An Open Letter to the Beastly, Middle-Aged, Sad, Fat Bitch Who Headbutted My Wife in the Face at the Concert Last Night

Congratulations! You did it! Having more than 6 inches on my wife, you were able to crack her a good one across the face using the wooden block with straw stapled to it, you call a head. However, you were also goddam lucky that you caught her of guard, because I and everyone who knows her, realize that if you had not, she would now be in prison. So thanks for that...

However, your reasoning for doing so, like your background, was extremely poor. Initially annoyed that someone who is 4 foot 11 inches tall, (that's one inch taller than being able to be medically categorized as a midget) was blocking your view of Sebastian Bach, you became enraged when the bass player (who probably wasn't even BORN when you were throwing your rotten, salmon flavored panties on stage to Skid Row in the mid 80's) threw her his pic. Determined to get a 75 cent piece of plastic for yourself, you resorted to violence, which is obviously the only thing your lizard hindbrain understands; because typically you don't want to use your skull (the bony container which in most cases with humans houses their brain) as a blunt weapon due to possibility of trauma leading to a contusion. NOTE: Contusion is NOT the name of a your cousin's heavy metal band you'll be seeing play next month at a show in your best friend's backyard on a stage made of plywood and tractor tires.

I do apologize if the strain of marijuana that you grow in the window box hanging in front of your broken garage window is not alleviating your age-induced glaucoma enough, so that such a short individual actually obstructs your view. I'm sure once your brother gets out of jail, he can start growing the good stuff again. Or perhaps you were just not used to the reflection off of skin that is normally smooth, like my wife's, instead of pock-marked and meth-scabbed like most of your sexual conquests you meet at the free, walk-in clinic near the airport.

At any rate, even though your unfiltered Pall Mall smoking, trailer park with meth shed adjacent living, bridge card pop and potato chip buying, mouthwash drinking, Trans Am on cinder block owning, pubic lice sheltering, Milwaukee's Best chugging, cottage cheese vaginal dripping, Ford Aerostar driving, amateur Nascar watching, Larry the Cable Guy laughing, saggy tramp stamp sporting, mullet enjoying, unemployment collecting, Jerry Springer on DVD watching, glue sniffing, hairy stretch-marked ass was an unbelievably brutal shithead to my wife, I wish you nothing horrible. At least not anything more that your life has already shown you.

I'm not a Twit! -OR- TL;DR

Once again, it's been a long time since I wrote anything in this blog. Almost an entire year! Last year ended up only having two posts. Two posts! That's disgusting, and I have no other explanation other than the fact that I have become a slave to the world population's continuously progressive attention deficit disorder.

It seems as if people can't be bothered with something that isn't in sound-bite-like format anymore. So most of my thoughts became relegated to Facebook statuses. Not to say that they were left undeveloped; they just got chopped up into "fun size" portions in multiple comments. The other night I was even dreaming in 140 characters.

Yet, I still don't have a Twitter account. Maybe some day in the future I'll get one, but I figure to get the most out of it, you need a smart phone; and my phone really likes to watch Jersey Shore. Its currently on loan from Zack Morris.

So let us all try our hardest to get back to the long, drawn-out, detailed narrative. Hopefully reading and writing can be brought back to life. Now I'm off to watch a online video clip montage of the news.

An Open Letter to the Immature, Meat-Headed Tool on the 696/94 Interchange This Morning

First off, due to the reduction inboth the number and width of the lanes, M-DOT was telling us that our speeds should have been 30 mph; so you already shouldn't have been riding my ass when I had to slow down more, because there was no way I was going to splatter that squirrel on the freeway. Despite that, your reaction is what a 5-year old (granted one that is an asshole) would have done. I loved the fact that you flipped me of, rode next to me in the wrong lane, blocking other people, and then rapidly cut me off, only to hit your brakes and all but stop on the one-lane ramp. If you were intially concerned with the road safety of slowing down to avoid a squirrel, then your behavior made no sense, as it was even more dangerous. Therefore, you altogether deserved the 30 second, continuous, horn-blowing that I delivered. I ultimately love the fact that you then continued to flip me off through your sun-roof as I passed you when speed returned to 70mph, but you stayed at 55mph. I figured you were all talk, but its obvious you must have been afraid of me after the long horn honk, because you just let me drive away. With your intial behavior, I entirely expected you to keep up with me and continue to hurl muted epithets at me. All I can say is that you're lucky my wife wasn't there, as she would have been upset enough about the squirrel, and then even more pissed at you for not caring. Have fun being a loud-mouthed baby.

Health Care Reform Bill Argument Breakdown.... OH OH, here comes the hammer!

I am not so certain how I feel about the Health Care Reform Bill (overall, good idea on paper, probably won't work in use), but I am annoyed by some of the most popular arguments against it. Mainly, these arguments are that the Health Care Reform Bill is against: God, the Constitution, and Freedom. These are either very poor arguments, or outright wrong.

God: The fact that God has a political position on how health care is doled out by the US government, and ultimately how much people get taxed, is ludicrous, vulgar, and possibly verging on indirect blasphemy. A rebuttal to this might be that God does care about all the small details or everybody's life. Agreeing this may be true, you still can't say you would know which side God would be on. Assuming, for a second, the Health Care Reform Bill will help less fortunate people, then I would wager to guess God would be for it; even if it does cost some people more money. God doesn't care about money, he cares about eternal souls. Being for or against the Health Care Reform Bill isn't going to get you in or out of Heaven.

Constitution: The Constitution doesn’t prevent the government from passing bills. That is the entire reason for Congress existing in the first place! Didn't you ever see the Schoolhouse Rock "I'm Just a Bill" cartoon? So, saying that the Health Care Reform Bill is unconstitutional, just means that you have no idea what the Constitution states and allows. However, let's assume that this bill actually gets enacted into law. Then, and only then, can it be challenged in the courts; AND only if the Supreme Court decides that the law violates the Constitution would it be called unconstitutional. So, until then, it’s constitutional.

Freedom: In the strictest sense, the government is attempting to provide additional health care options to the American public. The bill doesn't force anyone to take the government health care option. Offering additional choices cannot really be labelled as taking freedom away. It's basically giving people more freedom. As for the rebuttal that this would then lead to more taxes that you did not have a choice in paying, you don't have a choice to pay or not pay ANY taxes! Try it some time and see how it works out. There are plenty of government funded projects and organizations that almost every single person would have an issue with their taxes going towards. Why single out this particular instance? And just because you don't have a choice in paying taxes, doesn't mean that the government is taking away your freedom. Or, if you get down to the ultimate definition of freedom, freedom of will, then the government is ALWAYS taking away your freedom, no matter what! I mean, they don't allow you to just go around punching people who make stupid arguments in the face... do they?

An Airport Mugging

I went to a free sketch comedy writing class the other day. I am currently taking a voice-over class at the same educational facility, and they offered additional classes. I have written sketch comedy before, starting (like probably 99% of people who do so) after my introduction to Monty Python. But I thought this might be interesting. There was not much in the way of education, more a very light introduction to see if you might have a hankering for more. As expected, the end was a time share pitch for three additional classes of 8 weeks each. They're on mid-morning on Thursdays. Half the people there, seemed like they were going to do it. I don't understand it! Don't any of the other people who take these classes work! Especially given the fact that they were $250 a pop? So, not too much to be had there. Except for incentive to get me writing again... that most likely means this blog. During the class, there were multiple little paper exercises to get you thinking about things. The first of which was to write a story. I have inclosed it here (with minor additions that I felt like making, is that all right with you?):

I can't believe that I decided to pick the airport. First off, you have to park so far away now. I mean, otherwise a great way to draw attention to yourself would be to drive up and park in the white zone. It's for loading and unloading only, you know. So I was already tired of walking by the time I got to the main public terminal. But seriously? The airport? Who commits a crime at the airport? I mean except for the airline companies and the prices they charge for your baggage! But, for general, mano-Amana (wait... hand to dishwasher?) physical combat, it's not necessarily something that is good to do at the airport. Not to mention that there isn't always good pickings in the lobby. However, at least security is more worried about who's got a mini bottle of mouthwash in their carry-on instead of paying attention to me. So there's that going for the situation as a whole. Out of every area in the public space, the best place to head would be the baggage claim area. it's the best place in the airport as a whole actually. No one's paying anything any mind, except for that suitcase treadmill. HUndreds of black bags, and you thought that little, pink ribbon would make yours unique enough to find. Too bad 20 other people had the same idea. With the same color. And same type of ribbon. Sale at Fabric Barn... But once again, no one's really looking. Oh, they've got their eyes open, and they're pointed at things, but no one's really looking. Case in point, no one saw me go up to the old man to begin with. The one with the Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts and sandals... with black socks no less. I kind of felt bad for him. I mean he just got back from vacation, he actually got his suitcase already, and then he's jumped right next to the large potted plant on the far end of the carousel, next to the JetBlue claim area; I picked that spot, because it's right next to the bathroom. By the time I'm done, he'll probably want another vacation. After a quick left to the ribs, I dragged him inside the bathroom, and down to the very last stall. This one's pretty low traffic, you can tell, because it's actually clean. That doesn't mean it "gets" cleaned, which would mean it's used. It's clean, because it's never dirtied in the first place. He was still pretty winded from the chest jab, so it wasn't too tough to whack his head against the toilet handle. It's the hardest object in any public restroom stall. Makes the least noise when skull contacts it, as well. On the way back up, I knocked him against those stupid toilet seat covers-and they went flying everywhere. Who even uses those stupid things? Overall, he was an easy target. No fight at all. I just did the deed and then simply grabbed his shoulder bag, wallet, and Christ, his fanny pack and left him on the floor. Strolling back out, I passed the suitcases again. Still, not a single person was looking anywhere in my direction; everyone was still trying to find their bag. I grabbed one. At least someone won't be able to find it now. Little extra for me today. I calmly walked back out the terminal doors and across the crosswalk towards the parking area. I'll check the haul when I get out of here. Now I just have to remember if I parked in section B or G... Dammit!

Not Wasting a Good Title Here

Once again, I noticed that it has been a while since I wrote a blog. And I actually started writing this one this past December. It has been sitting in Draft Limbo since then. The title is Electric, Kool-Aid, Acid Wife... soooooo, I have to assume that the original idea was something about my wife and how really, actually, very strange she is. Just assuming. I don't know if I was going to state some of the strange things she has said, and make it a short list type blog; or if I was going to tell a odd wife story. No clue. Damn. Wow this is awkward? Why'd I even come back to this draft and try to write it? Why did I even save a adraft that only had one sentence? We may never know. And sometimes, I may never know what my wife is thinking or how she got there. I have an excuse, I am weird on purpose. I try ultra hard, like Japanese robot penis. See? Like there. My wife, it just sometimes comes naturally. Take for example, her peculiar reading habit. We were driving and she commented on the strange restaurant name, "Ree-sypes". That would be Recipes... Now before you feel bad for her and think she has dyslexia... she doesn't. She has Lyme disease. So there! Now don't you feel stupid? My wife also has a very poor sense of direction, yet she still goes at least 10 miles over the speed limit (like most of the human population). One time, when she was driving, which rarely happens, not because I think that I am a better driver than her, but just because I think that I'm a better driver than all women, and she would agree, she thinks women are stupid and useless, I asked her where she was going. She hadn't the foggiest.... must be the Lyme disease? So I followed with a query as to why her automobile velocity was so elevated. She stated, "Well, I'll get somewhere fast..." Apparently so. And since this blog is not doing that.... I think I'll stop now. I'm just pissed that I wasted such a good title on it. Scratch that, I won't! Go back up to the third sentence and change that to the "original" title was. There, now I feel better.

Why For Not You Write No More?

Incredibly, incredibly sad and immensely bad form. I switch over my blog from MySpace to a link in Facebook to this Blogspot location; and then I don't even have the decency to continue keeping it up to date, filling my wonderful public with the joys of reading. What did I write? Two posts? Big fucking deal! It's been almost 7 months since the last time anything has graced this web page. That is just plain disgusting! How dare I!

Seriously, I have been meaning to continue writing. I kept making little promises that I would write "at least 10 minutes per day". Yeah right! Like that could happen. There are just so many reasons why I haven't been doing my very best; and I shall tell you those reasons starting now:

Firstly, I blame Facebook. If you didn't know, they have all these goddam stupid applications and games. Did you ever want to know the fun that is inherent in farming? Well congratulations, there's eighteen fucking farm games on Facebook. People will start to think you got some crop in your spare bedroom closet, because you're constantly going to "harvest" something; and then you return three hours later with bloodshot eyes. Something funny is going on there.

Like organized crime, but you're not Italian... or Russian... or Japanese... of even Jewish in the 1920's? You're in luck, you can now fake it and get all the benefits-- except for real notoriety, real power, and most importantly real money; but on the plus side you get to keep your real kneecaps and don't wind up real dead with real cement shoes-- with nine versions of the same mafia mobster game.

Have OCD (that's Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder for you acronym challenged folks)? Then there are about 450 games and applications that you shouldn't even look at, let alone touch. Packrat being the number one example. When you end up trying to complete sets of imaginary cards on the Internet... call Intervention your own damn self, because you're in deep shit.

Anyway, Facebook is like a hooker with a Swiss watch? A hooker with a Swiss watch, Randall. Yeah! No class... wait a minute, that's not right... oh yeah! A time sucker. Which that last one was horrible, see what a hiatus can do to you? Get's you off your ball, just like a cop's flashlight does a prostitute! (And that was no better!) So, just leave Facebook applications alone, or at the very least delegate about 30 seconds to do what "needs" to be done each day, and get on with your life. Otherwise, it can forbid your fulfillment of a personal promise, like writing or sometimes even sleeping.

As an aside, don't even get me started on how fucking moronic it is to PAY ACTUAL MONEY to get play money within these bullshit games...

Secondly, I lost my big list of little ideas for blogs that I have had for-almost-ever! I seriously hate when my OCD lists (see above, the truth hits hard at home) cannot be found. I write them so I won't have to remember shit, but also must have them available and eventually completed and checked off, or else my parents will fall into a hay-baler. And let me tell you, when you fall in to a hay-baler in real life, you don't end up as a head, hands, and feet sticking out of an approximately regular sized, normal hay bale, complete with baling wire, like one might see in a cartoon. Nope! You are dismembered by turbines and possibly sliced in twain with baling wire. And to make matters even worse, you clog up your hay-baler and make a big mess.

So, I have lost my list. My parents are safe for now, but only if I write this blog and eat seven grapes on the left side of my mouth. But overall, it just pisses me off to no end that I had all these nuggets of pure comedic gold (not the kind that I'm growing in my spare bedroom closet) and now they may be gone forever. Hopefully, I can find it; but I strangely don't hold out any hope, despite my choice of words. It was in my workbag for over a year, and now it's gone. If there happens to be any topics anybody might want me to address, then just drop me a line and I'll get right on it; even though my recent track record has been atrocious... but I'm explaining that away.

Thirdly and finally, I'm a lazy fucking bastard. I have all these high expectations of all the things I can accomplishment. I think about them all day at work, compile them in my head, find a piece of paper, and make a fucking list to be completed at home that evening. Then when I end up getting home, I grab a bite to eat, plop down in front of the TV, guzzle a couple beers, head to the computer, dick around on Facebook for 5 or 9 hours, masturbate to Smurf Slash-fiction, and drag my ass to bed for a few hours of sleep, before I get up to repeat the same shit the next day. Come to think of it, I like my current lack of extracurricular responsibility. My blog can suck it... like a whore on... National Cock-Sucking Day. Ohhhh, really? No class...

PS: Sorry for all the profanity fuckers! I just go for lowest common denominator in humor when my normally mad skills have become rusty; and cuss words are always funny! Balls! Pussy!