his thumb toward the cash register, he couldn't think of what to call it.
"Gimme the money!" He finally said loudly. All eyes now turned his way. He turned to tell them all something tough like you would see in the movies but the only thing that came out of his mouth was, "Stop it! Shut up!" It did not even make sense. All they were doing was looking at him. Visions of ex-wives and ex-employers all rushed to his already overloaded brain. He felt impotent and foolish and wished he were someplace else. He closed his eyes for a moment and reached up to wipe the sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand that held the gun and felt the gun scrape against his fingers as it was pulled from his grasp in literally the blink of an eye.
His eyes popped open and he looked at the people in the restaurant. For a brief surreal second Jimbob did not know what happened. He even looked at his hand in disbelief. The gun was gone. One moment he had it and the next moment...he heard "Hey!" come out of his own mouth and then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around and saw the huge figure of a shabbily dressed man towering over him. He could smell alcohol and, oddly enough, bacon on his breath. The whole scene was more than Jimbob could process and he bolted for the door in a panic. He banged open the door, his every fiber wanting to find release from this situation. He heard the bell clash angrily against the glass door and saw the daylight but then as his foot hit the pavement he also saw the ferocious dog, mouth open and tongue out, waiting to bite him. The combination of momentum, adreneline and lack of natural coordination sent Jimbob flailing more sideways than forward and more airborne than running. He tried to jump over Teddy and turn at the same time and did neither very well. One leg hit the ground and gave him just enough distance to crease the lightpole with his eye socket on his way down to the sidewalk. Just before he passed out he could feel Teddy lick his nose.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
My friend Kirk
Some of you have been wondering about my friend Kirk who fixed my computer. Who is this unknown super-friend with all-knowing computer skills? This is his picture. He usually wears a shirt when I see him but his wife gave me this picture to share. Just out of sight of the camera is a group of sorority girls that are ogling him with delight. He fixes computers in his spare time when he is not curing children's diseases in Botswana or single-handedly designing and building fighter jets at a local plant. Men fear him, women desire him. He also has nun-chuk skills and bow hunting skills. He's an astronaut and he owns this bar. If you see him, thank him for what he has done for all of us.
Friday, May 08, 2009
I'm back!
Woohoo!! This is my home computer and it seems to be working fine now. My good friend Kirk came over and did major surgery on it and got it going again. Evidently the RAM had corrupted the hard drive and by removing some of the RAM and reinstalling the disk it is now working. I'll buy some RAM to replace it but I'm out cheap and I can't thank Kirk enough. He spent many hours over here tonight and had vast stores of patience while I looked over his shoulder asking if it was done yet. I told Kirk I had even prayed for the stupid thing to start working again and he admitted to me that he was about to give up trying but then prayed that the Lord would give him wisdom. He obviously did receive wisdom just like the Bible says and he was able to help a friend out with that wisdom. So, thank you, Lord and thank you, Kirk so very much. I tried to kiss Kirk on the mouth but he just turned his head! But I bet our wives will join us out to eat soon.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Now what?
I think I'm gonna start blogging with a Big Chief tablet and a #2 pencil. Maybe do some crayon work in there for color. Since I can't get my computer to work that's what I'm down to. Just come on over to my house if you want to read my Big Chief blog from now on. We bought the computer a little over a year ago from Best Buy and the warranty went out after a year. So I took it back to let those geek guys look at it and first they said they would diagnose it for $70.00. Then I took it back after doing the stuff they told me to do (reload the original disks) and they said they would diagnose it for $129.00 or diagnose it and fix it for $199.00. It won't let me do anything to it. It just keeps coming back to a black ctrl-alt-delete screen. I don't like using my work computer. (It's not as good for one thing.) But Marilyn and Teddy are screaming to get out of my head so maybe I'll try writing it down on the Big Chief. Hope that doesn't break down too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)