Wasted Time

(Tweet of the Week by Matthew Taff on Twitter @MattTaff)

I hate the moment when you realize that you are reading something worthless. That your time has been wasted. That moment is now.

Vampirella in Neon Lights

(Image by Chris Benedetto, visit his site Honest Propaganda)


Here's another image by Chris Benedetto that caught my eye.


He says, "I had just installed the software so I was looking through my collection of random pics when I came across this pic, it was a woman at a comic convention dressed as Vampirella so I just screwed around with the  color/contrast, I even embossed it at one point."

F.W.D.= Freakin' Witless Denizens!

(by Hex-Girlfriend, visit her blog Hexus-Nexus)

To the Witless Denizens Who Insist on Abusing the "FWD" feature:

Yes, that's right - "Freakin' Witless Denizens" is how you will be defined when you assault my mailbox with your mindless use of that God-forsaken "Forward" button.  I liken this feature of email to a pestilent syndrome with its unbiased destruction of healthy, smart neurons replacing them with massive areas of dead-zone, zombie-cerebrums.  Can you think of a more witless act than the brain-numbing use of the "Forward" button?

I will no longer pay any mind to the malignant chain-mail invitations as God and the Essence of Humanity truly does not care if I delete "The Lord's Prayer" or the "Prayer for the Soldier", “"St. Peter's Wish" or the countless “inspirational” Power Point presentations and He will not cast me into the fires of hell for not forwarding these items to every contact in my address book.  No, I will not have 10 years of bad luck or a shriveled heart for ignoring the aforementioned items.  The only “inspiration” that will hit me will be to DELETE, DELETE, DELETE!  In my humble opinion, this is the smartest feature ever created for email.

“My Inbox is NOW PURGED of all EVIL!!  Hallelujah!”  Now, isn’t that a great feeling? 

Do not even get me started on the Amber-Alert emails preying on the worried-mothers who have nothing better to do in their trailer-park, gossip-mongering, talk-show-watching existence than click the "Forward" button while simultaneously being glued to OWN in the hopes of saving a stolen child.  Have they never heard of Snopes, Google or God-forbid the NEWS?  How about picking up a telephone and confirming the facts with the appropriate County's Sherrif's Department?? I liken the blatant lack of fact-checking (or blatant ignorance, if you ask me) nowadays to deeee-licious potential fodder for a civil suit. Perhaps this need to abuse that “Forward” button is a simply an indicator of a deep-seated brain/personality defect.  Not sure which option rings more appropriate.

You see, it does not do anything to "forward" my thinking or my station in life to read and send onward the countless emails which plead with me to wait and see what happens at 11:15 AM the day after sending this malignancy onward to the required allotment of contacts; or to have a heart and send to as many as possible in the next hour so Bill Gates can donate $1 for every email to a kid with cancer in Florida, Philly, Kansas or Katmandu.

I will also not be any smarter, luckier, kinder or richer for doing so - this is a bold-face lie which plays on the human need for validation.

But I do not need to be validated via my email inbox and all the contacts it contains.  Email was created as a convenient, stamp-saving, tree-hugging alternative to paper snail-mail.  How many of us would DARE send a chain-letter onward to all of our friends & family members by SNAIL-MAIL??  Would any of us even think to write down stuff we heard on a late-night info-mercial and mail it to all of our contacts via the USPS?? The newest Maxine we read in the Sunday-paper?? REALLY, PEOPLE!!??

And why do you think that is?

You see, calling it a "Forward" button is an oxymoron if you stop and think about it:  It does not bring or move you toward a position in front.  It will not move you in a prescribed direction or order for "normal use" and it surely does not help advance or promote you in the eyes of the recipients of your misguided "Forwards".

So you're reading this and are either one of 2 things - insulted at the mere suggestion that forwarding emails is stupid and pointless.  Or you're sitting there trepidatiously considering forwarding this post to all of your contacts because maybe it makes a valid point.  Just consider it carefully before you click "Send".

Thank you, 
L

The Problem with Lying

(by Pete Lopez. Read his blog Road to Absolute Zero.)

The trouble that comes to mind after reading the title is probably a morality principle. Lying is evil and a gateway sin to a life of murder and treason. Honesty however, is the best policy and escorts you to the gates of heaven. Truthfulness is the fabric that holds society together but discussing that any further is about as exciting as a head of lettuce. Instead, I prefer to preach my thoughts on the pros and cons of lying. 

I believe there are many benefits of fibbing that are often overlooked. One is to be a hero and rescue an individual from shear humiliation. We all have a friend or coworker that has a great heart, but is annoying to be around. If this person invites you to the opera or a box social, the immediate thought is how to escape without hurting their feelings. Well that is when super lie saves the day. A simple, “Oh, I have baseball tickets that evening” or “Damn, I have open heart surgery that afternoon.” 

Now the problem was averted and everyone is still smiling. There is a small chance that the victim will research to find that the baseball team was off that evening or request to see your surgical scar but taking the coward way out is well worth the risk. If it backfires and you never regain speaking terms, it wasn’t really that much of loss. That person was irritating anyway.

Another advantage of an untruth is keeping self-esteem. There are plenty of times when you’re caught chatting with a casual acquaintance and it’s better to salvage dignity as an alternative to spilling the pathetic facts. Let’s say hypothetically I took a two week vacation but nothing significant ensued. Replacing passports, souvenirs and tan lines were the more lackluster refrigerator cleaning*, daylight naps and cable TV movies. Things that aren’t noteworthy and seem like they were a senseless waste time off.

Eventually my meaningless vacation ended and I headed back into the pants and outside world. For my first lunch break, I returned to the local deli nearby my office. As a result of my frequent visits, I became familiar with the staff and we often engaged in small talk. It never escalated to discussing politics or infected rashes but simple stuff like the weather and hating Mondays. 

After my elongated absence the staff inquired of my whereabouts. This is when White Knight Lie bailed me from conversing about my uneventful time away. I randomly replied “I was in Carolina visiting some family.” 

In actuality, I did not travel there nor do I have any family residing in either Carolina but it did give the illusion that my vacation was well spent. I was praised for being a family man and avoided being teased for my solitary confinement. 

Upon exiting with my lunch, I did realize a hole my lie was prone to. Any of the employees could have been raised or familiar with the state. If one proceeded to make a deeper inquiry then my response would have likely been a blank stare. Alas that did not happen and I was safe not knowing that South Carolina’s state bird was the wren. Although I did get lucky, I would have taken the risk regardless because I’m sure the chef would have put less care into preparing my sandwich if he thought I was a hermit. 

Well I could carry on with more examples such as “Baby, you don’t look fat in those pants” or “No, this chicken tastes nothing like rubber” but enough viable cases of admirable lying have been shared. In fairness, before concluding I should discuss a drawback I learned from dwelling in false land. It’s not from feeling dirty inside and the lies were eating away at my soul. It’s that if I consistently spit out untruths then I begin doubting the legitimacy of what others say to me. If I’m lying, then I start assuming everyone is lying to me. 

My skeptical mind questions every generic offering that others tell me such as “Did so and so really grow these tomatoes in their garden or are they lying and they’re from the market?” The constant untrusting of humanity is disturbing so for selfish reasons I keep lying to a minimum. 

To accomplish this, I have instituted a clause that each white lie possesses a 24 hour window where it can be retracted. It’s a reasonable amount of time for someone who has manipulated the truth to recant without fearing consequences. Withdrawing a lie to a person is difficult and if it’s done within a short frame, it shows there was guilt felt about the incident. 

As final tip, the above rule only pertains to lies on a small scale. I am trying to change my bad habit of telling people I enjoyed a roasted hen with applewood bacon for dinner when I really had leftover pizza from the floor. If you cheated on your significant other or used “creative” accounting for a tax refund, it may be in your best interest to keep denying it. 

Alright, I must cut this essay short. I am off to donate blood followed by reading fairy tales to unfortunate children at the orphanage. Just do me a favor and be around within the next 24 hours, there may be something I need to tell you…... Farewell and lie safely


* refrigerator cleaning is code for finishing the remaining beers in the fridge

Oh God

(Tweet of the Week by Matthew Taff on Twitter @MattTaff)


God never closes a door without opening a window. We are worried he may have OCD.

Dr. Pedophilo

(by Doctor Dick)

Dr. Pedophilo had been distracted by his wife's call requesting that he pick up several food items before returning home that evening.

He had been busy focusing on the scantily clad pre-pubescent boys in the Pool Section section of Young Boy's Life... and now yet another distraction from his receptionist saying his Eleven-o-clock had arrived.  No sooner had she said it than the fat sweating client was settling onto the couch.  Don't sweat on my couch yelled the psych doc in his mind and then went back to trying to remember what his wife had said to get...

"I tell you Doc this girl who lives in the apartment next to me is driving me fucking crazy!  I just want to tear her clothes off and rape the fucking shit outa her!"

Bread, eggs... milk, cheese...

"Doc, she got nipples on her titties as big as a thumb. And Doc... her ass!  Just looking at her ass would make a dead man cum... and her mouth... Doc... she looks like she has a second vagina right on her face..."

Was that two dozen eggs or just one...?

"I tell you Doc... someday... someday...  I'm just gonna go over their and fuck her so hard and so fast up the ass that my cum shoots right outa her mouth..."

Uh... what was that thing about the 'mouth'?

"Shoot cum outa it... you know... from fuckin' her up the ass...?"

And whose ass is this?

"My neighbor's... God... Doc... haven't you been listening?!"

Well, you do know that's a medical impossibility... ejaculating through a mouth during anal sex.

"Yeah... Doc... it's a metaphor."

I'm glad you said that so you will understand that the neighbor you want to fuck in the ass is symbolically-- metaphorically speaking-- your mother.

"What!"

That's right.. I want you to go back to work... and think about that and also consider very carefully where that sperm will land when it's ejaculated from your "Mom's" mouth.  It's very important for you to know the place where it will land.  Now I think we've achieved a very important therapeutic milestone today.  I'll see you next week at the same time.

British English versus American English

(Language Laughs)

As an American I've always pictured the British as being so perfectly proper. It seems that over the years we Americans have been messing up their lovely English language.

Here's a quick primer on how convert our bastardized American words to their British correctness. For the most part we just need to throw in an extra letter or two. Instead of a simple O, they use OU. Color, favorite, and honor become colour, favourite, and honour. G becomes GUE. So analog, dialog, and catalog become analogue, dialogue, and catalogue. K becomes QUE so bank and check become banque and cheque. It's often good to throw in an E for good measure so aging, argument, and judgment become ageing, arguement, and judgement. Instead of using a simple E it is often good to go with AE such that words like encyclopedia and medieval become encyclopaedia and mediaeval. Then there are other random cases where you toss in extra letters such that jewelry, draft, plow, and program become jewellery, draught, plough, and programme.

Learning how to spell like the British is great, but in order to really entrench oneself in the British language the American must also come to grips with their different usage of words. For example, we might 'ride an elevator' but in England the would 'take the lift'. We 'take a vacation' from work while they 'go on holiday'. If you ask to see a football game you'll be shown a soccer match. Two weeks is a fortnight. If someone needs quid they're just asking for money. You live in a flat and use a torch (flashlight) if the lights go out.

I hope you all have had a jolly good time learning British English. Cheerio.

I used the following page to get the British Word Spellings.

Fat, Fuckin' Secretary

(by Hex-Girlfriend, visit her blog Hexus-Nexus)

Lucky is the one these days that lands a job and keeps it for years and years without so much as a write-up for wearing flip-flops one time in the summer when it was so hot the thermometer broke and the rest of the shoe-clad minions suffered the heat with spontaneous combustion-inducing temperatures.  “Unlucky” would be the one who joins the team after Fat Fuckin’ Secretary is set in her anal-retentive, short-tempered ways and parks her high-horse in the Executive Lot and feeds it all apples off the company tree just because she fuckin’ feels like it and nobody will tell her shit.  “Boo” would not be the thing to speak to Fat Fuckin Secretary when you’re agitated and distressed over some unfairness that is unfair because it goes against the Golden Rule of Employee Handbook.  “Handbook” is in an ever-changing state of revision so like going to the dentist you just sit and swallow.

Fat Fuckin’ Secretary can book a meeting with you to go over your weekly workload because she’s been here since the dawn of Creation and needs to know whenever you leave your desk to sneeze or pee.  Of course it’s out of concern and consideration for YOU that this meeting is requested and booked for the same time each week.  It’s to “assist” with anything that may or may not be urgent for which SHE will make the determination of such.  She is the expert, of course, from which you will learn all things.

Never-you-mind that on the first of such meetings, she refused to sit her ass down politely like a normal person, proceeded to nit-pick through every bit of paper, stressed-out over and criticized each item which she did not recognize and basically worked herself up into a froth for which there was no umbrella big enough. When she was halted in her criticisms and told pretty much to forget it if this was the purpose of such meetings, Fat Fuckin’ Secretary stormed out of the office trailing a firestorm of expletives behind her for which she certainly used those Puppet-Master hands of hers to get The Boss to type bad things in your Performance Review.  Then she deleted each and every consecutive weekly meeting from her calendar and yours.

Did Fat Fuckin’ Secretary ever get a write-up for the unprofessional act of screaming and cursing?  Hell-to-the NO-she-DIDN’T!  Fat Fuckin’ Secretary is pretty much untouchable – she’s got the power to put up her I’m-so-fantastic, I-do-it-all-for-pretty-much-everyone, I-dare-you-to-fault-me-for-taking-90-minute-lunches “Reprimand-Shield” at will.  You can try to “fire” if you like, but if your blows don’t bounce directly off of her then they will surely bounce off The Boss whom she has molded into the super-dependent lump of clay that he is.  He is nothing without his Fat Fuckin’ Secretary.  

So, it was NOT the Founder or Executive Director of Supercompany who changed the dress code to prevent all secretaries from displaying “any works of body art or piercings” – it was Fat Fuckin’ Secretary.  Never mind that the 200 counselors, instructors and interns canSTILL freely walk around campus with full arm sleeves, wrists, hands knuckles, lips, noses and necks adorned.  Fat Fuckin’ Secretary can make each and every Secretary and Desk Clerk remove every glint of metal or gemstone no matter how microscopic and wear ¾ sleeves in 110-degree weather if she wants to because she is: FAT FUCKIN’ SECRETARY.  (*And we’re also pretty sure that Fat Fuckin’ Secretary can call you in privately so as not to embarrass you in front of Supercompany and send your sweaty-ass home for lack of hygiene while you’re forced to wear those ¾ sleeves on the hottest day of the year.)

Similar thing for the change-in-dining-room-policy – That email did NOT come from the Executive Director. Fat Fuckin’ Secretary (or Puppet-Master in this case) either shoved her claw-appointed hand up his ass or sat at his desk and used his email for her own satisfaction.  So at this point in time, nobody in Supercompany is permitted to remove any foodstuffs from said Dining Room; that is, unless one wishes to get slapped, punched in the arm or yelled at by Fat Fuckin’ Secretary.  We are a sort of casual, friends-and-family Supercompany which is probably why Fat Fuckin’ Secretary got away with such behavior.  She’s sort of like the drunk Grandma who’s been around so long that everyone is used to her drunken rants and bad behavior – we just laugh about it afterwards like enabling family-members. Has anybody ever heard of the Department of Labor? 

In closing, and just FYI in case you didn’t get it yet – Fat Fuckin’ Secretary is an ever-changing kaleidoscope of moods and emotions which she brandishes like a faulty wand or whip.  “CRACK!”   Rules good for one department or person are not necessarily applicable to every department or person.  This could be based on the smell of the wind, the direction in which the cream swirls in her coffee or whether her biscotti-count was off by possibly one which for all you know might be blamed on YOU.  So watch out, hide your crumbs, don’t clock in or out within the “Red Zones” and leave your .75mm micro nose-pin at home.  We wouldn’t want to twist the moods of the Fat Fuckin’ Secretary.

The Essay that Allows Other Essays to Shine (Part I, Spam)

(by Pete Lopez. Read his blog Road to Absolute Zero.)

Before penning this, I came to the conclusion that I needed a heroic essay to fall from grace. If all my written output was considered elite literature, then none of it could rise and stand above. If I'm only preparing grade A steaks, their supreme flavor starts losing value. My writing menu needs an article of spam, a side chapter of vegetables and a thesis of leftovers on it as well. Once in a while, I need to lower to the salad bar so that when I offer prime beef work, you can still notice how tender it is. 

With that said, I must prohibit consistently being consistent from prohibiting my stuff to stick out. On purpose I am going to purposely make this written piece of writing suck like a sucker to ruin my reliable streak of reliability. That will stop and prevent a crowd from over crowding at the top of the top and free some free space for my other pieces that are not this one, to brightly sparkle a bit brighter. 

Since the above proves that this essay is deliberately taking a dive, a plausible reader’s reaction would sound similar to this. “Upon these new set of circumstances, that nonsensical masterpiece I read yesterday was damn entertaining. I lost track of what a marvelous author Pete Lopez was because everything he composed was a diamond. After suffering through this rough, I hope his next submission to R2AZ regains that superior shine I mistakenly took for granted. I promise to do a better job of stopping to enjoy the roses, which are his words.” 

To break it down further, I draw a comparison to the propaganda of ‘Mom says to always look your best’. If I took adequate time to fancy myself up every morning, the overall result would make me appear rather generic. There would be slight variations from day to day depending on pimples, the angle of the part in my hair or the number of inches of my heels but nothing that would distinguish me on a daily basis. After a month of monotony, people would stop accounting for my fantastically awesome looks. 

Wow, after years of it uselessly hibernating, I can include something I learned as an economics major in college, the Law of Diminishing Returns. Loosely translated, if you wear the same type of shit everyday regardless of the brand quality or thread count, people will care less and less as time carries on. To combat regularity, if a couple of times a week I intentionally head to work in a less groomed manner, people would closely monitor my appearance. Like they say in the media, there is no bad publicity. Although a worn down version of me sheds a negative light, it's still in the office spotlight. 

Well, I am not going to sugar coat that this technique will offer instant praise. Arriving at the office with an appearance that questions if I am homeless, is not immune to a spattering of, “Wow Pete you're looking lousy and smelling of day old alcohol today. What the hell were you doing on a Tuesday night?” 

As a whole, I do swear that the compliments gathered will greatly exceed the amount of detrimental remarks. When the flattery arrives on days I tidy up, a minuscule part resulted from shock but the majority of the acclaim was from everyone recalling, just how attractive I am. Who doesn’t like compliments? Well it surely won't happen if I only dress like a financial robot. Not only do I have to remind people every so often that I am breathtaking, I must occasionally rip that sensation away......to be continued

Psychics for Real?

(Tweet of the Week by Matthew Taff on Twitter @MattTaff)

I've been to 8 psychics and they all told me the same thing: "no we don't take checks". I don't know how some people can still be skeptical.

No More Free Rides

Sadly, I must deliver the news to you my loyal readers that Adult Musings can no longer be produced for free. Since there is currently no advertising in place, this means the costs will have to be covered by you, our readers. You will be receiving an email in the forthcoming fortnight with a billing plan.

Please understand that I feel terrible having to charge my dedicated readers, but hard economic times have required drastic income model changes. Google has just announced that starting May first they will be charging users 5 cents per search to supplement their advertising revenue. Internet Explorer and Firefox are planning to charge users $1 per hour for browser usage starting in June.

There's no need to panic yet as there's still some time yet. After all, it's only April first today, April Fools Day!

Gerbil Dating Protocols

(by Doctor Dick)

Whether U live in liberal California where inter species dating is common or visiting Minnesota where eroticism is imported only during the summer, UR sure to run across someone who has dated a gerbil... like actor Richard Gere.

Richard (or "the dickster" to his amigos) ended up in the hospital ER due to his NOT following these simple protocols: his string broke!

Many who have walked past a pet shop and felt a strange arousal at the site of a gerbil in the window have felt guilty for it and have gone home never to know the pleasures of a human/gerbil relationship.

However once U have mastered Gerbil dating U will thank the Gerbil God for directing you to read this:

First, after purchase allow the Gerbil to spend some private time alone while he (or she) makes themself more attractive for you.  Simply provide everything your Gerbil needs to look attractive.  Get these items when you make your Gerbil purchase.

Why not bring your Gerbil a little gift... like a Wyn wheel... show your Gerbil U care.

Take it to a seed shop for dinner.

Later that night, home alone with your Gerbil... show it your snake... blow marijuana smoke in its face and poor alcohol down its gullet... when your G is feeling really good quickly anesthetize it.  De fang, dewclaw, and de-fur it

(de-furring is optional).

Very Important:  Tie a string around its little neck.  Make sure the string is strong & tight... so you don't lose a good friend.

Now liberally cover Mr. G with KY jelly and place him in the ice box until frozen... hard.

Guess where the Gerbil will wake up!

Women's Personality Based on Hair Color

I know it, you know it, we pretty much all know you can judge a woman's personality just based on her hair color. Now I'm no scientist so I'm not even going to try to explain how the color of one's hair could affect their personality, I'm just sticking to the facts. Before presenting my analysis I ought to clear up one thing. The analysis is based on the color of hair on the woman's head which we all know might not be her natural hair color.

Blonde-
The blonde is a brainless beauty. She generally doesn't have a worry in the world other than trying to remember what time that pedicure appointment was. You better treat this chick well, because every other guy you see is going to try to steal her away from you.

Brunette-
The brunette is an intelligent, caring woman with a lot of depth. Her beauty isn't necessarily striking, but can be overwhelming nonetheless. You'll want to bring this girl home to Mom and know she'll be a great mother and homemaker.

Redhead-
The redhead is a saucy, temperamental woman. If she were a food she would definitely have a star next to it warning how spicy the dish is. If you want to go out and party with someone, this is your wild party girl. Take her out and you'll be sure to have a crazy time. Get ready for some wild times between the sheets too.

Black Hair-
The woman with black hair is a lady. She is elegant, reserved and classy. You will want to take her to a fine restaurant where you can share some expensive wine and good conversation. Although this lady has exquisite beauty you need not fear someone stealing her away since she shows unequaled loyalty and devotion to her lover.

Enjoy the Silence...

(by Hex-Girlfriend, visit her blog Hexus-Nexus)

Keeping my memories company and attempting to bind my personality with labels, labels, labels – all bad ones, no less – are these words bouncing around the small concavity in my misfiring mind: Recession, aggression, compression, depression, regression…That is, at this moment, all I’m stuck with. I started giving the world the silent-treatment a thousand years ago. My own head just hears myself better, I guess.

The short-list of my itemized companions also includes my never-fading, forever-precious gift of a name from my father that nobody ever got right the first time. You’d think it was a certified tongue-twister or something with all the variations I’ve been addressed by over the years –

“Gloria, what time is it??” Not even close.

“Lorianne…” Let me stop you right there – please don’t even finish the statement.

“Hi, Lauren...” Oy.

“Y’know something, Lorelei…!?” You’re friggin’ kidding.

“LOREAL, where’s my car?” Aaannd… …you’re drunk.


It did get sort of tiring having to correct folks by way of my own brand of brief-instructional/witty-inside-joke - "It's pronounced like 'DeLorean' but without the 'duh'".  They mostly picked up on my knowledge of automobile history which made it funny for me for a while. 


Who’d have thought a six-letter, three-syllable name would puzzle so many educated people? "Lorien" is, after all, borrowed from famous AND recently popular literature.  Can you guess where it's from?  Two minutes on Google and you'll pretty much find out...

The problem with people is that their brains get stuck on the familiar, common-sounding, easily recognizable fluff. Save for that one nut of a high-profile client who’d actually get it RIGHT while she was sober, but would make me an exotic, French-i-fied cosmetics brand after a few drinks at Morton’s out with her own clients. Had she eaten enough steak and potatoes, maybe she’d have gotten it right. Or, come to think of it, maybe in her Queen-of-the-Music-Industry robes she was just screwing with me – O, she knew how to properly pronounce my name alright, but it was so silly-sounding to her that she just had to make her drunken jabs at me. Either way she loses because in the end (of the commercial, anyway) I’m worth it! Whatever that means…

If You Don’t Read This I Will Kidnap Your Family

(by Pete Lopez. Read his blog Road to Absolute Zero.)

Okay, now that I have stolen your undivided attention, I confess that it’s highly unlikely that I would go through with the kidnapping. Besides the obvious concerns of serving a prison sentence and not possessing advanced technology to accurately track the people who read this, there are numerous other factors.

First off, I am far too lazy to put in the necessary research in order to decipher where anyone’s family members reside as well as devise a plan to secretly abduct them. Secondly, I dwell in a small city apartment making it highly unfeasible to house more than several victims simultaneously.

Finally, knowing the warm heart I have, I envision myself treating the captives more like invited guests. In an effort to sooth my conscience I would try to make their stay as pleasant as possible by providing recently released DVDs, offering my catalogue of board games and sharing a vintage bottle of aged whiskey.

Now that I think about it, I would have to tidy up the place, prepare balanced meals and do countless loads of laundry. Those are tasks I barely perform for my own benefit. I would spend so much time fussing about being a respectable host that I’d end up forgetting that the sole purpose of these people inhabiting my humble abode was to exhort their other relatives into reading this.

The whole process would turn into an enormous hassle. After reevaluating, I have concluded that this fiasco would be far more trouble than it was worth. If the only reason you have read the above is for family member safety then I am truly sorry for any state of panic caused and for the waste of your precious time.

Despite my apology for the empty kidnapping threat, I must be honest and inform you that I will declare you as “an idiot” if you don’t read this. My opinion will be that you posses the mental capacity of an infant and I will automatically assume that you were a failure in school and reek of rotten eggs and selfishness………..Alright, I admit it’s unrealistic for me to judge one's intelligence level strictly based on whether this was read and my sense of smell is weak and unreliable. Please forgive me once again as I withdraw my absurd claim.

Alas, let me take a stab at inflicting guilt. If you don't read this piece, I will quit brushing my teeth. That's right, if you forgo reading this, then the burden of my decaying teeth will rest solely upon your shoulders……Okay, I must retreat yet again. There is never an excuse for poor hygiene and I am sure that my mom would forbid me to go through with that unsanitary ploy.

Let me try a non threatening angle that offers prosperity. If you read this piece then you will be blessed with great fortune today. I better add a disclaimer in parenthesis and italics. (If you didn't have a real lucky day, then your luck was that nothing bad happened. If something bad happened then your luck stopped it from getting any worse. If you had the worst day of your life then your luck is that going forward, all your future days will be brighter.)

Alright, I throw in the towel. Presenting open ended fortuitous promises or attempting to deceive people into reading my work is quite superficial and I prefer to believe I am above that. The problem is that I wish to be wealthy and recently picked writing as the path to that accomplishment. The simple premise being, I masterfully sculpt this essay and then someone drops from the sky to offer me unimaginable riches.

I already have the situation detailed in my mind. Mr. Magic Man (Triple M for short) dressed in a tuxedo will slowly float down from the clouds and say “I have come across your material and it's absolutely fantastic. Here is a million dollar check and a job offer to write for my newspaper. As per the agreement, a bikini wearing supermodel will be provided as your secretary and here is the key to the city.”

Of course I would respond with “About time” I mean, “Thank you for the opportunity Sir, you won’t regret it.”

Alright, I know the angel billionaire man scenario sounds ridiculous. I’d love to model my past after a young orphaned boy who was dealt a bad hand in life but yet never gave up the flickering hope to be a professional journalist. His heartwarming tale began as a poorly dressed boy gathering cans found while rummaging through dumpsters and fraternity houses. With the small income collected from recycling, he was able to purchase an outdated typewriter with missing letters.

For years he worked countless hours at minimum waged jobs but never relinquished his dream. Sleepless nights in his adopted parents' dungeon supplied his only free time to write and he did the best he could evading words requiring the L and R keys. Finally after 15 years of exhausting manual labor and keeping his spirit alive, he got his well-deserved break. He received mainstream acclaim after penning an ecological documentary titled Goba Waming. His piece reversed decades of environmental damage and he became crowned “The Green Savior”.

However, my lack of motivation favors avoiding the back breaking employment and relentless desire so that I can skip instantly to the big break. Thus, I developed the concept of kidnapping family members to expedite the process. Since my overnight writing career has proven to be fruitless, I shall simply move on to other get rich quick schemes. Maybe performing fiery daredevil stunts drenched in rubbing alcohol, becoming a superhero or composing lyrical recipes for a musical cook book. Who knows what crazy ideas I'll come up with next and be too lazy to follow through?

Kalahala Action

(Image by Chris Benedetto, visit his site Honest Propaganda)

Here's an image created by Chris Benedetto that I thought looked very appealing.

Chris says of Kalahala Action, 'I remember my sister told me about a store in the neighborhood that had a sign in the window that said, "we now sell Islamic Bathing Suits". So I got to wondering what one would look like. Well, one Google image search and photoshop tweak later and you have the finished product. lol.'

I Think We Should See Other Paragraphs

(by Pete Lopez. Read his blog Road to Absolute Zero.)

For situations where the probability of the outcome is likely to be unfavorable I have created a new one step ahead process. Rather than patiently waiting to lose, switch to being the aggressor. This eliminates clutching on to a small hope which painfully disintegrates into disappointment. 

Alright, well now is probably a wise spot to give an example of what I’m writing about. Let's say I notice a famous actress at the Laundromat that’s clearly out of my league but think to myself, boy I wish I could “marry her.” She’s also a foot taller, reading poetry and sporting a wedding ring the size of an unpeeled orange. Those things prove inconsequential as my brain peps me up by mentioning,

“You look stunning in heels, poems aren’t your forte but you enjoy the occasional dirty limerick and her ring is only on to repel weirdoes, not someone of your stature. Toss a sock nearby and while fetching it say, wouldn’t it be a great story to tell our future kids that we met doing laundry?” 

Well this encounter was doomed for the start and got the snobbish reply “How about I tell my billionaire husband I met a ‘sock-hole’ doing laundry?” Thus I end up heartbroken and watch my clothes spin as I peel an orange in my misery. Now I am depressed over a situation that had a zero percent chance of success. 

What I am proposing is to take the initiative and prevent the unwanted result before it occurs. This time after strolling over to regain the sock, I’ll peer into her laundry basket with discontent and say “Listen, I don’t think our clothes are the right match, I am going to start seeing other people.” Now as I am strutting away, my imagination has me believing she is devastated and that I turned down the advances of a celebrity. Our relationship was doomed to end abruptly, but using the latter one allowed it to be on my terms.

This tactic isn’t only applicable in the romance realm. Once I recall bombing on an interview for my dream position as Lord Essayist. At first I latched onto a fragment of hope that the employer could see my winning personality shine through my idiotic words. Maybe I’m overreacting and my response wasn’t that bad when asked to provide an example about excelling on a special project. There has to be some hidden positives in my reply of…

"There was an instance while working late, I had to accomplish this monumental task with a tight deadline and minimal budget, to cover for an incompetent worker, who quit the day prior to join the circus and on his departure spitefully poisoned the files necessary for the assignment. Since the client waiting for the research report was an impatient dictator, I knew time was against me. Fighting through a hangover with shear determination, I was able to cure the damaged documents and save a kitten from falling into the paper shredder. My boss was so impressed that he is still raving how both the company avoided the wrath of a tyrant and can still say it never murdered any cute animals because of me...........alright I give up, none of that happened. I spoke a few generic statements at first hoping to stall time to contrive a pertinent example but obviously I just spiraled into a far fetched tale. I do swear that if this interview was again tomorrow, I would have a well rehearsed answer to that question."

After reevaluating I decided there was no saving the situation. My shot was already botched by arriving late and mumbling nonsense to my possible manager so it was pointless to sulk about it. Instead, it’s smarter to be proactive and mail out a professional rejection memo to the company on official Pete Lopez letterhead. 


“Dear Firm Z,

Thank you for taking time out of your precious day to meet with me. Unfortunately I just don't think your corporation is the right fit. I have come to the conclusion that it’s within my best interest to see other employers. I will keep your company’s information on file for at least a year and if some unrealistic scenario comes along where I reconsider employment, I shall contact you. Best of luck in all your corporate adventures and I’m sure you’ll find someone excited to work for you and takes the position seriously.

Warm Regards
Pete Lopez” 

To recap everything, I didn’t meet my sugar momma while doing laundry and I’m still writing essays as a peasant, but in my eyes, I was always the winner. My warped vision has the actress pleading that she can change wardrobes and Firm Z is literally holding a wealthy offer incase I ever reassess. Maybe I am right or maybe I am wrong but my beliefs tuck me in and allow me to get a great night sleep. Sweet dreams.

PS famous celebrities probably don't do their own laundry, just roll with it.

Dis-Information: Saga of the Clueless Mind

(by Hex-Girlfriend, visit her blog Hexus-Nexus)

It is beyond comprehension - once upon a time we did some crazy-ass stuff. Well, some of it was "crazy"; most of it was just weird.  FUN as all hell, but truly weird and uniquely ours.  Yep, you should recognize the posessive there...

Some of this weird-stuff we got on film.  It was cool and special and meaningful and super, super-secret from friends & family - no, they couldn't know or else it would be none of those things, right?  "Our dirty, little secrets" - locked in a padded box; protected with a password; tied with a bow  - all excitement and edge-of-our-seats, when-can-we-do-it-again!? anticipation with teasing, buzzy invitations by silent emails and leading winks. A regular covert operation.

It was truly all fun-and-games until both of us came up with the same idea while browsing the ever-captive interNET - we could make a website!! Post some pics & video to create a subscription-site or charge a pay-per-view fee for each download.  Cool, right?  Have fun AND put some money in the bank!  It was an AWESOME IDEA! All we needed was good video-camera, website-building software and an endless bank of "Awesome Ideas" to use.

Things were "Just AWESOME"... Well, it was truly awesome until it was suggested that people might get bored seeing the same, significant other in these videos and pics all the time.  MODELS could be substituted for the "same 'ol" BORING ball-and-chain. Just rent a hotel-room, pay them a small fee to video-tape them for an hour and out they go...

Seriously, now - can I get a "Rejected!"? Can someone else go BUY a CLUE for Cripe's sake!??

So back to the drawing-board we go without too much hullaballoo.  Things returned to calm quite swiftly. That is, until it was discovered that somebody went ahead and did it anyway.  Behind someone's back. There were lies and there was hurt and then there were tears and, finally, discussion.  Mend, mend, mend. 

So time passes and things are smoother again as honesty does have an ability to cure and create new understanding.  There are new secret discussions about new, more exciting "covert weirdness" and there is renewed anticipation.

It is then mentioned that the most unique, secret, weird thing we'd ever shared just "has to be captured on film".  Minds are abuzz and cheeks are flushing in a display of replenished exhilaration!  Wow - he wants to preserve our all-time, favorite "weird-thing" forever! And then there was sweetness and smiles...

I say you can just go get as many of those <<secrety-things you used last time>> and just <<secret thing you did with aforementioned secrety-things>> as much as you WANT!     :D

"Um, I meant with models..."            >: {