Striped Cotton and Women Convicts.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell if a woman is a good woman or not.

But I have found it to be very easy.

 

All you must do is look for the stripes. Sometimes you have to get close, really close to see the striped clothing of a convict woman.

 

Below are some pics to help you identify a bad woman. Please notice the stripes.

 

Some bad girls wear fashionable helmets with lights to sneak around late at night and do their evil criminal work.

 

At other times they top everything off with a gangster hat for their gangster ways!

 

 

But, without a doubt the best way to tell if the woman creature is criminal by nature is to get her out of her normal disguises that may seem innocent.

It cannot be mistaken that the stripes – which also may seem enticing or innocent – are no other than convict stripes.

A true convict this one is. Criminal all the way.

This is adelicate things to notice because they hide it so well.

But it’s true. Stripes and bad women.

Stay away from them or you may become a victim too!

Squirrels on My L.O.F.T.

Sitting with friends the other day having dinner made me realize something.

 

It was when our normal, run-of-the-mill political discussion (as if any political discussion with me is run-of-the-mill) was post-scripted by a feeling of dismay and then by a comment: “Wow, you sure have a way of cheering people up when you talk about [politics].”

 

That bothered me.

 

So, in light of this, and in light of one of my previous blogs regarding my List Of Favorite Things (LOFT) I have decided that it is only fitting, in normal realms of talk and teaching, to have an intermission.

 

Here is yours:

 

 

 

 

As I have said, my LOFT tends to cheer me up – so why not share it (and its levity) and use it in the midst of this radical and restless quest.

 

Thus, I have decided to share here, on occasion, an item in my LOFT – for your pure enjoyment.

 

No educational purposes intended or inclined.

 

And so …

 

I like Squirrels.

  

I just think they are funny.

 

They resemble us humans so much that it’s often reflecting.

 

I mean, take a good look at one sometime; they seemingly come in all shapes and sizes, styles and colors and – well – attitudes.

 

Some squirrels get mad:

 

 

Others sometimes are sad:

 

 

Some are in your face:

 

         

 

A few even fly with grace:

 

 

Some are black:

 

 

Some are white:

 

 

A few even fight:

 

 

Most though are just up all night:

 

 

Making themselves sleepy:

 

         

 

There are those that are brave:

 

 

And those that watch you when you are not looking; wow that’s creepy:

 

 

Some squirrels are tame:

 

 

all of them like to play games:

 

 

And do acrobatics:

 

 

Even dine with deer:

 

 

 

They like to chase each other:

 

 

And certainly drink beer: (see why we get long so well)

 

 

 

But you don’t have to be drunk to see why squirrels are so special to me.

 

They are like men, doing the best that they can.

 

To make it in a world.

 

Where, you know it is tough to me a man – or a squirrel.

 

So the next time you see one.

 

Don’t run.

 

Get up the nerve.

 

And just observe.

 

Let them in.

 

To make your heart soft.

 

You might even find them a spot.

 

In your one and only L.O.F.T.

The Homosexual Side Of beer

Over the years, I have given a lot of thought to and gotten a lot of advice on where to go to pick up dates.

 

It was suggested (from maybe the lesser experienced people at being single) that I try the library to find a mate.

 

“You need to find someone that likes what you like,” they say with confidence and imperative, “And you like to read.”

 

Of course these advisors have probably never tried to interrupt an intimidating, pretty little thing, pointedly yet professionally ‘curled up’ with Structural Control for Civil and Infrastructure Engineering in her lap, in a quiet, cavernous room of the local library, where so much as a stuttering, throat-clearing, “Hi, what’s your name?” would resound through the heavens and certainly end with riots of “Shhhh”.

 

 

http://www.shop.com/+-a-Structural+Control+for+Civil+and+Infrastructure+Engineering-p94617294-k36-st.shtml

 

 

 

Other counsel recommends church as the best if not the only place to pick up a date [spouse]. Certainly, the capacity for church to make one’s life (spiritual and social) wholesome is immeasurable, but sometimes that serious of a commitment is a little beyond some people’s interests. (If, you have read more than two of the included blog entries, you might also see why mates of the extremely restraining faiths might also be a little coy when it comes to courting someone like me.)

 

It appears that most advice is well-intended, though, perhaps poorly researched.

 

So what do I do?

 

Well, the only thing a young, single, American male can do: Take this guidance and ponder over it (and a beer) at the local bar.

 

 

 

 

The only problem is that recently I have felt that my sexuality, wait, let me be specific, my hetero-sexuality, has been challenged rather championed at my local drinking/dating establishment. 

 

Allow me to explain with a scenario.

 

Last weekend, after a long (pay)day at work I took an eager seat at one of my favorite local taverns and ordered a beer.

 

Now maybe it was just my mood – and certainly many times when I come to speak from my blog it has something to do with my mood – but when the bartender brought me my beer (which came in quick fashion, no complaints here) I was surprised that the feeling that normally comes over me (relief) was replaced with agitation.

 

Now that is a problem.

 

I looked a little less longingly at the glass this time than in times past.

 

I looked hard at it – and then at the bar tender who nervously looked back.

 

I looked back at the beer, this time with resolve, and then back at the bar tender with intent.

 

He watched closely as a methodically if dramatically removed the lime wedge from the spout of the bottle and placed it purposefully on the napkin to the bottle side and then sat back with bottle near my chest to relish in a job complete.

 

 

 

Then, almost a half-hour later I ordered another beverage to chase the first one I had so deliciously consumed – having totally forgotten about the before mentioned affront.

 

A new beer arrived; a new ray of light on a Friday night.

 

A new focus from the despairingly sparse crop of potential dates had arrived.

 

I slowly tilted my head down to behold the golden, sudsy reward beneath me and was once again dismayed at what I saw.

 

I felt like Hera looking down at Hephaestus. The ugly thing looking back at me was once so full of potential and promise now was hideous to me.

 

 

 

http://www.pantheon.org/articles/h/hephaestus.html

 

 

The orange-slice hung there, on the rim of my beer glass, dangling it healthy tropical entrails in my once perfect pallet-wetting beverage.

 

 

 

 

This time, I was almost in complete disgust and if I had not thought it to be such a waste of yet still only decent beer I would have pushed the thing away – making it an orphan forever.

 

I hesitated as I took the beer form the bar tender. I waited for that moment when both parties are uncomfortable. He looked at me. I looked at him. Our eyes never wavered; mine never even shuddered as I – without looking down – removed the poisonous orange carcass from my beer glass and lobbed it onto the counter.

 

He had to have gotten the message that time.

 

Twenty minutes later when another drink arrived, I realized that I was wrong.

 

Again, fruit.

 

This was it. I had had enough. I had to talk to someone about this. But after the eye contact, the delicate dance that the bar tender and I had done pertaining to this fruity contamination in my cock-tail concoction I was in real fear that he was trying to turn me into a fruit of another kind – if you know what I mean.

 

I spoke quietly, yet discerningly to the couple sitting next to me.

 

“Do you see this?” I said, pointing to my beer.

 

They looked back at me inquisitively.

 

“Do you see this fruit in my beer?”

 

This went on for a few minutes – these people were oblivious.

 

Finally, when I ranted an entire diatribe (probably similar to the one you are reading here) about how the bartender had continually put fruit in my beer they came to me with an explanation.

 

Now, this is where I need to stop and offer up a disclaimer to you, my loyal reader.

 

Half of what I write here is about politics and principle the other half is about science – and you can, most of the time, tell the difference easily.

 

If a column I write has many sources, cited evidence and a historical, explanative tone – it is probably about science – anything else is about principle.

 

This is about principle.

 

I explained to my humble and thirsty neighbors that night that I well understood the science behind the fruit being placed in your beer.

 

The largest scientific component of the amendment of fruit to beer is that it highly elevates the important aroma of most wheat beer and some ale.

 

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_Moon_(beer)

 

 

Trust me. I know my beer.

 

But I spent quite some time observing my progressive, drink-pouring friend – and he served a whole lot of fruit that night. A whole lot.

 

And that fact gives me reason to believe that, in fact, our whole society is becoming a little fruity.

 

There is great country song on the charts right now by Brad Paisley.

 

 

 

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FXqqynfqE_0

 

 

 

And while he does not specifically mention how, as a guy, he would – albeit should rebel against this fruity tradition – I think it would fit right it.

 

Again, it is important to remember, I went to the bar to meet women – not men.

 

And I do not know the sexual orientation of the bartender and frankly, I don’t want to know.

 

But even if he was not homosexual and hitting on me – he was hitting my chances of getting noticed from any worth-while woman out of the park by constantly and continually decorating my beverage with his harvest!

 

This is just another sign of the terrible times we live in.

 

Beer is no longer just a drink – it’s custom, it’s colorful, it’s art!

 

Beer is no longer simple.

 

Beer is no longer simply a man’s drink.

 

What happen to the day when a cold-one was not candy-coated and colorful?

 

And why does it have to be forced on us?

 

Oh, yeah, it is forced.

 

My neighbors that night offered me up some very novel advice (remember most of the time it is well-intended but not well researched).

 

I should just ask the bartender to not put fruit in my beer.

 

Oh, great.

 

I have an IQ of near a hundred-and-fifty and I did not think of that.

 

The point is that the ‘fruit’ of the world is taking over once established, and perfectly acceptable norms – and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

 

Certainly, I could ask the bar keep to keep his produce away form my potion but in that same restaurant do I have to ask the waitress to keep the mushrooms off of my steak, the chives off of my potato, season off of my fries?

 

 

 

 

 

 

No, probably not.

 

Most of the time she would ask if I wanted those things.

 

But just to pacify that thought, I will say it here.

 

I don’t drink Beer for the taste.

 

I don’t drink it for my health.

 

And most of the time I don’t have enough vacation time to drink it on the beach.

 

So please keep your fruit away from my beer.

 

There, it’s been said.

 

I guess it had to be said.

 

But the fact is that it is intolerable that I should have to ask to keep those frilly extras away from my beer.

 

It is ridiculous that there should be a need to impose a “Don’t ask, don’t add” policy for our local taverns.

 

 

http://users.california.com/~rathbone/links003.htm

 

 

It is pure evil that such healthy impurity as a piece of citrus is added to my beer without my direct request.

 

And it is a blatant sign of this country’s and our culture’s current socialist inclinations that the place that I used to be able to go to pick-up dates and feel like a man I now, literally, feel like a fruit.

 

Maybe I will start taking my own beer to the library.

Obama: Master or Mistress?

I have said recently that just about the only thing that Barack Obama has going for him is that he is sexy (or black, but in some corners they are just about the same).

 

 

 

 

This week he proved it.

 

On the very same day that Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the president of Iran and devoted America hater, announced that Iran will defy the U.N.’s wishes and build – not one – but six-thousand new nuclear centrifuges, the suave and striking senator not only revealed that he’s an utter pussy when it comes to defending the United States against her enemies – but ought to feel just right being their bitch.

 

 

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/04/08/AR2008040800887.html

 

 

Senator Obama has consistently and readily shown that he is willing to bend over and take it from the forces in the War on Terror that wish to do us harm.

 

This is a man who aggressively fought against the highly recommended December 2007 troop surge that would have brought additional troops, provisions, and security to the suburbs of Baghdad.

 

 

 

 http://obama.senate.gov/podcast/070103-010307_against/index.php

 

  

 

This is a man who has shown his utter ignorance of the situation in Iraq by suggesting that there is a prevailing civil war in that country – when the majority of the resistance is composed mostly of foreign-fighters.

 

 

 

 http://www.androidworld.com/prod98.htm

 

 

 

This is a man who reiterates his ignorance on the matter of the greater War on Terror by suggesting that the U.S. is failing in Afghanistan - another falsehood - in order to support his opposition to the Iraq conflict.

 

 

http://www.usatoday.com/news/world/2008-02-07-rice_N.htm?csp=34

 

 

This is a man who consistently puts his faith in our enemies rather than our own ability to protect ourselves by suggesting that retreating from Iraq and other battlefields will actually make us safer.

 

http://www.cnn.com/2006/POLITICS/11/20/obama.iraq/index.html>

 

 

http://www.fas.org/irp/world/para/docs/980223-fatwa.htm>

 

 

This is a man who now, on top of all of this, wants to sit down at a table with Ahmadinejad and potentially offer him concessions (bribe him) so that he will stop supporting the resistance fighters in Iraq and build nuclear weapons that can be used on us or Israel.

 

 

http://www.cnn.com/POLITICS/blogs/politicalticker/2007/04/obama-calls-for-diplomatic-surge-in.html

 

 

I suppose I should not be surprised.

 

It takes a lot of trust to be a bitch – what with bending over and having your ass in the air all the time.

 

Clearly, Obama would do better to better know who it is he wishes to sleep with.

 

 

 

  

 

Ahmadinejad is a man who wants to wipe Israel off of the map without restraint or remorse.

 

 

http://english.aljazeera.net/English/archive/archive?ArchiveId=15816>

 

 

Ahmadinejad is a man who epitomizes the violation of human rights.

 

 

http://www.iranfocus.com/modules/news/article.php?storyid=7307

 

 

 

Ahmadinejad is a man who refuses to recognize Israel as a legitimate state.

 

 

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/08/03/AR2006080300629.html>

 

 

Ahmadinejad is a man who wants America to be destroyed.

 

 

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/us_world/2007/09/23/2007-09-23_irans_ahmadinejad_issues_new_threats_aga.html>

 

  

But none of this seems to bother Obama.

 

Heck, the senator himself rarely shows his support for this country.

 

 

http://newsbusters.org/blogs/mark-finkelstein/2007/10/20/obama-no-hand-heart-pledge-either-will-msm-notice>

 

 

 

On Tuesday he showed exactly how much he supports this country when he told his listeners in Atlanta that there was “no military solution” for the military conflict in Iraq and that the U.S. should implement a “diplomatic surge” with Iran in order to convince that country to stop supporting the resistance fighters in Iraq (the fighters that both men agree do not exist).

 

 

This is enough tongue action and foreplay to make one sick.

 

These two should get a room.

 

Ahmadinejad has always been a ruthless, insane dictator possessing warped ideologies, but Obama is constantly trying to paint himself as “one of us.”

 

I guess he figures he might as well be consistent and try the same with Ahmadinejad.

 

But Ahmadinejad does not scare me the same way Obama does.

 

Remember …

 

This is a man who wants to be President of the United States, our President – not the leader of Iran (though he’d fit right in).

 

Now that scares me.

 

You’d think that a candidate for the U.S. presidency would want to shy away from foreign leaders who deny that the holocaust happened – but Obama remains steadfast in his wish to love his enemies.

 

 

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/middle_east/4529198.stm

 

 

 

Maybe if the Jews of Israel would deny the institution of slavery ever existed in this country he would see fit to offer them a little love.

 

 

 

 

 

I doubt it.

 

 

But you know, there is that old saying that when you sleep with someone you are sleeping with all of the people they slept with – and then all of the people those people slept with etc, etc.

 

It looks like, considering Obama’s bed fellows, wearing a condom is about the best protection we Americans will get when Obama becomes president.

 

Now who is the bitch again?

 

 

My L.O.F.T.

Someone very special to me, who I don’t really even get to speak to very often anymore, changed my life.

 

She was able to motivate me to do something that, on the onset, sounds very simple, trivial and common – something that really doesn’t sound all that special – but it is quite so, in fact.

 

I had always heard of people having, or keeping lists of their favorite things.

 

I guess if you had asked me I would have said that I expected that most people kept such a list. I guess even if you had asked me about my own (until November of 2007) I probably would have nonchalantly lied and said “Sure, I have got one … I am not sure where it is, but it’s somewhere.”

 

No doubt, when thinking of a List Of Favorite Things (LOFT) the song by Julie Andrews comes to mind, “… rain drops on roses and whiskers on kittens …” I mean everyone has a list of their favorite things right?

 

 

 

No, I doubt it.

 

And, I didn’t have – at least not a real one, a tangible one.

 

Now, thanks to this special person whose smile is number 27, skirting walk is number 49, and the fact that she inspired me to actually keep a real list of my favorite things is number 18 on my list – I really have a list.

 

I look at and add things to my list of favorite things (LOFT) on a regular basis – that’s what you do with things, like lists, that you actually have – you use them and reference them often – not just become mindful of it for a passing moment.

 

It takes work to keep a LOFT.

 

You have to constantly be aware of the things around you, your experiences, and your day.

 

Generic items and general terms are generally not accepted.

 

For example, you really would not want to put “chocolate chip cookies” or even “homemade chocolate chip cookies” on your list – that’s not specific, special enough. You might put “making homemade chocolate chip cookies with my mom on Sunday afternoons.” That specific description allows you to highlight the most miniscule piece of joy from the experience that is most custom-made for you.

 

 

 

 

Most everyone likes chocolate chips cookies – many people even really, really like chocolate chip cookies. But you, and only you, really remember making them with your mom on Sunday afternoons.

 

Keeping a LOFT forces you to focus on the joys in real time and, also, as a post-script. Not only, do you think to yourself while you are experiencing one of your favorite things “Wow, I need to add this to my LOFT”, but you also are forced to think of it again when you actually go to write it down.

 

I came up with the acronym LOFT because a loft is something that is elevated above other normal surroundings. (It also – just so happens to be that the person who inspired me to create and keep my LOFT slept in a loft for a time – wow – the irony.)

 

But that is what your LOFT should be; it should be a place where you can go that elevates you above your other everyday, normal, and even – sometimes – drab or depressing surroundings.

 

 

 

 

I have over three-hundred-and-fifty things in my LOFT (some you can read about here in my blog). Each item in my LOFT is specific, true, and dear to my heart – even and especially number 18 – the fact that I have been so inspired to keep a LOFT.

 

Thank-you number 18 – you get a star, I think of you often, every time – in fact – that I go to my LOFT.

I also like your hugs, number 91.

 

I can only hope that I have so lifted you, as you have lifted me.

 

May your LOFT continue to grow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Playing Drunk?

I’m a drinker.  

 It’s in my genes I guess.  

When most of my friends have fallen to the floor and are well below the “under the table” limit, I’m usually starting on my second liter of bourbon.  I sat through my terrible twenty’s – like most average American college men – on a bar stool in front of a big screen blaring the evening’s staple sporting event or tossing cards back and forth across a sticky table. And I guess all of that has never lost it’s novelty to me. I enjoy hanging out with friends with a cold adult beverage between us probably more than anything or anyone else. 

But I have noticed something recently.

There are a lot of drinking games out there. 

 Maybe in my twenty-something trance I missed the arrival of the parlor games that are designed to inspire us to imbibe. Maybe like the finest micro-brewed lager, I am maturing and see little principle in party games pushing me to purge. I like to drink but I drink to drink, and I don’t need a cute card trick or crap shoot to inspire my thirst.

Sometimes, in fact, I just enjoy sitting on the couch and doing nothing besides sipping on a cool glass of white wine (don’t laugh – I like all alcohols).  

Without a doubt, if you, like me, are a drinker, you have noticed two of the most admired and accepted of these games. 

Corn Hole:

Corn Hole, Corn Toss, Bags, Bean Bag Toss, Tumor Toss, Sacks and Holes, or Baggo is a game that has actually been around a while. It is a stylized version of Horse Shoes – a game my grandfather played with great affinity.The game is designed around a wooden (or sometimes plastic) case with a hole cut out of the middle.

 

Players pitch (“Kareem”, “Ali”, “Pancake”, “Frisbee”)” bean bags from pre-determined distances and attempt to get them to land in the hole.  

The variations are wide depending upon your geographical location and player’s personalities and officially drinking is not intertwined in the game – but is almost always done in tandem with the game – making your “bevy” a little dizzying, and certainly, all the more fun.   

But that’s the point.  

Beer (or your drink of choice) makes things fun – games, like Corn Hole don’t make Beer fun. The game I describe below, however, is often treated as a way in which to add entertainment to beer (as if its record of hundreds of years of entertaining people does not speak for itself) or at least a necessity to have when drinking beer.  

Beer Pong:

Beer Pong, Bing Bong or Beirut, depending on where you are from, is one of the most popular party games and now that many bars have picked it up it’s no longer just a chance competition at your neighbor’s birthday party. There is even a website that sells beer pong gear and a world series of beer pong, held last month in Nevada.  

http://www.bpong.com/ 

For those who feel that drinking is not your cup of – well, whatever – then think of Beer Pong as a combination of ping-pong, winning goldfish at a carnival, and drinking. The game itself involves two triangles of plastic cups, two ping-pong balls, two plastic cups filled with water to rinse off dirty balls, and a beer pong table usually made from plywood – though, in warmer months I have even seen bedroom doors used.

The rules to Beer Pong or Beirut are flexible as long as all players agree on a consistent set. I found a fairly popular version of the rules at http://beirut-guide.com/rules/basic.php. 

         

But maybe that is the problem.  

Rules?  

Rules to drinking?

The only drinking rules that I know of usually have something to do with not spilling your drink on your date, or not falling asleep when your roommate owns a blow-up doll and his friend has a really good digital camera and they both have a higher tolerance than you. I have never needed a game to make drinking more fun for me. I have always been quite satisfied to have a few with friends, one or two by myself on the deck of my house after work or at the game.

But some of the ‘kids’ today rocket to attention when you mention the words “beer pong” or, worse yet, they respond just as quickly with “howa ‘bout a game of corn hole” when you just mention the word “beer” – as if they need to be playing something or doing something or distracted in some way while they drink.

Again maybe I am old fashioned but, give me a cold beer on a hot day and I just don’t need much else.

Maybe it is our fast-food eating, instant gratification needing, all-about-entertainment society. I mean have you seen how many button are actually on a video game remote control lately?

 

How do those kids handle all of those buttons?

They only have ten fingers!

Of course, maybe I was a little intoxicated the last time I watched someone play a video game.

But my first concern here is that we may now live in such a society wrought with Attention Deficit Disorder and needy, over-stimulated people that the simple things are not fun any more – even the things that are built, created to be fun are not enough to keep us occupied – we must add more.

Have you ever been to New York City?  

Did you ever go to those little hot-dog stands that would be placed randomly on every corner?

I remember years ago going and throwing a quick squirt of mustard on my dog and trotting on down the sidewalk being there and gone so quickly that I barely remembered that I stopped.  

Well, today, there are lines at these things. Now, maybe there are lines there because everyone else has found out my secret – but I doubt it.

Look at the condiments on these things today. It is no longer acceptable just to grab a quick boiled hot-dog and run.  

Nope.

You have to add, mustard, catsup, cheese, relish, chili, a drink, chips, a “chocolate chunk” cookie (I do love those – they really have chunks in them). Hell, you can even use your credit card at some of these things now.

Why is it that we can no longer be satisfied?

I do think it is our culture. 

I think we have become a culture that needs to be constantly entertained.  

And I believe that more American families would do better to tone down the level of ultra-entertainment we experience and allow ourselves to experience each day – and maybe – just maybe – drinking would go back to drinking – where it should be.

There is another concern as well, however.

One reason God made drinking so much fun on its own is because he wanted us to be entertained just by beer – nothing else. He knew that if we were further distracted while we were enjoying our imbibing that we would forget to take better care of ourselves.

Drinking must be done with caution. And drinking games like beer pong are designed only with the goal of getting wasted in mind. They were not created with respect for individual tolerance differences and must certainly contribute to the 1,400 national drinking deaths a year. 

Studies abound about how binge drinking is on the rise. 

 http://www.foxnews.com/wires/2007Mar15/0,4670,CollegesSubstanceAbuse,00.html  

Here is a great one form Harvard. 

http://www.hsph.harvard.edu/cas/   

http://men.webmd.com/news/20021231/adult-binge-drinking-on-rise 

And these games where the goal and the score are both designed around drinking are dangerous – particularly when those games also involve many different people with many different levels of tolerance.

I know my limits, my borders and boundaries.

I knew them even that time I passed out on the banks of the river near my house (I obviously decidedly exceeded my limits that eve).

And that is why I don’t require a ping-pong match to drive me to drink.

Being drunk is one thing.

Being stupid is another.

Being both at the same time is not a game – it’s deadly.

But now that I have got the serious stuff out of the way, I am going to go have a scotch.

Sláinte!     

Why Boys Lie.

There is this great magnet (sometimes it’s a sticker) that I see often sitting around one of my girlfriends’ apartments. It is one of those funny little magnets that are usually decorated with some fancy font or bunny rabbit that has something cute to say.

 

The particular magnet that I am thinking of is of simple design (with fancy font); it is comprised of two words: “Boys Lie.”

          

There is no explanation. I guess there is none needed. Girls of almost all ages know it to be painfully true – boys of almost all ages painfully deny it – but it’s true. 

Even as soon as we retort, ‘not all boys lie’, we fulfill the prophecy. 

Everyone lies about something. And there are some things everyone lies about. There are things that women lie about (food, money and orgasms) and then there is everything else – which generally comprises what men tend to lie about. 

Truthfully though (tongue in cheek – I am serious), men lie about everything. But the question is: why do men lie about everything? 

Men lie because it gives them power. That is the simple answer to the question anyway. But it is a question that definitely requires more of an explanation. 

First, when a man lies, he instantly feels like he got away with something. Whether you realize it or not, relationships are a power struggle – and you women generally have the upper hand (we will get to that later). 

If we men were to choose to acquire our power in our relationships with you by brute force – we’d be in a lot of trouble, so, we resort to lying.  

http://ohanko.wordpress.com/2008/03/21/domestic-violence-the-evolutionary-reason-why-women-should-not-make-men-angry/  

But it’s more than pure power; it’s moral authority. 

We men lie because we do not want to get caught. And I don’t mean caught in the normal sense of the word – or the normal type of predicaments. Again almost everyone lies about things like cheating and stealing. I am talking about the everyday, “I only had two beers” at the bar – when it was really six – type of stuff.   

We men lie because we do not want the lecture, the condescending look, the new entry in a catalogue of never-forgotten betrayals that invariably comes up. 

You see, in each relationship we invest the most significant parts of our lives – sex, money, loyalty, family, affection, trust, kindness, our future. And for the most part things are even; for the most part.

In the category of moral authority, you women have us beat hands down – and it does not take a rocket scientist to figure this out. You know it, and, we know it. 

So, from the number of beers we had at the bar (or the fact that we were even at the bar), to the fact that we actually liked looking at the long-legged, short skirt-wearing, big-boobed blond at the mall

 

to the fact that we stopped and chatted a little too long with an old buddy of ours – that wasn’t really that old, and wasn’t really that much of a buddy and were late picking you up to the fact that we just got lazy and blew off doing the dishes, fixing the car, using our manners, wrapping the presents, going to the post-office, calling you back (yup, sometimes that is a chore), taking a shower, using a glass, saying ‘please’, buckling up, raising/lowering the seat, and all of the other things that we may consider little and insignificant – including telling the truth – in the struggle for moral legitimacy we men have to lie to even stay close.  

And, though it hurts to hear this: you women actually sometimes teach us to lie. 

Consider that when a woman is waiting for a man to run some errands, there is already a certain moral platform established for her expectations. She knows that he will screw up some how. She knows that he will get things wrong, come back late or blow some engagement he has unenthusiastically promised to go on with her after he has run his errands – something that she knows, in the depths of her heart, he does not want to do. She knows that all he wants to do is hang around on the couch, watch TV and drink a beer and not even speak for the remainder fo the day – that’s what he really wants to do, and she desperately does not want that to happen. 

 

So the moral posturing begins – or it never really ends. 

And it all begins with our mothers really. Doesn’t everything?  

A boy loves his mother, but he reaches a certain age, and he becomes, among other things, sexual – chaotically and overwhelmingly so. His father knows well enough to steer clear of any area where this subject might be touched upon; but his mother doesn’t. 

(I remember the talk that I had with my mom about the ‘magazine underneath my bed’. I also remember how it never got thrown away – as I said it would.)  

So the boy must start lying to her, lying essentially about who he is, because the world that he inhabits is simply not translatable into the terms of the relationship that he has wit her, or into terms established by her daily expectations, and none of these terms are negotiable as far as he can see. 

We men cease to be boys, when we pass for the first time beyond the moral circle of our mother’s kingdoms into new worlds of our own making, into what we soon think of as the “real” world. We thus commence a psychological journey, attempting to develop our willfulness, our sexuality, our ambition, our egos. 

In order to succeed as men, in terms of our particular civilization and relationship to women, we must build these things (ourselves) up and constantly strengthen them. 

This boosting of ourselves feels, in part like an immoral activity, and one that we should undertake, in large part, in private – closed off from our families, for fear of being identified as different, strange, repulsive and alien from the thing that we most want to possess – you women. 

And you women wonder about the male ego. It is an everlasting, if ever-frustrating mystery to you – one that you can never quite be a part of. 

But the real truth is that – and I will deny it if you ever were to ask me – it is worse than you think.  

When next you discover a man has lied to you about something, what he then “admits” to you as the truth will – at least in a few significant respects – also be a lie. 

The full truth, the whole thing – will almost never be something that we feel safe enough to reveal.

Insourcing Criminals

There is no question that my views or – I concede – at least the way in which I present them sometimes, get me into trouble. 

Sometimes the reason many people respond so negatively to my writings is because they read what they want to read, often times cutting out or removing the most important aspects of my argument. 

Some times the interpreters of my revelations aren’t developed enough or educated enough about the subject matter to adequately grasp the focus of my argument.  

And at other times my readers are merely stuck so deep in their liberal fantasy that the truth hurts them – makes them very squeamish. This is the case with regards to “Outsourcing Washington”.  

http://ohanko.wordpress.com/2008/03/28/outsource-washington/  

Most people who read “Outsourcing Washington” responded negatively to my many designations and dubbings of our (the U.S.’s) illegal alien population as ‘wet-backs’ or ‘beaners’. They much prefer the more politically correct title (lie) ‘Hispanic-Americans’. 

But a great many of my readers were horrified to the point of wallowing on the floor in tears that I would – in any type of seriousness – suggest that U.S. troops should shoot and kill Mexican invaders on the southern borders of our country. 

There were many reasons, excuses, and arguments that my detractors have used against me and in support of these invaders but I wish to address two specific pretexts that were given – just to illustrate the absurdity of anyone’s way-of-thought that might excuse this assault on our nation 

The first argument given for allowing Mexican criminals to invade our country is that they are poor and in search of a better life.

“They are just trying to make a living, provide a better life for themselves” many say. This excuse is just plain false. According to Heather Mac Donald for the Center for Immigration Studies some of the most violent convicted criminals in our cities today are illegal aliens.  

http://www.cis.org/articles/2004/back704.html   

In fact more that 267,000 illegal aliens are incarcerated in U.S. jails and prisons.  

http://www.familysecuritymatters.org/homeland.php?id=464611  

That being said, here is a number for you. It costs on average of $45,000 a year to house an inmate in the U.S. Multiply that number by the number of illegal aliens in prisons and the U.S. is spending somewhere close to 12.5 billion dollars a year just to feed, house, and clothe these invaders. 

That’s funny. Because the cost of building an actual wall along the border between Mexico and the U.S. would cost around 2.1 Billion – a one time cost.  

http://archive.newsmax.com/archives/articles/2006/5/18/174139.shtml  

The Mexican waste that crosses the border every day is not coming here to ‘make a living’. They are at best coming here to drain our system, and use our tax dollars to fatten their bellies that would otherwise be empty in prisons in their own country. 

This is silly. If more American’s would read the news paper on a daily basis and pay attention to the true crime rates rather than just the sports page maybe we’d have more action on this. 

This guy was not interested in making a living – just making love – to nine year old girls! 

http://www.witntv.com/home/headlines/16027922.html 

This guy was working before he stole his way into our court system.

http://www.ktvb.com/news/crime/stories/ktvbn-apr2407-sanchez_bond.5ce6d08.html 

This guy was not working at all. 

http://www.wnd.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=52916 

This guy came, did his work, and then left. 

http://www.worldnetdaily.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=44833 

Like most criminals, this guy liked jail food. 

http://www.libertypost.org/cgi-bin/readart.cgi?ArtNum=193038 

At least he was close to Mexico. 

http://www.kristv.com/Global/story.asp?S=6487947 

These guys actually say that they committed their crimes because they were in the U.S. 

http://www.eastvalleytribune.com/story/98772  

I know that the evidence presented above and audacity of the criminals in the last article to contend that the U.S. is to blame for the actual plight of the invaders is probably not thorough and absurd enough (respectively) for the noble ‘utopiates’ who see no sense in the enforcement of rule.

Fortunately the next argument in defense of the invaders provides me with plenty of nonsensical kindling to burn down their house of repentance.  

“You would do the same thing,” they protest, suggesting I am no better than the invaders; that if I were put in the same poor, hungry and desperate (no mention here of evil, thuggish, immoral and/or America-hating) shoes that I too would trek torturously over the river and through the woods (okay, just through the desert and the Rio Grande, er, ‘Rio Pequeno’) to grandmother’s house to steel her money and rape her nine-year-old girl. 

This argument is great because it attempts to get me not only to feel sorry for the invaders but tries to use my own fear for my well-being to try to make me angry against the enforcing army. 

I mean, remember, it is our fault that the invader criminals are committing crimes.  

http://www.eastvalleytribune.com/story/98772  

Funny how ALL of these people, moreover, missed my greatest point – and the greatest problem concerning our porous borders: our inept leadership who have so failed at doing their jobs that they border on treachery. Nah, real answers are not these people’s forte.   

I will not profess to know what goes through a Mexican criminal’s mind when he walks through the desert, hop-scotches across the Rio Grande and suddenly becomes an Illegal American criminal, brutalizing American women and children and benefiting from a liberal American court system.  

I have never been a Mexican, Mexican criminal, or a brutal American criminal (I got a speeding ticket once when I was trying to bottom out the speedometer on my new car).

 

Perhaps given the desperation I would break into my neighboring country and try to live off of its riches. Maybe I would especially do that if the neighboring country didn’t seem to give two cents if I crossed its border – though it would give me many two-cents if I committed a crime within its borders.  

But even with that – I have my doubts.

The reason, perhaps, I so easily refer to these invaders as criminals and waste is because I have a concept of right and wrong and my concept of right indicates to me that they have no concept of wrong. 

“Breaking in” is exactly what these invaders are doing – and they know it.

 

Some of them may be breaking in to our country out of desperation but most are breaking into our country out of habit. 

A criminal in Mexico is no different than a criminal in the U.S. Heritage has nothing to do with it.

A criminal will have no respect, reverence or regard for borders or boundaries, lives or laws and property and possessions. They will breach any border and break any law because they have no moral foundation or discipline that tells them to do otherwise. 

The habit that leads them to trespass into the U.S. in the face of U.S. border personnel is the same habit that will lead them to commit further crimes to ‘provide a better life” for themselves in the face of our municipal police officers once they are here. All of the invaders of our southern border have this in common. 

On the slim chance that I am wrong, in the highly doubtful event that I do not quite understand the ‘desperation’ of our alien population – maybe I would break into my neighboring country if it would bring me a better life.  

Nevertheless, that country would still maintain the right to protect its assets and estate, to view me as a threat and eliminate me as a threat. And I would still be no different than an unwelcome burglar in someone else’s home – I’d just be fortunate that the owners of that home didn’t care enough about it, or its occupants, to protect it.  

Outsource Washington?

Well, here we are, more than seven years after the worst attack on U.S. soil in history and there are still more than 12 million illegal immigrants living, working and reaping in the U.S. and still the people are not outraged. And why not? This is probably the single most important legislative process concerning our national security and our government, as usual, is a lame duck.    

 

What’s worse? The majority of Americans still prefer to remain politically correct on the issue. 

Even the term “illegal alien”, is a politically correct term that those who wish to undermine the security of the U.S. have found is accepted by the masses in the mainstream of this country and – surely – it has worked. But what is so wrong with racially dividing, ethnically segregating speech, especially when the target audience is criminal? There are so many different names that you can call an “illegal alien”.  

“Pocho” or ‘rotten fruit’ is a term used to describe Hispanics who have been born and/or raised in the U.S. (as if this would be a bad thing – requiring a slur – we should really be calling them “lucky”). 

“Beaner or bean-eater” refers to the fact that Hispanic food traditionally has a lot of bean in it (fitting and, in fact, with food being a defining aspect of many cultures it influences the development of a slur – but the cool thing about this slur is that it at least warns you that the person might smell). 

“Pedro” is a rather boring slur because it is just a derivative of ‘Peter’ (I could go somewhere with this but this is about Hispanics who illegally cross the U.S. border – not about the human male phallus). 

“Marielita” is actually a semi-historically accurate term, not so much a slur, describing those Cubans who were a part of a great exodus from Marielita Bay, Cuba (wow, I thought communism actually worked) in 1980. 

“Mulatto” is a term meaning ‘mule’ or ‘small mule’ in Spanish that is used to identify those Hispanics of mixed Mexican and American ethnicity. 

“Wetback” is a favorite term of many people who are rightfully upset and vocal about the illegal immigration situation. It refers to the fact that most of the Mexican criminal aliens probably crossed the Rio Grande at some point in their journey to invade the U.S. The only problem with this term is that the “Rio Grande” is hardly a “Grand River”.

I have been to the Rio Grande several times and in many different locales and in most spots you can wade across the river. Maybe we could consider calling them “wet-wastes” – I especially prefer the alliteration in that term (and did you notice the way I changed ‘waist’ to ‘waste’?).   

   

The fact, however, that you should not be able to wade across the Rio Grande has nothing to do with the size of the river – people give ironically incorrect names to things all of the time.  

http://www.oxymoronlist.com/   

Wet-wastes should not be able to wade across the Rio Grande because they should be shot before they even get their feet wet. 

We are a nation at war and there is no reason why a solution to the illegal-immigration problem has to be so evasive.  

My solution is simple.  

It seems to me that the estimated 3,178 people that illegally cross into this country every day should be considered an invading force. 

http://www.statemaster.com    

At this point that seems to be the only answer.  The problem with illegal immigration has gotten so bad and our vulnerabilities in the War on Terror so blatant that we must now put U.S. troops on the border and treat these invaders like our GI’s treat potential hostile “assertives” in Iraq – fire one warning shot followed by, if there is a response of no compliance, a lethal shot. 

I am not keen on having to employ military force at our borders any more than any wild-eyed liberal – BUT THAT IS WHAT THE U.S. MILITARY IS DESIGNED FOR.

The U.S. military’s constitutional role is to protect the borders of the United States – and our borders are being assault daily.  

http://www.army.mil/SoldiersCreed/flash_version/index.html  

It really did not have to come to this – all of this name calling and Mexican-killing.  But for how long will Americans put up with the complacency and blatant unwillingness of their government to protect them? No government has a greater cause than the protection of its people. Why is ours dropping the ball?  

That’s really the worst insult. That’s really the greatest threat; our own government. 

How much longer will American’s find it acceptable to be ill-treated and put in danger by the bureaucratic mouth farting of politicians who are just interested in more votes?

Maybe I am looking at this all wrong.

Maybe I should consider letting in the wet-wastes in the hopes that a few of them will make it all the way to Washington, take over, and do a better job at protecting the sovereignty and safety of this country that our status quo politicians are doing.

Am I serious? Maybe.

There has never been a more important time in our history than now to enforce the integrity of our immigration laws. It has never been more important that this country maintain peaceful and secure borders. Again, that is the most basic responsibility of any government and yet this nation’s sovereignty is consistently being compromised, if laughed at. It is time that the most powerful nation in the world and a nation also trying to stave off World War III start taking its border security seriously. 

http://archive.newsmax.com/archives/ic/2005/11/20/151654.shtml  

So I do not feel sorry for the Mexican’s (and others) that cross the border into this country every day – nor will I feel sorry for the one’s that are shot when they disobey a direct warning from our GI’s. (I firmly believe that once one or two wet-wastes are annihilated by U.S. forces on the border that word will spread fast – that the most powerful military force on the planet has opened fire – and the number of attempted wet-wastes will decrease dramatically).

But I fear for the U.S. politicians and legislators who are, in my mind, committing treason by failing to do the job that we are paying them to do – protect us.

To be sure – there are some public servants, true patriots in this country who are trying to affect the border problem. 

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,342616,00.html   

http://wbztv.com/watercooler/spanish.crime.luzerne.2.686418.html 

The failure of our leaders to protect the tax-paying, law-abiding American citizens is the true crime. So I suggest a fate even worse than my solution to the illegal-immigrant problem for them – deportation to Mexico.  

Faster Than a Speeding Bullet (through the fuselage of your aircraft).

It was bound to happen.  

Most of my detractors are people who wish to take an easy stance on Islamo-fascists and the War on Terror, so it only made sense that many of them were shocked to find out that I did NOT support giving pilots the authority to carry guns in flight.  

But now that my prediction regarding the consequences of that rash decision by the U.S. government has come true – maybe those same detractors will open their eyes to the factuality of some of my other, more controversial, suggestions. 

Hind-sight is 20/20.

So it is a good thing so many of the blind have me to steer them through our crumbling times. 

I said that this would happen.  

Yesterday, on a U.S. Airways flight out of Denver, CO, a gun in the possession of a person who is trained to fly aircraft (pilot) discharged while the plane was in flight.  

http://www.charlotte.com/109/story/550336.html  

This event (that I predicted would happen when the TSA formulated the policy that pilots should, and then, could carry guns) makes one wonder not just what would have happened is a vital portion of the fuselage of the aircraft had been pierced while at 600 miles per hour and 30,000 feet, but what in the hell the pilot was doing when the gun discharged. 

Obviously, he was not busy enough flying the plane! 

That was and is my point entirely!

There are so many holes in the idea of giving a pilot a weapon like a gun, in the cock pit, of a passenger jet, that it makes you wonder if we shouldn’t all pack parachutes in our carry-on.

 

Have you ever looked out of one of those tiny airplane windows on those commercial flights?  

I mean, have you ever really looked?

  

You can see the beads of water, slowly freeze-up as the aircraft increases in altitude.

You can see the panes and gaskets swell.

You can see the moisture between the pains gather because of the pressure put on the panes.

And you can feel the coolness against the window – made so by the freezing whooshing air as high off the planet as the peak of Mount Everest.  

http://www.mounteverest.net/  

I have flown hundreds of times, on many different types of aircraft (I have even piloted one or two), and I am not scared of heights or of flying.  

But it is not a reassuring thought to know that there is a man with a weapon capable of projecting a piece of metal the size of the tip of my small finger at a thousand feet per second through almost any material in the cockpit (the room in the aircraft with the largest window) of the aircraft in which I am riding.

 .

And even the new firearms that are designed so that they keep from actually going through the skin of an aircraft do not put me at ease.

.

http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/fr/565878/posts 

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It is, further, not comforting to know that any would-be terrorist or hijacker who would also happen to be on the plane with me also knows that that weapon is there – in the cockpit – the last place we would want someone like that to be with – or without – a gun.

.

It is even further not calming to me to know that the only person who is in charge of that weapon is also the person who should be paying most attention to the control and direction of the projectile in which I would happen to be sitting – and – even further, is principally the only person who knows how to pilot that said projectile that I might happen to be sitting in with the terrorist who knows where the only weapon is that can pierce the walls of my encapsulating projectile – seemingly bringing it to the ground in a hurling, thundering, body squashing crash – the very thing the TSA was trying to prevent in the first place!

.

The principle of the matter is all screwed up.

  

This has got to be the worst decision in aviation history since someone decided to use hydrogen to raise a Zeppelin.

.

Of course the Germans had ‘extensive experience’ in hydrogen lift techniques and the reason for that particular tragedy is still debated but “Oh the humanity”!

  

http://www.nlhs.com/tragedy.htm

  

The only job a pilot of a commercial aircraft should ever be focused on is flying the aircraft.

The passenger’s safety is most immediately dependent upon the airplane’s effectual operation not so much on the obedience or disobedience or intentions of its occupants. 

The TSA has the tool to solve the problem of cockpit and aircraft security.

They have the funds allotted to make it happen.

The system, in fact, has already been written, designed, tested and implemented.  

Uniformed and plain-clothed federal air marshals, whose job it is – are you ready for this – not to pilot the plane – but to police the passengers while the pilot, pilots the plane have proven to be infinitely effective as a crime deterrent.  

And why wouldn’t they?

They have the specific training.  

They have one job and one job only on that aircraft.  

Their focus is not diverted to other attention seeking matters – like keeping control of a 900,000lb mass of metal moving at half the speed of sound.

   

  

The air-marshal’s weapon can be concealed – rather than advertised as being in the cockpit.

They exist not only as a Sheppard to the passengers on board but also as a visible or invisible deterrent to would-be trouble makers and as a blockade between those would-be trouble makes and the only conscious and caring controlling force of the aircraft – the pilot. 

Our pilots have enough to do.

Maneuvering a vehicle as large and expensive and powerful and important as a commercial jet liner is a big job.

We should respect their expertise and not ask them to divert their efforts from the vocation they love. 

Police officers are very much the same.

The go through hour and hours of training.

They study criminals, self-defense, psychological interrogation and discipline and are just as well placed to protect their air as they are the streets. 

While in the pilot’s possession a gun went off by accident yesterday from the confines of a moving jet liner with dozens of passengers on board – and no police officer was present – and fortunately neither was a terrorist – this time. 

As we adjust our tactics throughout this War on Terror we must be mindful of our potential to make quick, rash and emotional decisions in the preliminary that may not be conducive to our success. 

We must let pilots do their jobs and only their jobs.

And we must let the police do their jobs and only their jobs. 

Anything else is short-changing our safety and our ability to protect ourselves.

Anything else might require more than just an investigation.    

As for me: I am looking into sky-diving lessons.