and Now, a Holiday Message from Stuckmen's Sausages...
It's difficult during this time of year to write about the holidays without offending at least everyone else and probably yourself in the process. The only thing this country can truly admit is that this time of year is special for all faiths that are recognized by others as incorrect and that things need to be purchased and given away. Food and drink need to be consumed in gatherings of those who would rather not be near others, and the poor and alone are made to think about what they've done to be poor and alone.
Ultimately, Calloway would be betrayed by one of his closest followers, Vincent Van Gogh, who turned him in to the Romans, having blamed Calloway for the loss of his ear in the now infamous 'Salted Pork Incident'. His death now celebrated during Easter, where Van Gogh is represented as an egg-laying rabbit....probably due to the two perfect ears....take THAT Vincent!!
I for one refuse to give-in to these changes and hopes the world will join me today in celebrating this day properly by singing scat-carols around the Calloway Tree....except for
-zs-
An Angel for your Thoughts....I Want Change for That!
Ok....most of you have heard the saying used a lot around this time of year, "When you hear a bell, an angel got it's wings!" This is all too true, but it's not the end of the story....just a tiny tidbit of what's really going on in the angelic order. There is a long list of signs given to us to let us know what's going on to God's winged servants. After years of research through many volumes of ancient text and exhausting interviews with eye-witnesses, I give you just a small part of the larger story...I hope it helps....uh....with your athlete's foot....or something.........uh, yeah.
- When your eyes water, an angel is crying.
- When you hear a sneeze, an angel gets the flu.
- When your nose starts running, an angel is out of toilet paper.
- When you hear a fart, an angel just lost it's wings.
- Everytime someone says "Holy Shit!", an angel shits itself.
- When you pay a cover at a bar and then immediately leave and ask for a refund, an angel asks another angel if it's mad at him repeatedly.
- When you hear someone yelling angrily in French, you are probably in
(sorry, had to add that)
- When you drop a dumpling on the floor, an angel ponders something intangible.
- When you run over a squirrel in your car, an angel gets the shit kicked out of him in some dive bar in
Having been full of Hot Turkey Goodness....
Dear Brooklyn, New York...
I give up, you win. I forfeit to you all remaining heart-friendly dark chocolates, and any ability to spell that I have remaining.
Please release your grip.
One List to Bind Them…or “Three Cheers for Infections!”
A long time ago, I was inspired to make a list of things I wanted both to do and/or experience before I was to die…assuming that I would live long enough. I can't remember what inspired this endeavor, nor do I think that it's important to the meat of this blog, so I won't even try to recall. But the fact is that over the years this list has grown and shrunk in increments as I've both added to it and crossed off accomplishments. Somewhere along the way, a second list was formed…this being populated by things I wished never to do and/or experience along the road of life.
I would like to recount some examples from both lists, but the truth is that I can't, not without doubt. The problem is I believe that on my list of things I wanted to do at one point was "To Merge Both Lists Together and Live in a State of Fear and Doubt Forever"...or maybe that was on the other list, which would definitely make more sense but I can no longer be sure, seeing as they are now as one as chocolate and Peanut Butter in the world of a Reese's Cup (that's a terrible analogy, I am aware, but "To make a Weak Comparison to a Reese's Cup While Writing" was on one of the lists as well…and I'm on a roll).
So having explained all of that, I'm either happy to report or sad to announce the crossing off of "To Contract Gangrene from a Wound or Frostbite" from the One List. Apparently it is NOT wise to dress one's wound with uncooked chicken when one runs out of sterile bandages....Looking back on it, I really should have known better. But what's done is done, and at least it'll lead to crossing off more from the list, like, "To Smell Like Bad Cheese without Even Trying" and "To Represent all the Colors in the Spectrum under the Skin of My Arm".
I will keep you posted.
I would like to recount some examples from both lists, but the truth is that I can't, not without doubt. The problem is I believe that on my list of things I wanted to do at one point was "To Merge Both Lists Together and Live in a State of Fear and Doubt Forever"...or maybe that was on the other list, which would definitely make more sense but I can no longer be sure, seeing as they are now as one as chocolate and Peanut Butter in the world of a Reese's Cup (that's a terrible analogy, I am aware, but "To make a Weak Comparison to a Reese's Cup While Writing" was on one of the lists as well…and I'm on a roll).
So having explained all of that, I'm either happy to report or sad to announce the crossing off of "To Contract Gangrene from a Wound or Frostbite" from the One List. Apparently it is NOT wise to dress one's wound with uncooked chicken when one runs out of sterile bandages....Looking back on it, I really should have known better. But what's done is done, and at least it'll lead to crossing off more from the list, like, "To Smell Like Bad Cheese without Even Trying" and "To Represent all the Colors in the Spectrum under the Skin of My Arm".
I will keep you posted.
What Kind of Thing Wants You to Eat It?!
The Most Comfortable Bed in the World
-or-
The Truth About Light Fixtures
-or-
The Truth About Light Fixtures
I like to pee while in the shower…it makes me feel as if I'm beating the system….the plumbing system, with all of it's rules and regulations.
Now that we've finally got that out of the way, let's move on.
It's a widely known little known fact (or an "WKLKF", which incidentally is often mistaken for "Why's Kevin Licking Katie's Face?"….to which nobody has the answer) that lighting fixtures throughout the world are all of one mind. It is even more widely less known that lighting fixtures never forget. This leads us to the truth that an attempt was made on my life last night.
A bit of history for you: I am a descendant of the French 'Deleportes' family, also known as "Pricks" to almost everyone else, but we do all right. Of the many things that my blood came with was a hatred for lighting fixtures, for many reasons but the main for me would be that it would be a light source suddenly being turned on that usually keeps me from having sex…..and for that I blame lighting fixtures. (I just realized, after having read what I just wrote, that I sound like a rapist, when really what I was trying to get across was the fact that I'm very ugly…..see? It's funny? The light is turned on and she's all like, "Ooo, you're ugly." And I'm like, "Well, at least I'm not a rapist. Because rapists are bad?" and then she's like, "Yes, I agree that it is good you are no rapist. Please turn off the light, you disgust me." See? Humor? Sigh….)
During my adolescence this hatred for lighting fixtures was translated into vandalism with late night destruction of yard lights and street lights usually to be followed by chases, violence and sometimes arrests. These events, as well as the countless years my ancestors spent hating and hurting light fixtures throughout history, is what I believe led to last night's hit on me. You see, like I said before, light fixtures are all of one mind…much like the Borg from Star Trek, or like Christians…and I believe that it's just been biding it's time until it had the chance to kill me, which I gave it last night.
The ceiling fixture in my new apartment's bedroom had (past tense) a glass shield also known as a bug collector. Now, the ceilings in my new place are slightly lower than most living quarters, low enough that I have no problem reaching straight up and touching the ceiling, maybe even tickling it if it were ever feeling sad, which ceiling scientist everywhere agree, never happens, which is why I don't waste my time tickling my ceiling or baking small cakes for the chairs that I own (which is a different story entirely). Opposite that ceiling in my bedroom is the bedroom floor, which is where I keep my bed. Now, last night I was in the process of making my bed with freshly cleaned sheets and comforter and what nots (let me explain the what nots: I have the most comfortable bed in the world…a bed straight out of a Dr. Suess drawing. It consists of a platform bed frame with beachwood slats, a pillowtop mattress, a down filled mattress in a flannel mattress cover, a mattress pad, two comforter, flannel sheet set and lastly a down comforter in a flannel cover. Needless to say, putting my bed all together is an event in and of itself) when the fixture attacked. What had happened was that as I was fanning a comforter out over the bed, that process where you lift one side of a tangled fabric over your head a then quickly downward hoping that air will get trapped underneath and in the process of escaping get entangled with the corners of the cloth and inadvertently pull and straighten said cloth out…when what really happens is anyone who enters the room while you're attempting this will be forced into calling the police to report you for beating your mattress with a fabric club…which is why are legal system sees so many of these cases yearly. So again, I was attempting to kill my mattress with a fabric club, and while doing so I caught the glass shield of the light fixture and broke it from it's bolted harness. Before I even knew what had just happened, a large piece of that glass shield had already cleanly passed through my arm, which only a fraction of a second before is where my head was taking up space, until I heard the crack of glass and flinched to one side.
If I didn't mention it in the previous blog, let me just take this moment to explain how cool of a landlord George is: Not only was he right there after I called him on his cell phone for some help with the first aid and helped me dress the wound, but he then proceeded to clean up the broken glass, mopped up the blood in the kitchen/bathroom/living room, retrieve his vacuum cleaner and sweep up the bedroom carpet of remaining glass bits. Keep in mind, this took place around midnight and George, a 70 year old ex cop arrived downstairs expecting to find his tenant with a small cut just in need of a band aid, and instead was witness to a broken light fixture in one room, blood EVERYWHERE, and a tenant sitting on the kitchen floor, covered with his own blood holding his arm for dear life saying, "I'm really really sorry." Over and over again.
I do have to say that I was slightly disappointed when he mopped up for me, as nice as it was, because I had wanted to photograph the scene for this blog, but didn't really want to go through the process of explaining that to George. There really is no way of conveying just how much blood I lost without photographic proof. But I did learn that blood is a very difficult substance to clean up, seeing as after several washings (even with Bleach involved) my kitchen floor is still somewhat stained pink….so much so that we may have to replace the linoleum.
It is also a "Why's Kevin Licking Katie's Face?" that lighting fixtures always attack in series of threes, meaning I have anywhere from none to several attacks to look forward to….because lighting fixtures also can not count, which is why they have such shitty jobs and are looked down on so by us Deleportes.
In case this is my last entry, let me take this time to say that you are all just ok. If I'm still around for Xmas, then I want a pony.
Working Within a Toast Allowance...
I have to say, That I am just shaking with anticipation for the Gridiron Gang to finally hit video stores. Not only for the obvious reasons that it was a well written children's book and that I have absolutely no intention of seeing it in theaters (or at all, for that matter), but it's also been a long time since I have had the chance to watch two full hours of inspirational catch-phrases about over-coming adversities....at least since the remake of the Omen with Mia Farrow's heartfelt speeches to Damian about character and hating the Asians.
That's really all I have on that subject. Actually, I really didn't have any plans for this blog post (nor do I ever really) other than to acknowledge the fact that it's been forever it seems since I've posted anything. I could give you a list of reasons ranging from lack of internet access to being in a coma, but I won't.....even though I kinda gave you two right there, even though they were for example only....stop judging me.
Also, it's finally official, that I live in Brooklyn that is. After a long drawn out process, I am finally here and just as unemployed as I was in Louisville, but I'm ok with that. The area that I've moved to is beautiful. Technically, I am on the border it seems of the Sheepshead Bay and Brighton Beach neighborhoods, which means nothing unless the fragile truce breaks and I'm forced to choose sides....in which case I'll just sell both sides arms until they discover that I'm working both sides or the Police catch up with me for actually selling human arms because I didn't pay much attention in school during career day when the Arms Dealer was speaking.
Above is a photo of the Bay and of the walk I take every day practically, in all it's panoramic glory.
The apartment that I now reside in has come along way, especially since the day that Clint and I first walked in and saw it where Clint was forced to bite down on the emergency Bleach packets hidden in his molars. Actually, my new landlord, a retired Coney Island cop named George, and myself have finally finished with the repairing, painting, carpeting and whatnot bringing my abode out of "den of Son of Sam" and into "the Hatch" (Lost fans should get that). About the only thing still needed would be an internet connection, seeing as I am writing this at the Starbucks again, where Web access is costing me $6 an hour, which is annoying.
And for that reason, I am going to cut this off here.
More updates when I have Web access from my new home.
That's really all I have on that subject. Actually, I really didn't have any plans for this blog post (nor do I ever really) other than to acknowledge the fact that it's been forever it seems since I've posted anything. I could give you a list of reasons ranging from lack of internet access to being in a coma, but I won't.....even though I kinda gave you two right there, even though they were for example only....stop judging me.
Also, it's finally official, that I live in Brooklyn that is. After a long drawn out process, I am finally here and just as unemployed as I was in Louisville, but I'm ok with that. The area that I've moved to is beautiful. Technically, I am on the border it seems of the Sheepshead Bay and Brighton Beach neighborhoods, which means nothing unless the fragile truce breaks and I'm forced to choose sides....in which case I'll just sell both sides arms until they discover that I'm working both sides or the Police catch up with me for actually selling human arms because I didn't pay much attention in school during career day when the Arms Dealer was speaking.
Above is a photo of the Bay and of the walk I take every day practically, in all it's panoramic glory.
The apartment that I now reside in has come along way, especially since the day that Clint and I first walked in and saw it where Clint was forced to bite down on the emergency Bleach packets hidden in his molars. Actually, my new landlord, a retired Coney Island cop named George, and myself have finally finished with the repairing, painting, carpeting and whatnot bringing my abode out of "den of Son of Sam" and into "the Hatch" (Lost fans should get that). About the only thing still needed would be an internet connection, seeing as I am writing this at the Starbucks again, where Web access is costing me $6 an hour, which is annoying.
And for that reason, I am going to cut this off here.
More updates when I have Web access from my new home.
I'm Not Dead Yet......
Just a quick post to apologize for the lack of communication as of late.
I will say that I plan to catch up after I get all of my stuff from Louisville to Brooklyn, hopefully within a week or two, but I'm tired of trying to predict these time-frames because I'm starting to think that doing so curses them to become delayed.....so having said that, I will probably never be able to retrieve my possessions now.
Please bring me new possessions and food. I require furniture, and microwave dinners.....and muffin mix....lots and lots of muffin mixes......
....I have no idea what I'm talking about at this point. I will write again after I finish moving....and establish an internet connection in my new place.....and possibly after I get a new job...and take a bath......after all of that, I will write again.......maybe I'll have some coffee before that.
Praise the goat!
I will say that I plan to catch up after I get all of my stuff from Louisville to Brooklyn, hopefully within a week or two, but I'm tired of trying to predict these time-frames because I'm starting to think that doing so curses them to become delayed.....so having said that, I will probably never be able to retrieve my possessions now.
Please bring me new possessions and food. I require furniture, and microwave dinners.....and muffin mix....lots and lots of muffin mixes......
....I have no idea what I'm talking about at this point. I will write again after I finish moving....and establish an internet connection in my new place.....and possibly after I get a new job...and take a bath......after all of that, I will write again.......maybe I'll have some coffee before that.
Praise the goat!
Answers to Frequently Asked Questions....in my mind
Yes folks, it's question and answer time again for the very first time, quit looking at me that way. It's in this portion of my Blog that I'll take the time to catch up on my absence from posting by answering some of the more frequent questions that I imagine people would ask me if I were to ever go out into public. But first, here's a little good morning message for everyone:
Milque Toast enjoys Vietnamese Coffee
Milque Toast enjoys Vietnamese Coffee
1: So, are you ever planning on finishing your website?
Aaaaaargh!!! That WOULD be the first question you'd ask, wouldn't it?! Look, I really have done a lot of work on it, and got fairly close to getting it to go live. But then I quit my job in January and have been focusing all my energy on this move to New York....and in all honesty, haven't touched the website since. Plus, I really don't know when things will settle down enough so that I can continue and finish work on it....so in short.......yes.
2. Are you any closer to publishing those books you said you were going to publish this year?
*sigh* The above answer applies here as well. At this very moment in time, all of my work and most of my art and writing supplies are in a storage space just begging to be picked up and moved finally. I can't say when that day will be, but I'm hoping that it'll be soon so that I can start to get back into the groove of things. Seriously....I'm reduced to writing ideas and sketches on napkins and the like. So, in short.....no.
3. How's New York so far?
Technically not there yet. True, I have already moved away from Louisville, thankfully. But as I'm writing this I'm doing so on my laptop in my parent's kitchen, whom I'm visiting in Pennsylvania. I'm hoping to be in my new apartment in Brooklyn within a week or so.....before I go crazy and chew off my own foot just for the sake of doing so.
4. But your profile already says "Brooklyn, New York". How can that be if you are in Pennsylvania?
Well, because I'm just visiting my family in Pennsylvania while the apartment becomes available in Brooklyn. Seeing as the end goal is to be there and not here I went ahead and changed my profile to "Brooklyn, New York" after leaving Louisville.
5. So, what you're saying is, is that you're a liar?
Look, I don't go and change my profile to say "The Bathroom" every time I need to take a shit, so no, I don't believe that I'm lying or being misleading....plus, I think I've had about enough of this topic!
6. You do realize that you're arguing with yourself right now, don't you?
I hate you.
7. Shall we move on to different questions?
As long as they aren't about questioning my sanity.
8. Do you think it's normal for one to have conversations with themselves as if they were two different people?
WHAT DID I JUST SAY?!! Thant's it!! I'm done with question and answer time right now!!! Get out of my house!
Note: This portion of "Frequently Asked Questions that have Never Been Asked" will have to continue at another time, when the author has had less or more coffee.....well, when whatever he needs is in balance enough so that he stops writing a lead-out as if he wasn't there and the one writing it........I have to go lay down now.
Aaaaaargh!!! That WOULD be the first question you'd ask, wouldn't it?! Look, I really have done a lot of work on it, and got fairly close to getting it to go live. But then I quit my job in January and have been focusing all my energy on this move to New York....and in all honesty, haven't touched the website since. Plus, I really don't know when things will settle down enough so that I can continue and finish work on it....so in short.......yes.
2. Are you any closer to publishing those books you said you were going to publish this year?
*sigh* The above answer applies here as well. At this very moment in time, all of my work and most of my art and writing supplies are in a storage space just begging to be picked up and moved finally. I can't say when that day will be, but I'm hoping that it'll be soon so that I can start to get back into the groove of things. Seriously....I'm reduced to writing ideas and sketches on napkins and the like. So, in short.....no.
3. How's New York so far?
Technically not there yet. True, I have already moved away from Louisville, thankfully. But as I'm writing this I'm doing so on my laptop in my parent's kitchen, whom I'm visiting in Pennsylvania. I'm hoping to be in my new apartment in Brooklyn within a week or so.....before I go crazy and chew off my own foot just for the sake of doing so.
4. But your profile already says "Brooklyn, New York". How can that be if you are in Pennsylvania?
Well, because I'm just visiting my family in Pennsylvania while the apartment becomes available in Brooklyn. Seeing as the end goal is to be there and not here I went ahead and changed my profile to "Brooklyn, New York" after leaving Louisville.
5. So, what you're saying is, is that you're a liar?
Look, I don't go and change my profile to say "The Bathroom" every time I need to take a shit, so no, I don't believe that I'm lying or being misleading....plus, I think I've had about enough of this topic!
6. You do realize that you're arguing with yourself right now, don't you?
I hate you.
7. Shall we move on to different questions?
As long as they aren't about questioning my sanity.
8. Do you think it's normal for one to have conversations with themselves as if they were two different people?
WHAT DID I JUST SAY?!! Thant's it!! I'm done with question and answer time right now!!! Get out of my house!
Note: This portion of "Frequently Asked Questions that have Never Been Asked" will have to continue at another time, when the author has had less or more coffee.....well, when whatever he needs is in balance enough so that he stops writing a lead-out as if he wasn't there and the one writing it........I have to go lay down now.
Don't mess with the One-Handed Sanwich, or Something.
This is going to be just a quick little post, just to plug my eBay auctions in case any of you are interested....I'm smack dab in the middle....wait......what the fuck does "smack dab" mean anyways? Seriously....there has to be a reason.......First person to Google that for me gets made fun for a day or two.
Anyways....I am Smack Dab in the middle of leaving the town of Louisville for bigger and better things......which is why this is just going to be a quick little post.....in which I'm already failing miserably..........let's start over:
HEY FOLKS!!!
Guess who's selling things online?
I know you already know the answer for the simple fact that if you're reading this line right now you've already read through the first part and you're whole pretending to be surprized and ask, "I don't know? Who? Please tell me?" is starting to offend me!
Wait....damnit! Start over again:
HEY FOLKS!!!
No no no!! Starting over again.......
I sell things! You want things? I sell them! You buy what I sell!!! Do it now!
My eBay items YOU BUY!!
and I sell more things!!!
My Books For You BUY!!!
Ok....I'm tired and I've got hundreds of miles to drive tonight.
Goodbye Louisville.
Anyways....I am Smack Dab in the middle of leaving the town of Louisville for bigger and better things......which is why this is just going to be a quick little post.....in which I'm already failing miserably..........let's start over:
HEY FOLKS!!!
Guess who's selling things online?
I know you already know the answer for the simple fact that if you're reading this line right now you've already read through the first part and you're whole pretending to be surprized and ask, "I don't know? Who? Please tell me?" is starting to offend me!
Wait....damnit! Start over again:
HEY FOLKS!!!
No no no!! Starting over again.......
I sell things! You want things? I sell them! You buy what I sell!!! Do it now!
My eBay items YOU BUY!!
and I sell more things!!!
My Books For You BUY!!!
Ok....I'm tired and I've got hundreds of miles to drive tonight.
Goodbye Louisville.
Titled this way for the Less Fortunate
So, I ask you...how insane does Tom Cruise have to act before it actually starts to hurt his box office appeal? I mean, I admit that I've never considered myself bias in either way, for or against him in movies....usually he's been in good roles so I've had no problem seeing his films....but now, I'm sorry, I just can't go see Mission Impossible 3 without half expecting him to call someone Glib at any moment or bust into some straight faced ridculous debate about something only to follow it with that forced maniacal laughter he seems to have adopted.
Ok, so it's three in the morning and these are the types of questions that plague me when I have no access to coffee. I am currently on Long Island with fellow traveller Clint in the search for a new apartment in Brooklyn or the surrounding areas. I accidentally fell asleep after today's long walk-about and search...now the house is quiet, my iPod is battery deficient, and I have a hankering for listening to Joe Jackson for some odd reason.
And that's really all I have to say.....tomorrow continues the apartment quest, most likely with the help of a realitor of some variety, unfortunately.....and I'm still craving hearing Stepping Out, which just shows my age I suppose.
Ok, so it's three in the morning and these are the types of questions that plague me when I have no access to coffee. I am currently on Long Island with fellow traveller Clint in the search for a new apartment in Brooklyn or the surrounding areas. I accidentally fell asleep after today's long walk-about and search...now the house is quiet, my iPod is battery deficient, and I have a hankering for listening to Joe Jackson for some odd reason.
And that's really all I have to say.....tomorrow continues the apartment quest, most likely with the help of a realitor of some variety, unfortunately.....and I'm still craving hearing Stepping Out, which just shows my age I suppose.
Say hello to my Dog Skin Coat
It has come to my attention, and to the attention of my friend and neighbor Clint, who, for those of you not in the know as of yet, lives in the apartment above mine, that a nearby house to ours has become the home to either a cult of chronic dog stabbers, or a cult of dog stabbers supply and lessons store. What I'm getting at here is the fact that screaming dogs are audible at intermitted moments throughout the night and morning.
Now, not only was I unaware that a cult of chronic dog stabbers or a cult of chronic dog stabbers supply and lessons store was legal, but I had no idea that it took so fucking long to kill a dog by repeated stabbings! Then again, I'm not a member of this cult, nor do I subscribe to it's newsletter....so truth be told, there may be some aspects of the dog stabber's techniques that I'm not familiar with that are implemented to prolong the dog stabbing experience.....such as using short bladed instruments in strategic, non-immediate-lethal areas of the canine's anatomy.
Actually....I'm now curious about what a Cult of Chronic Dog Stabbers Newsletter would be like. I can imagine someone getting caught owning many and trying to explain it away by saying, "I just get it for the articles!"
Ok....it's clear that I need my morning coffee now, before I write anymore and hurt the feelings of any sensitive indy kids out there.
Now, not only was I unaware that a cult of chronic dog stabbers or a cult of chronic dog stabbers supply and lessons store was legal, but I had no idea that it took so fucking long to kill a dog by repeated stabbings! Then again, I'm not a member of this cult, nor do I subscribe to it's newsletter....so truth be told, there may be some aspects of the dog stabber's techniques that I'm not familiar with that are implemented to prolong the dog stabbing experience.....such as using short bladed instruments in strategic, non-immediate-lethal areas of the canine's anatomy.
Actually....I'm now curious about what a Cult of Chronic Dog Stabbers Newsletter would be like. I can imagine someone getting caught owning many and trying to explain it away by saying, "I just get it for the articles!"
Ok....it's clear that I need my morning coffee now, before I write anymore and hurt the feelings of any sensitive indy kids out there.
The Three D's of a Four D'ed Noose.
Recently I've learned that this new male fashion that's been annoying the living crap out of me is actually called Brooklyn Street. I'm sure you've seen this by now in your neck of the country, it seems to be everywhere: Twenty-something year old males walking around wearing thrift store bought sports jackets over their t-shirts and dawning those trucker style puffy fronted red-neck ball caps over a mop of unwashed hair. Did I miss something? Did some Indy Brit Pop Star or the like recently appear on TRL wearing this? And, I have to say in all honesty, I do believe that this new fashion fad has been mislabeled. The first person I ever saw dressed like this would be Chevy Chase in the late 80's early 90's, but I doubt many young adults trying to be cool would feel that way if what they were wearing was known as Fletch Chic. But still, I thought Brooklyn Street was already taken when men in the early 80's started wearing half length mesh shirts over their white undershirts (also known as wife beaters by us Kentucky folk) and sporting day-glo headbands. I could have sworn that was called Brooklyn Street....or at least that is what my dad called it when he started dressing that way. I don't remember. But imagine what it would be like tomorrow if John Mayer or Graham Coxon had been spotted dressed like that. There'd be indy kids everywhere looking like gay personal trainers, and those not in the know (like myself) would be forced to believe that Loverboy had made some unbelievable comeback....just like I was under the impression that the Chevy Chase show had either just come back on the air or at least been released to dvd....a sad, sad one disc dvd box set.
Speaking of Brooklyn, in the year 1977, Brooklyn, the Bronx and Queens were terrorized by the Son of Sam or "the .44 Caliber Killer", later to be known as David Berkowitz, because, although unimaginative, that's his name. Later he would go on record as saying he was obeying the demands of Sam....this all somehow was spawned by many sleepless nights due to the constant barking of his neighbor's dog. You might find this hard to believe, that is that a constant external noise source can drive someone insane enough to kill. I thought so as well. That was until the Satan Spawn Starling took residence in the tree behind my apartment and not three feet from my bedroom window. Trust me, being awakened constantly by a high pitched bird doing an impression of an old man with Alzheimer's lost and wandering in traffic can really start to effect you.
Completely off the subject, am I the only one who thinks that the new Burger King "wake up with the King" campaign is gay? And by gay I mean targeting homosexuals. Commercials full of construction workers, lumberjacks, the Village People....all waking up in bed with a smiling King. Seriously, I mean, the only thing missing is the King actually being dressed in Brooklyn Street.
Anyway, the screeching semi-redundant call of this retarded fowl living behind me has actually started to take the shape of demands....so far though, not demands to kill for it, more like demands to open the window and scream "SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU STUPID FUCKING BIRD!!!!!!" ...but I believe that its only a matter of time before I'm led to believe that the only path to true peace is to paint my walls with blood. Just saying.
Really, I have no idea where I'm going with all of this, or exactly how to end it besides saying that this is what happens when Im home all day sick with food poisoning. I think its safe to say that I'm never ordering an Alemeda Burger ever again.
Now where's that bucket?
Speaking of Brooklyn, in the year 1977, Brooklyn, the Bronx and Queens were terrorized by the Son of Sam or "the .44 Caliber Killer", later to be known as David Berkowitz, because, although unimaginative, that's his name. Later he would go on record as saying he was obeying the demands of Sam....this all somehow was spawned by many sleepless nights due to the constant barking of his neighbor's dog. You might find this hard to believe, that is that a constant external noise source can drive someone insane enough to kill. I thought so as well. That was until the Satan Spawn Starling took residence in the tree behind my apartment and not three feet from my bedroom window. Trust me, being awakened constantly by a high pitched bird doing an impression of an old man with Alzheimer's lost and wandering in traffic can really start to effect you.
Completely off the subject, am I the only one who thinks that the new Burger King "wake up with the King" campaign is gay? And by gay I mean targeting homosexuals. Commercials full of construction workers, lumberjacks, the Village People....all waking up in bed with a smiling King. Seriously, I mean, the only thing missing is the King actually being dressed in Brooklyn Street.
Anyway, the screeching semi-redundant call of this retarded fowl living behind me has actually started to take the shape of demands....so far though, not demands to kill for it, more like demands to open the window and scream "SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU STUPID FUCKING BIRD!!!!!!" ...but I believe that its only a matter of time before I'm led to believe that the only path to true peace is to paint my walls with blood. Just saying.
Really, I have no idea where I'm going with all of this, or exactly how to end it besides saying that this is what happens when Im home all day sick with food poisoning. I think its safe to say that I'm never ordering an Alemeda Burger ever again.
Now where's that bucket?
JG Wettworth can get you cash now for all your cash now needs!
So, is everyone as excited as I am about the screen debut of our country's newest favorite white trash redneck? Oh yes, I speak of Larry the Cable Guy in "Larry the Cable Guy, Health Inspector", a movie so specialized in it's target market that it needed to keep "the Cable Guy" in the title as to not confuse it's pick-up driving imbred cash crop. Could you imagine the mass panic and confusion that could have happened had the film simply been titled "Larry, the Health Inspector"? Good ole boys everywhere would boil with anger at the pretender to the throne! "Good God that bastard is even trying to look just like our beloved Cable Guy!! That's it!! I'm gonna beat my girlfreind!"
Ok ok.....so I might have gone a bit too far with that.....beloved is obviously much too big of a word for Larry's fan base. I mean, really....this is a comic made popular by riding the ass fame of Jeff Foxworthy and spouting off the unbelievably unfunny phrase, "Git R Dun" after every fart joke. At least "you might be a redneck", as redundant as it became was still far more varied than "Git R Dun".
But really, why should I be so surprised at this pig fucker's success? I mean, I live in a nation that still give's it's mentally retarded president far too high of an approval rating all things considered. Maybe we truly are a nation of one liners, fart jokes and short attenti...Ooooooooo something shiney!
Ok ok.....so I might have gone a bit too far with that.....beloved is obviously much too big of a word for Larry's fan base. I mean, really....this is a comic made popular by riding the ass fame of Jeff Foxworthy and spouting off the unbelievably unfunny phrase, "Git R Dun" after every fart joke. At least "you might be a redneck", as redundant as it became was still far more varied than "Git R Dun".
But really, why should I be so surprised at this pig fucker's success? I mean, I live in a nation that still give's it's mentally retarded president far too high of an approval rating all things considered. Maybe we truly are a nation of one liners, fart jokes and short attenti...Ooooooooo something shiney!
The Piles have Noses
Alright! So I admit that I'm a complete horror geek and actually went by myself to see 'the Hills have Eyes' on it's first day in the theaters. Weeeeeeeee!!! As far as my forced pretentious movie critique goes:
If there is any lesson to have ever been learned from watching horror films, it's that you NEVER take the shortcut suggested by the toothless creepy man who giggles to himself while suggesting it. But then, horror films would be much shorter and fairly boring like Thelma and Louise (yes, little did most people know, T&L was actually a horror film....they just took one right where they should have gone left). The summary of this story can be stopped here, because I'm sure you know by now where it's going.....they take the shortcut....and ooooooohhhh Shit!
This movie is everything the previews lead you to expect....complete with multiple and unnecessarry "BOO!" scares, buckets of blood, creepy killer rednecks, great birth defect make-up, unfortunately comical hero posturing to musical crescendos, ect. Is any of it believable? Not for a second. Is it entertaining? Hell yes it is!! Great fun!
That's the whole point of a movie like this one....to be completely fantastic and scary. Leave realistic to a drama with Harrison Ford (who really can't run by the way....I mean seriously, have you seen him run? It's embarrassing, and it's not just his age....he ran funny in Star Wars as well).
I would recommend this film to anyone who was a fan of Thelma and Louise, off of which this movie was loosely based.
If there is any lesson to have ever been learned from watching horror films, it's that you NEVER take the shortcut suggested by the toothless creepy man who giggles to himself while suggesting it. But then, horror films would be much shorter and fairly boring like Thelma and Louise (yes, little did most people know, T&L was actually a horror film....they just took one right where they should have gone left). The summary of this story can be stopped here, because I'm sure you know by now where it's going.....they take the shortcut....and ooooooohhhh Shit!
This movie is everything the previews lead you to expect....complete with multiple and unnecessarry "BOO!" scares, buckets of blood, creepy killer rednecks, great birth defect make-up, unfortunately comical hero posturing to musical crescendos, ect. Is any of it believable? Not for a second. Is it entertaining? Hell yes it is!! Great fun!
That's the whole point of a movie like this one....to be completely fantastic and scary. Leave realistic to a drama with Harrison Ford (who really can't run by the way....I mean seriously, have you seen him run? It's embarrassing, and it's not just his age....he ran funny in Star Wars as well).
I would recommend this film to anyone who was a fan of Thelma and Louise, off of which this movie was loosely based.
"Things were bad, But now they're good...FOREVER!!", Dr. Zoidberg
It has been written, in some book that I can't remember the name of right this moment, that God created the world in six days....which, as someone who has browsed every channel on cable tv, I would have to assume was a lot of work. On the seventh day, God had a cigarette, which is why so called health experts and others of the non-smoking variety claim that it takes seven days before those that are quitting the addiction start to feel any real relief. This, of course, is complete anti-tobacco leftist pinko bullshit!
Here's some science for ya: some self-proclaimed "really smart" guys have established that there are 5 stages to death....that is, that one typically goes through five different emotional stages after losing someone close to them. These stages are: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. These are NOT separate stages for five total days! For some, these stages can take weeks, months, even years.
Now, those who are quitting smoking go through a similar series of stages, known as the 4,367 stages of quitting smoking....which contain the previous mentioned five, plus Screaming, Uncontrollable Blinking, Flatulence, Wrath, Unconsciousness, Stabbing, Fear of Toast, Oprah Watching and Acute Sensitivity to Bad Fashion.....just to name a few. And to think that someone can accomplish all of these stages in under a weeks time is not only laughable but should be punishable by death!
I have learned yesterday from my friend Clint, that I am now on my twelfth day without a smoke. I actually had no idea because it's hard to keep track of the days when you spend them screaming at the hallucinations to quit poking you with their tridents. Is it getting any easier you ask? Fuck you! Haven't you read anything I had written above?! Ok, sorry....that was as uncalled for as your stupid fucking question. I apologize.
In all honesty, no, it's not actually any easier right now in the sense that I don't feel any better and the cravings really haven't started to lessen any. What HAS changed is my risk of actually giving in and running down to the corner convenient store to buy a new pack....mostly due to the fact that I chewed off my own feet somewhere around the third day or so....I do believe it's the loss of blood that is causing the trident impaling hallucinations, though the anti-smoking voodoo witch doctors would have you believe otherwise.
Now, if someone could be so kind as to call for help.....and bring me a cigarette.......for the love of God!!!!
Here's some science for ya: some self-proclaimed "really smart" guys have established that there are 5 stages to death....that is, that one typically goes through five different emotional stages after losing someone close to them. These stages are: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. These are NOT separate stages for five total days! For some, these stages can take weeks, months, even years.
Now, those who are quitting smoking go through a similar series of stages, known as the 4,367 stages of quitting smoking....which contain the previous mentioned five, plus Screaming, Uncontrollable Blinking, Flatulence, Wrath, Unconsciousness, Stabbing, Fear of Toast, Oprah Watching and Acute Sensitivity to Bad Fashion.....just to name a few. And to think that someone can accomplish all of these stages in under a weeks time is not only laughable but should be punishable by death!
I have learned yesterday from my friend Clint, that I am now on my twelfth day without a smoke. I actually had no idea because it's hard to keep track of the days when you spend them screaming at the hallucinations to quit poking you with their tridents. Is it getting any easier you ask? Fuck you! Haven't you read anything I had written above?! Ok, sorry....that was as uncalled for as your stupid fucking question. I apologize.
In all honesty, no, it's not actually any easier right now in the sense that I don't feel any better and the cravings really haven't started to lessen any. What HAS changed is my risk of actually giving in and running down to the corner convenient store to buy a new pack....mostly due to the fact that I chewed off my own feet somewhere around the third day or so....I do believe it's the loss of blood that is causing the trident impaling hallucinations, though the anti-smoking voodoo witch doctors would have you believe otherwise.
Now, if someone could be so kind as to call for help.....and bring me a cigarette.......for the love of God!!!!
Hot Polished-Rock on Polished Rock Action, the Movie!
In 1565, Holland's Peter Breugel painted "Hunters in the Snow" and another work depicting scenes resembling modern curling. Breugel's paintings support the premise held by some that curling originated in continental Europe. The Scots, however, are the undisputed developers and formalizers of the modern game. By 1638 curling was considered, with golf and archery (in M. H. Adamson's poem The Muses Threnodie), to be a usual recreational pastime and just as mind-numbingly as boring as golf and archery. After a huge growth spurt in the 19th century, curling was played by thousands in nearly every Scottish parish.
The origin of the so called sport is actually believed to have started by a dispute between two brothers living on opposite sides of a lake from one another. Though the argument today is widely debated, some believe that it was a disagreement about toast that grew out of hand, and ended finally one winter when both brothers tried to kill one another by throwing rocks. Having both lost their footing on the ice, the battle continued with the brothers, prone on the ice, attemptiing to brain one another using any rock withing reach and sliding them albeit slowly across the lake. Word reached the town, and by the time the folk made it to the lake the fighting was over. They were witness to the brother's wives on the ice, using brooms to gather pieces of cranium and brain matter....thus the sport of curling was born!
Between the 16th and 20th centuries, Scotland's climate warmed, and today the lochs rarely freeze. The climate change hindered curlers, who tried to kill one another outdoors on natural ice until the 20th century. Nonetheless the Scots had, by the mid-1800s, formalized curling's rules of play and equipment and had established the "mother club" of curlers worldwide, the Royal Caledonian Curling and Competative Crotcheting Club. The RCCCCC is today the national governing body of curling in Scotland, with 20,000 active members now playing indoors on refrigerated ice, or crotcheting cute little hats for one another near a fireplace at home.
The game of curling spread throughout the world through the efforts of thousands of Scottish soldiers and migrs settling their toast disputes at any body of frozen water that they could find. In North America, curling's origins likely date to the late 1700s. The first documented record is the founding of the Montreal Curling Club in 1807, who were the first to use curling to settle and argument originating somehow from Canadian Bacon.
In 1832, the Orchard Lake Curling Club, near Orchard Lake (makes sense, doesn't it?), became the first curling club in the United States, organized at the home of Dr. Robert Burns. The Orchard Lake group curled on Lake St. Clair, fifty miles away....why they did that is still a mystery that historians all agree is not worth investigating. The oldest continuously operating curling club in the United States is the Milwaukee, Wisconsin club, founded in 1845. The Scottish founders' roster included such names as Murray, Ferguson, Dunlop, Gunyon, Findlay, Kinney, McFarland and McFadyen.
The ice sport of curling, although never well known in the United States, has developed steadily throughout American history. The sport is often passed down through families and has provided enjoyable winter recreation and brain trauma to thousands of Americans.
Take it from Clint, you can't fuck a wall outlet!
Actually, I don't have anything to write about. That title has just been giving me laughing fits since it was first said after both Clint and I failed to win the Powerball Jackpot.
That is all....stay tuned for next week when I write about "Drummers, and the people who are going to poison their water!"
That is all....stay tuned for next week when I write about "Drummers, and the people who are going to poison their water!"
Burying Things in the Desert....
For those of you living in the states I know you've had to see these advertisements, the New campaign for Las Vegas...What Happens Here, Stays Here brilliance. Even those of you who don't watch much tv must have caught at least one of these at some point....they seem to have saturated the fucking airwaves recently.
For any who don't know of the advertising of which I now speak, a quick discriptive:
*a woman questioned by her boyfriend after returning from a trip to Las Vegas quickly sums it up in nothing but shopping and sighs the "That Was Close" sigh when he leaves the room...leading the audience to believe that she must have taken it up the ass by some swarmy guy for more poker chips or something.
*a guy giving out fake carreers as his own to a variety of people while in Vegas, obviously thinking that his job as a Burger Technichian at Jack in the Box will more than likely keep him from getting laid..
*a woman giving the same variety of people different fake names, obviously due to the fact that she doesn't like to hear her real name called out while blowing a stranger in a back alley...
...and it goes on from there. I mean, it's no wonder why Las Vegas is finally trying to shed it's "family freindly" look that they spent so much fucking money on over the past decade....the hookers are still there! Prooving that a Mikey Mouse look and feel is NOT a deterance for whores (someone, somewhere HAS to have a story about banging Snow White in a back office at Disney World at some point in time).
But now what I'm waiting for is the day when Las Vegas finally learns that Americans are for the most part lost on subtlety and suggestion....there is a man somewhere who just watched one of the commercials going, "I don't get it....why is she so worried about shopping in Las Vegas? Did she really spend that much?" while his children sit there rolling their eyes. If there is one thing that Americans have prooved about ourselves time and time again, is that we are a nation of complete and total idiots that really need things spelled out for us, regardless of whether it's spelled out truthfully or not....we'll still eat that shit up! The day will have to come when these commercials get a tad more blatant....
*a man is picked up at the airport by his wife and after kissing her she mentions, "Honey, your breath smells like semen."...the camera locks onto his worried stare....
*Two men return from Vegas late one night, their suits are dirt soiled and they are pulling shovels from their trunk..."What Happens Here, Sometimes REALLY stays here!"
But why stop there? I mean, if they really want to sell Vegas as a place for vice again, why not just pull out the guns and go for it? Picture advertisements showing a business man on the phone with his wife telling her that the conference went fine while getting a handjob froma hooker in his hotel room....a man getting the ever loving shit kicked out of him in the back room of a casino....a woman curled into the fetal position behind a dumpster sobbing about losing everything...."Las Vegas, We're Seedy Again!"
And maybe other states can follow suit in this new campaign. Montana can adopt the Brokeback Mountain idea with and advertisement showing two cowboys embraced, "Montana...Where Real Cowpokes Cum!" Ha! See? Maybe Mississippi can have one showing a clan rally, "Mississippi, We Still Hate Niggers!" Why not?! Not like it's any big secret! Or how about the favorite vacation advertisements we all love? You know, for states that you would never think of vacationing at ever. A series of beautiful landscapes and activities follwed with, "Come to Virginia. There really isn't Anything to do...but at least We're Not Kansas!"
....and, to think, my mother thought advertising would have been a good career choice for me.
For any who don't know of the advertising of which I now speak, a quick discriptive:
*a woman questioned by her boyfriend after returning from a trip to Las Vegas quickly sums it up in nothing but shopping and sighs the "That Was Close" sigh when he leaves the room...leading the audience to believe that she must have taken it up the ass by some swarmy guy for more poker chips or something.
*a guy giving out fake carreers as his own to a variety of people while in Vegas, obviously thinking that his job as a Burger Technichian at Jack in the Box will more than likely keep him from getting laid..
*a woman giving the same variety of people different fake names, obviously due to the fact that she doesn't like to hear her real name called out while blowing a stranger in a back alley...
...and it goes on from there. I mean, it's no wonder why Las Vegas is finally trying to shed it's "family freindly" look that they spent so much fucking money on over the past decade....the hookers are still there! Prooving that a Mikey Mouse look and feel is NOT a deterance for whores (someone, somewhere HAS to have a story about banging Snow White in a back office at Disney World at some point in time).
But now what I'm waiting for is the day when Las Vegas finally learns that Americans are for the most part lost on subtlety and suggestion....there is a man somewhere who just watched one of the commercials going, "I don't get it....why is she so worried about shopping in Las Vegas? Did she really spend that much?" while his children sit there rolling their eyes. If there is one thing that Americans have prooved about ourselves time and time again, is that we are a nation of complete and total idiots that really need things spelled out for us, regardless of whether it's spelled out truthfully or not....we'll still eat that shit up! The day will have to come when these commercials get a tad more blatant....
*a man is picked up at the airport by his wife and after kissing her she mentions, "Honey, your breath smells like semen."...the camera locks onto his worried stare....
*Two men return from Vegas late one night, their suits are dirt soiled and they are pulling shovels from their trunk..."What Happens Here, Sometimes REALLY stays here!"
But why stop there? I mean, if they really want to sell Vegas as a place for vice again, why not just pull out the guns and go for it? Picture advertisements showing a business man on the phone with his wife telling her that the conference went fine while getting a handjob froma hooker in his hotel room....a man getting the ever loving shit kicked out of him in the back room of a casino....a woman curled into the fetal position behind a dumpster sobbing about losing everything...."Las Vegas, We're Seedy Again!"
And maybe other states can follow suit in this new campaign. Montana can adopt the Brokeback Mountain idea with and advertisement showing two cowboys embraced, "Montana...Where Real Cowpokes Cum!" Ha! See? Maybe Mississippi can have one showing a clan rally, "Mississippi, We Still Hate Niggers!" Why not?! Not like it's any big secret! Or how about the favorite vacation advertisements we all love? You know, for states that you would never think of vacationing at ever. A series of beautiful landscapes and activities follwed with, "Come to Virginia. There really isn't Anything to do...but at least We're Not Kansas!"
....and, to think, my mother thought advertising would have been a good career choice for me.
Love is a Three Way....the Truth about Valentine
Valentine's Day started in the time of the Roman Empire. In ancient Rome, February 14th was a holiday to honour Juno. Juno was the Queen of the Roman Gods and Goddesses. The Romans also knew her as the Goddess of women and marriage, nagging and questions such as, "Does this crusifiction make my but look fat?". The following day, February 15th, began the Feast of Lupercalia. And February 16th was the day of Vomitus, a very busy day for all vomitorium emplyees.
The lives of young boys and girls were strictly separate, for grown men were the only ones allowed to rape young boys, while yougn girls were left to be knocked up by Gods in order to give birth to heros and horrible beasts for the heros to fight, thus giving the Romans subjects to sing about while vomitting in large groups in the vomitoriums. However, one of the customs of the young people was name drawing. On the eve of the festival of Lupercalia the names of Roman girls were written on slips of paper and placed into jars. Each young man would draw a girl's name from the jar and would then be partners for the duration of the festival with the girl whom he chose. Sometimes the pairing of the children lasted an entire year, and often, they would fall in love and would later marry.
Under the rule of Emperor Claudius II Rome was involved in many bloody and unpopular campaigns, very similar to the United sates under the rule of emperor Jeb. Claudius the Cruel was having a difficult time getting soldiers to join his military leagues. He believed that the reason was that roman men did not want to leave their loves or families. As a result, Claudius cancelled all marriages and engagements in Rome. The good Saint Valentine was a priest at Rome in the days of Claudius II. He and Saint Marius, the patron saint of nothing in particular, aided the Christian martyrs and secretly married couples, as long as they were of opposite sexes, and for this kind and homophobic deed Saint Valentine was apprehended and dragged before the Prefect of Rome, who condemned him to be beaten to death with clubs and to have his head cut off, in that order. He suffered martyrdom on the 14th day of February, about the year 270. At that time it was the custom in Rome, a very ancient custom, indeed, to celebrate in the month of February the Lupercalia, feasts in honour of a heathen god. On these occasions, amidst a variety of pagan ceremonies, the names of young women were placed in a box, from which they were drawn by the men as chance directed.
The pastors of the early Christian Church in Rome endeavoured to do away with the pagan element in these feasts in susstitution for their own made up mythology, by substituting the names of saints for those of maidens. And as the Lupercalia began about the middle of February, the pastors appear to have chosen Saint Valentine's Day for the celebration of this new feaSt. So it seems that the custom of young men choosing maidens for valentines, or saints as patrons for the coming year, arose in this way.
Years later, saint Hallmark, a priest who had a fondness for giving out cards and playing with teddy bears while being smeared with chocolates, tried to convince others that he had been martyred as well...but of course no one believed him and usually beat him up for coming into their homes. Though, some did take pity on Hallmark and bought his cards and Bears and Chocolates. Eventually, everyone had so many of these items that they satrted to give them away, usually to the people that they liked the least. The most unliked in the communities became smothered in the piles of crap they received and died.
Christians also believed that when a person died, they became ghostly in appearance and grew wings. Other cultures believed that one was resurrected in another form to live life again, but they are all doomed to a Christian version on hell, so we're not interested in them right now. Those that were unliked and thus smothered in Hallmarks on the aniversary of Valentines death were said to return in this ghostly form weilding bows in order to get their revenge on those that caused their deaths. They were believed to shoot others with an arrow that made others not like them enough to smother them with Hallmark's gifts, thus the idea of the cupid, which means 'diaper wearing ghost', was born.
So, at this time, let me say, "Happy Valentines Day" to all of you. May you smother those you despise with gifts in hopes that they cry themselves to death. And while you fuck the ones that you love silly, may you keep in mind that you do so for a man that was beaten to death and then beheaded, while his co-conspirator wenrt unpunished and probably spent the day eating a lot of pudding that he would vomit the following day.
Also, remember that you are only allowed by Christians to scrump your partner silly in the "missionary" position and never in the pooper, because homosexuals are bad.
The lives of young boys and girls were strictly separate, for grown men were the only ones allowed to rape young boys, while yougn girls were left to be knocked up by Gods in order to give birth to heros and horrible beasts for the heros to fight, thus giving the Romans subjects to sing about while vomitting in large groups in the vomitoriums. However, one of the customs of the young people was name drawing. On the eve of the festival of Lupercalia the names of Roman girls were written on slips of paper and placed into jars. Each young man would draw a girl's name from the jar and would then be partners for the duration of the festival with the girl whom he chose. Sometimes the pairing of the children lasted an entire year, and often, they would fall in love and would later marry.
Under the rule of Emperor Claudius II Rome was involved in many bloody and unpopular campaigns, very similar to the United sates under the rule of emperor Jeb. Claudius the Cruel was having a difficult time getting soldiers to join his military leagues. He believed that the reason was that roman men did not want to leave their loves or families. As a result, Claudius cancelled all marriages and engagements in Rome. The good Saint Valentine was a priest at Rome in the days of Claudius II. He and Saint Marius, the patron saint of nothing in particular, aided the Christian martyrs and secretly married couples, as long as they were of opposite sexes, and for this kind and homophobic deed Saint Valentine was apprehended and dragged before the Prefect of Rome, who condemned him to be beaten to death with clubs and to have his head cut off, in that order. He suffered martyrdom on the 14th day of February, about the year 270. At that time it was the custom in Rome, a very ancient custom, indeed, to celebrate in the month of February the Lupercalia, feasts in honour of a heathen god. On these occasions, amidst a variety of pagan ceremonies, the names of young women were placed in a box, from which they were drawn by the men as chance directed.
The pastors of the early Christian Church in Rome endeavoured to do away with the pagan element in these feasts in susstitution for their own made up mythology, by substituting the names of saints for those of maidens. And as the Lupercalia began about the middle of February, the pastors appear to have chosen Saint Valentine's Day for the celebration of this new feaSt. So it seems that the custom of young men choosing maidens for valentines, or saints as patrons for the coming year, arose in this way.
Years later, saint Hallmark, a priest who had a fondness for giving out cards and playing with teddy bears while being smeared with chocolates, tried to convince others that he had been martyred as well...but of course no one believed him and usually beat him up for coming into their homes. Though, some did take pity on Hallmark and bought his cards and Bears and Chocolates. Eventually, everyone had so many of these items that they satrted to give them away, usually to the people that they liked the least. The most unliked in the communities became smothered in the piles of crap they received and died.
Christians also believed that when a person died, they became ghostly in appearance and grew wings. Other cultures believed that one was resurrected in another form to live life again, but they are all doomed to a Christian version on hell, so we're not interested in them right now. Those that were unliked and thus smothered in Hallmarks on the aniversary of Valentines death were said to return in this ghostly form weilding bows in order to get their revenge on those that caused their deaths. They were believed to shoot others with an arrow that made others not like them enough to smother them with Hallmark's gifts, thus the idea of the cupid, which means 'diaper wearing ghost', was born.
So, at this time, let me say, "Happy Valentines Day" to all of you. May you smother those you despise with gifts in hopes that they cry themselves to death. And while you fuck the ones that you love silly, may you keep in mind that you do so for a man that was beaten to death and then beheaded, while his co-conspirator wenrt unpunished and probably spent the day eating a lot of pudding that he would vomit the following day.
Also, remember that you are only allowed by Christians to scrump your partner silly in the "missionary" position and never in the pooper, because homosexuals are bad.