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2007 is nine years ago


I must have been a genius.

Anyway, that post came up as a google search. It was nine years ago. Nine years ago I had been blogging for four years. I had 1200 posts. It's nine years later, I have 1900 posts.

Still have a dangerous penis.

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wayback machine

I'm not going to link the article I just read because it says that the guy who got caught, red handed, raping a passed out drunk girl wasn't guilty of rape because they were both drunk. Because this guy's reasoning is bullshit. Does the girl bear some responsibility? Sure, the same way a drug dealer who gets murdered by other drug dealers is responsible, but the drug dealer still got fucking MURDERED. The girl who got raped put herself into a bad position. She was incapacitated and left to rely on strangers to take care of her. One of those strangers tried to rape her. The fact that that stranger was also pretty drunk doesn't absolve him of rape any more than being a drug dealer absolves the drug dealers of murder. I mean, seriously. This is a case where "Teach your sons not to rape" is actually the best argument. (I usually hate when that argument gets used because lately it's been used by people who define rape as whatever the woman says happened. That's simply not the case.) I mean, I teach my sons to be respectful of women. I was taught to be respectful of women. Women used to be taught to be respectful of themselves, but that isn't the case any longer. Women also used to be taught to look out for one another. What happened there?

Imma tell you all a story. Freshman year of college I was friends with a beautiful girl. She was, what my roommate at the time called a "total smokeshow", they had gone to high school together and he was totally smitten. My roommate, the smokeshow, and I had almost every class together first semester, and to get more time with the smokeshow (not that I complained) my roommate started a study group.

NOW... the smokeshow and maddad did not really fraternize outside of study group or class, I had a girlfriend, but sometimes study group went longer than it should have and involved late night pizzas and such. Long story short, I thought she was out of my league, she thought maddad was taken.

Flash forward to the end of Spring Break. maddad returns to campus a changed man. Free of girlfriend and ready to par-tay (hey, it was the 80's). Said smokeshow now has a very jealous boyfriend, so we don't see her around much anymore, however your pal, ol' maddad, does manage to use her good auspices to get introduced to a very nice girl who had been crushing on ol' maddad for a while. (maddad pats hisself on the back) However, new girl and maddad never seal the deal (get your mind out of the gutter), she was living at home and trying to transfer schools, and maddad was trying to keep his now-ex girlfriend from murdering him in a jealous rage. BUT, since new girl and smokeshow are good friends, maddad and smokeshow start hanging out more often, outside of class, outside of study group. Basically at house parties where maddad's ex wasn't invited. Smokeshow and maddad became very close. To the point where smokeshow broke up with jealous boyfriend, about three weeks before the end of the year.

BUT... Nothing happened. Maddad and smokeshow, despite much talk, hand holding, deep conversations, friends expectations, planning, and the fevered fantasies of maddad's weird-ass roommate, never even smooched.

WHY? Smokeshow was a drunk.

LET'S BE HONEST... maddad wasn't sober. What I mean is, at this point, maddad was NEVER sober. But smokeshow was a drunk. Pre-cellphone we'd have to make plans to meet up, and because of the associated weirdness of our previous romantic interests, we had to arrive separately (don't even ask), and by the time maddad showed up, smokeshow was hammered. maddad, not being a jackass, never took advantage of the wasted smokeshow, even though he is sure, now, that that was the point. It is not what you did there were "rules". I told her that the last time we were together, and I even had to tell her sorority "big sister" to take care of her when smokeshow went around at a party telling everyone we were leaving together "and you know what that means". We didn't, by the way. Leave together. Every single girl at that party wanted to know where I was taking her, every girl told me she was too drunk to leave with me. I knew it, and they made sure I knew it. That was back in the day, wasn't it? Nowadays she probably would have blown me in the bathroom and and her friends would have put it up on youtube.

At any rate, it's good that we never got together. Deep in my heart I was still pining away for maddmom and if I had hooked up with smokeshow I definitely would not have transferred schools and my ex would have stabbed me at some point so I'd be dead now and lonely too. But I would have had unsatisfying sex with a very drunk smokeshow at least once, and evidently nowadays, that's what counts.

PS: If there's a PS to this story, here it is... I can't for the life of me remember smokeshow's real last name.

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I don't need to know


When something terrible happens, I'll know. I'll feel terrible. I don't need to know how much you care. Especially if all I want to do is buy some chicken. Or gas. Or jeans. Or digital content. I don't need to know how this terrible thing "impacts our area", especially if it didn't occur anywhere near our area. Because, let's face it, the only reason the terrible thing would have any "impact" on our area is if someone decided to MAKE this terrible thing "impact our area".

People who think that terrible things wouldn't happen if only I behaved in a way that they see fit ARE the problem and those people have much more in common with the perpetrators of terrible things than I will ever.

Accidents can also be terrible things. I will attempt to avoid accidents. There. See how easy? Now, everyone.

Fuck off.

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Memorial Day


I was gone for a bit, maybe two weeks, and with all the catching up I had to do I didn't post what I wanted to post. Then I forgot what I wanted to post, so you get this.

It's the day after Memorial Day. Dangeresque graduates from High School on Saturday, the Prince is one year away from graduating college. The Beast will be a sophomore (actually he hasn't ever stopped being a sophomore) and Skippy is entering Junior High.

I am one old motherfucker. That's really it. All I have to say. I got a party to get ready for.

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wandering and ranting


I found myself being super professional at work this morning. I was actually shocked. I mean, today is the day that I leave on vacation and I should, by all rights, be ridiculously incompetent. But no. Today I amazed even myself. So I'm leaving early.

This was Derby weekend at the McMahonsion, and for some reason it is only 50 degrees of global warming out. I actually tripped over a drowned polar bear while picking up the newspaper this morning. Something must be done. And by that I mean I need to move. I need to find a place where it's hot, but not too far from a beach, and now that most of my kids are in good shape, and the others are unfixable, I suppose that means anywhere in Florida.

My bones hurt when it's cold. I hibernate and don't do nearly enough physical activity when it's cold. Instead, I blog. Like today. I'm leaving for ten days, and instead of working out, I'm typing. I have one day left to get a good workout in before I backpedal with booze and fatty fried food, but because it's so goddam cold out, all I'm going to do is sit here and rant about it. Snow was supposed to be a thing of the past! My house was supposed to be seaside by now. Fuck it, SOMEONE GET LEO ANOTHER PRIVATE JET! It's too damn cold!

Seriously. It's May and my fingers are numb. This just sucks.

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Hi Hayden


Sup Sarge

The Holly Maddux Memorial Earth Day Post


Excuses, Excuses. I've been hearing half my life about how THIS GREAT MAN invented Earth Day. Now that he's been caught, no thanks to Peter Gabriel, suddenly he had nothing to do with Earth Day. I'm not even linking to Philly Mag's bullshit about how they fucking GOOGLED it and couldn't find anything to substantiate the SMEAR on EARTH DAY that Ira Einhorn had anything to do with it.

Look, these fucking dirtbag losers who started this shit picked the day, Lenin's Birthday, and picked the people they wanted as the "faces" of the movement. They picked Einhorn. They picked Einhorn and for years, despite overwhelming evidence, they continued to enable this GREAT MAN who happened to be an insane, psychopathic, narcissist.

But who cares, right? EARTH!

Like I say every year, I don't like pollution. I hate litter, I love nature. I hate liars more. Fuck Earth Day. Fuck Ira Einhorn. Fuck Philly Magazine. And fuck all the fake bullshit environmentalists too.

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Get this women Marines still won't have to do pullups. This is chickenshit stuff. How are they supposed to get over walls in combat situations etc... etc... I don't really care, it's just an excuse to talk about my lack of pullup ability.

As recently as last June, I could do eleven natural grip or seven wide grip pullups starting wityh feet on the floor. I could do five in a row from a hang, and this was at my fattest, 230 lbs. By September, I was down to 205 and probably could have done more, but I didn't even try. Then I had my surgery. I tried to do pullups just the other day, but quickly realized that I can't even do one. Not one.

Granted, I'm fat again, 210. But 210 is my settling weight. It's where I always seem to end up if I'm working out at all. No, it's not the weight, it's the pain. Oh my God it hurts.

I had been doing some light weight work for rehab, and it's been long enough that I should be better. I can now bench... well... 100 lbs! without pain. But pain is a scary thing, and pullups make that pain. And I don't want to do pullups.

Pullups were always my thing. I know they are a relative weight thing, but I always considered them a good gauge of overall fitness. I mean I couldn't run or lift much as a kid, but I could do pullups and pushups all day. Of course, I was a skinny fuck, but still... Even after I got heavier I made sure I could do pullups. Now I'm a forty-five year old pudgy dude who can't do a single pullup, or even try without squealing like the hatchback on a chevy vega (monza wagon? whatever).

What about your overhead press? Said no one. Well, says maddad of his historical weak point, 75 lbs. No pain. On the right side. The left...


Also, can't get my average speed on the bike above 16 mph when I'm outside. I can do 24-25 on the rollers. Is it wind? Hills? dunno. Feels faster than it is. I don't really care since I don't do group rides, but I'm running out of excuses to not to, and I need to get my speed up.

I keep telling myself that the faster I go, the sooner I can get my sore ass off of the road bike and on to the mountain bike, and I get to drive my super-sweet convertible to the trails. Still, no speed gains.

Maybe it's time to get some new bikes. I'm riding 1990's tech, because I'm cheap. I don't want to spend $1000 bucks on two bikes when $1000 will get me new Weber carburetors. I think I need the carbs more than the bikes.

Until one breaks. Then all bets are off.

Anyway. I think I like fixing them more than I like riding them.

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