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You can't create a global market trading sunspots...


... but I'm sure they'll try. Seriously, at some point they'll have to stop digging and focus on pollution instead of a trace gas heavier than air that feeds plants.

Forget global warming - it's Cycle 25 we need to worry about (and if NASA scientists are right the Thames will be freezing over again)

Bring back the crying Indian guy on TV, litter is way up. Graffiti is back too, symptoms that people no longer give a crap about ruining other people's stuff. Not surprising given today's political climate. When people are jealous of others, they'll act out. In four more years it'll be like the nineties and aughts never happened.

But hey, some people think "Let's be hungry and cold, in the dark!" is a great political slogan, sure to get the economy moving.

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Heh. I could help


UVa has claimed no attachments to any emails were preserved on their system

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I made the mistake of starting to read a story about a family who had a child killed. I had to stop. I was two chapters in and I felt physically ill.

All the reviews of this particular story were extremely positive. How "life affirming' and "beautiful" this story was.

I can say it is well written. I can say it's effective. That's about it.

Maybe I'm getting more sensitive as I get older? Maybe my frame of referenc has changed? Maybe this story just hit too close to home? I don't know.

I can understand writing this book. I can't understand wanting to read it. Does that make sense?

This is the second book over the past year or so that I've had to put down. The first was the second part of a trilogy that has been at the top of the charts forever, or so it seemed to me. I read the first book on a recommendation, and liked parts of it. I was a little disconcerted toward the end. I got the idea in my head that the guy who wrote the book wasn't being honest with me.

Allright, I'll cop to it. I couldn't finish the second Stieg Larsson book because I got a sick sense that this guy was writing porn.

I've read some books that could be called "torture-porn", they are easy to pick out. The last couple of Hannibal Lecter books, Brett Easton Ellis, a couple of airport best-sellers that were knockoffs of the Lecter books... and I cringed when I should have cringed, and was shocked when I was supposed to be shocked. But the Larsson book gave me the seriously disturbing feeling that this guy was interested in sex trafficking in a completely different way than he was presenting. There was no completely over-the-top imagery, no underlying dark humor, no fourth wall.

I got the distinct impression that even though all of the correct assumptions were made, even though all the correct platitudes were mouthed, even though the good guy wins in the end (or so I've been told), the hero was just an excuse to have a victim. Something, in fact, made me sure of it. I started, but put down the second book. I'm sure there will be people who think that I'm reading my own hang-ups into the story. There will be people that think I'm some kind of PC Puritan who would force everyone to read nothing but the Bible. Go ahead and read it. There's plenty of violence against women in the Bible, but I never got the feeling that the guy writing it wanted us to skip the dialog and jump to the dog-eared torture scenes. I couldn't help thinking that the guy wrote those parts first and filled in the rest.

This other story didn't make me feel dirty, but did make me feel bad. Bad enough that I bailed. I'm not saying that the author of this other story wanted to kill a kid, I'm saying that I made a mistake in thinking that a story about a dead child would be a relaxing read. If something should happen to my wife or any of my children I think I would probably go insane, I pray every day that nothing does. All this story did, as well written as it was, was make me realize how little influence I have on the actions of others in regards to the safety of my family. I don't need to dwell on that. It's not a good thing to do. It will lead to depression and paranoia, I have enough of that in my personality already. I have to think happy thoughts.

Good Lord, I should probably just watch cartoons.

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Everthing I knew in kindergarten I learned when I was forty


I'm having one of those weeks. Strike that. I'm having one of these weeks; i don't believe I've ever had a week quite like this one and probably won't again. What can I say?

I have just realized that I have hit that point in my life where I no longer have the time or inclination to have a hobby. Even to the point where I am thirty minutes away from hiring some poor meth addict to come and paint the boy's bathroom. It's a seven foot by seven foot box. A litter box, by the smell.

A couple of years ago I re-tiled the bathtub and shower, and for some reason there's a section of grout that doesn't want to stay grouted. I think the grout was mixed bad or maybe the gap was too big for unsanded, or (more probably) it didn't have enough time to fully dry before someone took a shower. Whatever happened, it crumbled and I re-grouted. I just noticed that it happened again, the re-grouted section had gaps. So this time I scraped all of the loose, wet grout out and dried everything with a space heater before using PRE-MIXED Grout with LATEX(it's got 'lectrolites ™), letting that set for twenty-four hours then covering the base of the tub with an inch (approx 1/36th of a meter)-thick layer of caulk. That should, if my theory is correct, prevent water

OK, I had to stop and lost my place. The Cocker Spaniel asleep at my feet farted so bad he woke himself up. It sounded like someone dropped a bowling ball into a kiddie pool full of yogurt. I think he thought he was dying. He barked and was shaking. I had to leave my office and get the damn animal outside before he exploded. The entire basement still smells like warmed-over death and it's been about half an hour. I tried spraying an air freshener, but all that did was add a flowery aftersmell to the unbelievably strong shit smell that came out of that dog. The other dog hasn't moved, if it's true that gas is heavier than air, I think he might be dead. What the hell happened? Whatever, I don't have time to finish, so you get a dog fart story instead of a home-improvement rant. If you don't hear from me, assume I've been overcome by fumes and send the fire department. Please.
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So, why aren't you on Facebook?


Oh, I don't know...

Facebook Gives Politico Deep Access to Users’ Political Sentiments via Slashdot.
Maybe because Facebook is... SATAN?

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Interesting, but wrong


How to Disappear Completely (From the Internet)

The easiest thing to do is to start a blog. No one will ever hear from you again.

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I speak...



Been a week, so I figured I should post. My analytics for last week were pegged at 0, which is nice.

I just found out that half of the Catholic schools in Philly are closing, including West Catholic, Conwell Egan, Prendy and I smell B-O-nner. Will this be the death of that classic cheer? I do think it's sad that the Catholic schools are closing, really, but what are the options?

I went to a private Catholic Prep school, there's multiple private prep schools out in the suburbs and city. If your kid is smart enough, he'll get in. You'll pay through the nose, but have a better chance of getting into a private college. If you happen to live out in the suburbs, most of the public schools are close to, if not as good as, the private schools in the area, so why not save your money? If I lived in Radnor, PA; there's no way I'd pay money to send my kid to Archbishop Carroll. None. To top it all off, the goddam Catholic School teachers are unionized! How and Who the hell let that happen?

The Catholic grade schools in Philly are at 40% capacity. 40%. Here in Indiana, the Catholic schools are going to get vouchers. What are the odds of that happening in super-Catholic Philly?

Less than zero in my opinion.

These guys screwed themselves(and countless little boys). They spent years supporting "progressive" social causes instead of providing an alternative. They hid the problems they had internally until it was impossible, and now they have to retrench and hope against hope that eventually they'll come out smaller but stronger. They won't though.

The progressives have made "tolerance" mean something good. It doesn't. Like forbearance, tolerance is not something that should be given away. God is a lot of things, he is kind, patient, forgiving, but he's not especially tolerant. It might have done the Catholics a bit of good to have remembered that back when the Evangelicals were getting out in front. Now look. A church full of European art-house sissies who can't make a move without worrying about how it "looks".

They're like Republicans trying to get the Hispanic vote... it looks like a good fit, but it ain't ever going to happen. Give it up. Get serious. Get MAD. Get back to basics. People will come back. (Provided they don't have to wipe off theirs after serving Mass).

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urgh : UPDATED


I have a craaaaaazy headache. A real bastard of a thumper. I did it to myself. I was clenching my jaw like I had tetanus all morning while I was on the phone. I was doing that because my headset wasn't plugged in last night and I had my cell phone on speaker. I had it turned up all the way because the guy I was talking to talks like he doesn't want anyone to know that he's actually, you know, talking. Like how a 12 year old Catholic school girl with huge tits walks all hunched over?  He talks like that.  

My speaker, when turned up all the way, has this great "feedback" feature that is really the only noise that I can honestly say makes me grind my teeth. So now I have a headache. THINK WHEN YOU SPEAK PEOPLE!

I also have to pee so bad I'm afraid to move anything but my fingers...


I no longer have to pee. I'm freezing now, since I opened the door to my office, and my head still hurts. I think my right eye is going to fall out. My toes are numb because the floor is cement and it's winter... oh, and I also have to work out today.

It's January and that means I'm on my yearly quest to lose all the weight I gained since Halloween. This year only eleven pounds, but it actually looks worse than last year's 15.

I'm not giving my money to Weight Watchers this year; I'm going with something different, something that costs about the same and may produce the same results. I've got two options on the table. First option: Massive amounts of Peruvian cocaine. With any luck I'll slim down and get that nose job I've been thinking about. Maybe even do some man whoring, who knows? It's been a long time since I last spent my food budget on hard drugs; I think it'll be interesting to see what's changed. The second option is medical. No, I'm not getting my stomach removed or my ass fat liposuctioned and turned into fragrant candles again. I'm thinking more long term. Like food poisoning or a really good parasitic infection. Maybe both. The kids have sports tonight, no time to get dinner made. I could chow down at the local Subway and chase it with a nice long sip from the Junior High pool. If I survived, I would probably lose some pounds. Aside from the one giant elephant leg from the persistent edema I bet I'd look pretty damn good when they finally figured out what was causing the blackouts, rectal bleeding and gas. It's worth thinking about, and I probably wouldn't have to learn how to fly a small plane and speak Spanish.

Either option is more fun than the goddam elliptical.

Whatever. 190 by March 19th or bust. I'm really aiming for 185, but I have a very heavy penis and I usually subtract that from the weekly weigh in. Don't start, it's only fair. Last year while on a carb bender I got into a fistfight with that woman from the Weight Watchers group who always subtracted for her giant breast implants. I was all, "Whut? Eleven pounds? Why not take another thirty out for your huge ass implants?" And she was all, "Ah No You Di'en't" And I was all, "Don't you shake your neck at me you fat bitch, I am aaaaaaaaall real!" And she was all, "It's ooooon you fat BITCH! You don't talk like that to me! I am abuuuuv you. You don't know me!" Then she broke my nose with her handbag. It's ok though, when no one was looking I snuck out and took a shit in the back seat of her Camry.

It's all good.

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Creepy Morning


Thirteen degrees. Dark. Snow and Ice. Had to drop my car off at the shop thanks to an unexpected off road jaunt the week before Christmas. I passed St Pat's cemetery twice, once on the way and once on the way back and couldn't help but notice that there's no fence. Fairmount cemetery has a fence, a nice wrought iron fence, but not St Pat's and none of the cemeteries relocated from the Jefferson Proving Ground have fences.

So now I'm freaked out.

I suppose what I should do is go and find Sister Mary Margaret McShillelagh and punch her in the throat. Imagine telling a six year old that cemeteries have iron gates, not to keep people out, but to keep spirits in. That horseshoe over your door isn't for good luck, it's to keep your dead relatives from visiting. That old frog told me that in 1978, and the week before Christmas, 2011, while we were finishing up the Prince's Eagle Scout project, I found myself scouring the ground looking for any nails he might have dropped in the cemetery so that no angry Civil war soldiers followed us home.

Speaking of cemeteries, look what we found during our trip to Philadelphia last week. If this ghost shows up I guess I'll have to take her to the zoo.

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