Tuesday, October 30, 2012


From my experience I cannot doubt but that man, when lost to terrestrial consciousness, is indeed sojourning in another and uncorporeal life of far different nature from the life we know, and of which only the slightest and most indistinct memories linger after waking. From those blurred and fragmentary memories we may infer much, yet prove little. We may guess that in dreams life, matter, and vitality, as the earth knows such things, are not necessarily constant; and that time and space do not exist as our waking selves comprehend them. Sometimes I believe that this less material life is our truer life, and that our vain presence on the terraqueous globe is itself the secondary or merely virtual phenomenon."
 - H. P. Lovecraft
Beyond the Wall of Sleep

But wait, there's more...God how I loved this album.

Friday, October 26, 2012


Here is a sampling of images either removed or saved from my Facebook album titled
"Fully Clothed Women"

The Facebook police didn't remove this one.
I don't imagine they knew what they were looking at. 
I call it "The Speed of Light"

They didnt get this one of Deborah Harry either. I guess her breast is just not big enough, and the grill on the Thunderbird was just too shiny.

I knew when I posted this one of Jimi Hendrix that I was way over the edge, but I just couldn't help it. Facebook removed this image.
"Have you ever been experienced?"

They didn't get this one either. I don't know why not. Just that look on her face ought to get her banned from something. My caption for her was
"Stirred Straight Up With a Twist"

"The world was moving she was floating above it and she was"

My albums are not really about naked women. In fact, out of some 1500 images, Facebook only actually removed three. Sure, they missed a few, but the point is that the overwhelming preponderance of evidence suggests that I'm not really a pervert. I just have an eye for beauty and an outstanding sense of humor. One of the things I have found to be very beautiful are images of Dandelions. They are so completely feminine.
Follow this link by clicking here for one posted a while back with another take on dandelions

They didn't get this one yet either.
I'm sure they will be back for it someday. In the meantime...
"If I say its safe to surf this beach, young Captain, it's safe to surf this beach!"

"My cup runneth over"
I'm just throwing this one in because its pretty, and I haven't seen a bobby pin in a long long time. They did not remove it.

Yes, they took this one down. How could they miss it?
My friend Gary says it is a muzzle-load shotgun.

Finally...I really do love dandelions.

"Time works like a damp brush on water color. The sharp edges blur, the ache goes out of it, the colors melt together, and from the many separated lines a solid gray emerges."
- East of Eden, John Steinbeck

From the comments:
Gary: Time actually seems to bring me more aches, not remove them.
Me: Then you havent ached enough yet.

As I gather these images, I am seldom able to identify the photographer, but at this point I should credit some of the sources:

Thursday, October 25, 2012


Why is it nobody ever comes back to tell us about hell?

Wednesday, October 24, 2012


The Facebook police have come in the night and removed one (1) picture from one of my albums. It was beautiful. Probably taken in the 1920's by a famous photographer, it was a nude woman hanging chistmas ornaments from the ceiling. They hung down all around her, they looked like galaxys and stars that were in orbit inside the softness of her universe, caught in the pull of her shining gravity.
I don't mind losing the image, I still have it in my files, but I have no idea what caption I may have put with a picture like that. And the comments from friends are gone forever.
That is what I will miss. That is what I can't replace. The photographer is Andre de Dienes.

So apparently Face book right now is going through my thousands of photographs with inspirational naughty witty eductaional captions, and removing any that might show a stray tit. Their bollocks is your boon.
I'll be moving some images from my albums to store here for future reference.
It was fun, pushing the envelope at Facebook. 

Sculpture by Auguste Ottin, 1883

Here we see the beautiful Campaspe, mistress of Alexander the Great, taking of her clothes in order to be painted by Apelles. The legend is that Appelles fell in love with her, and painted Campaspe so well, that Alexander kept the painting but gave Campaspe to Appelle as a gift.

Her beauty was later heralded by John Lyly in this poem, which I find interesting because it tells us so much about Cupid.

Appelles Song
"Cupid and my Campaspe play'd
At cards for kisses—Cupid paid:
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on's cheek (but none knows how);
With these, the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin:
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes,
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall (alas!) become of me?"

"Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
...But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."
— W.B. Yeats, “He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven”

Tuesday, October 23, 2012


I had a Navy Blue sports coat and the Worlds Biggest tie.
My partner wore a Marigold miniskirt and White Stockings with a seam up the back. The type stockings that make the legs look kind of blue on the edges, a sort of Doppler effect.
Her name was Kathy, with a K, and she wore a blouse with Peaches on it. Like most Kathy's, with a K, , she had great breasts, and when she wore that blouse there were these two really well placed Peaches, and when I was stoned I always had to ask myself if the designer had done that on purpose.
I wonder that to this day.
Kathy was my partner on the Debate Team.

We had two shoeboxes filled with index cards that we carried with us into our first debate. One held cards with quotations and information about our case, otherwise known as "The Affirmative", which was our answer to "The Resolution":
"Resolved: The United States of America should significantly change the method of selecting and electing Presidential and Vice-presidential Candidates"...
Resolved being the topic adopted by the UIL for High Schools throughout America for the 74/75 season, it was part of the aftermath of impeaching Nixon. It also was the most Scholarly thing I have ever attempted to do.

The second shoebox was filled with index cards for the Negative. That is, after our opponents presented their Affirmative case on what to do about the scumbags in Washington, we were to pull index cards with quotations, facts and figures in order to rebut, destroy and make nonsense of the affirmatives case. As I was to find out, this is a difficult, pressure filled thing to do.

Sitting behind the table at the front of the classroom on the day of our first Debate, I took note of my suroundings. There was the Chalkboard with Eisteinian equations, there was a Periodic Chart of the Elements, a poster of Madam Curie or Ethel Merman in some Movie, I couldn't quite tell. There was a chart of the 10 rules for Chemlab.

There was a machine my math teacher had brought to my own classroom one day called a "computer" that you fed "Data". I had gotten sent to the office for asking if his newborn son had learned to say 'Data" yet, while predicting the ultimate failure of this "piece of ca-ca*"

It was a Math and Chemistry Room and I flunked both of those classes.
When you say "let x=y" I can't comprehend it. It strikes me as being most unfair, and to both of them. But I do believe in Alchemy. Thats part of why I flunked Chemistry twice, but thats another story.

And then the were the three judges siitng in front of me. The first was a dust dry little old lady with those CatGlasses, attached with a chain that ran around her neck that allowed them to rest on her bosom until she put them back on to take a long critical look at me. I nodded and gave my best Eddie Haskel smile to her, but she took them off with a disdainful look, seemed to shiver a bit and went back to chewing her gums** and reading "The Grape Gaspy" or something She wore support stockings amd Army Boots...no....Granny Shoes and I imagine she had a really bad case of varicose veins.
Yes, she had blue helmet hair.

The second judge was a studious looking middle aged man and completely unremarkable. Sometimes the most you can say about someone is that they are unremarkable. Bald or with hair, necktie or no, bearded, cleanshaven or in blackface, this guy would not get your attention even if he were barebeamed and buck naked. He looked like the kind of guy that kept a diary of every nonevent that occurred during his livelong day. Cut out articles from the Student Newspaper and latest hobby would be "Paint by Numbers".

But the third judge, well....
He was young, cool looking and dressed smartly. The shirt was solid colored, Deep Purple I believe, , except for the collars and cuffs, which were white. On the corners of the collar, was a tiny little embroided Carrot, and the Green top of the Carrot fairly resembled a stylized Marijuana leaf. He had hair longer than mine, and droopy eyelids, but his eyes flashed a certain brilliance that I was sure went brain deep. He had on Brown corduroy pants, and they were tucked into Buckshin knee boots . around his neck was a leather strap holding a little leather Medicine bag. He looked like a cross between Zonker and Mingo.

I looked at him and he gave me me a backwards nod, you know, not one where he dips his head towards you, but rather tosses his head back a touch.
Then he went back to looking at his copy of 'Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail" while stealing furtive glances ay Kathy's Peaches.

Years later, a friend of mine in the fashion industry told me Kathy’s blouse with the Peaches was deliberately tailored that way.
Duly noted.


"Sweat and Underwear"

Now Kathy was a nice girl, and I was lucky to be her Debate Team partner.
Later in the Debate season, Kathy and I actually would actually win a Debate Tournament when I used Dick Gregory's analogy comparing electing a president to choosing a whore. I had argued that:
"After all, no matter how many candidates are running, or whores you have to choose from, they are still all whores".
It came to be known in our club as "Steve's Great Whore Case”.
The first time I used that line, Kathy put her face to the desk covering her head in shame.
Kathy did that a lot.
But we were both surprised that the Judges seemed to favor this rebuttal of attempts by our opponents wanting to change the Two Party Political system.

But back to our first Debate.

Kathy and I waited with the three Judges and our two shoeboxes filled with index cards with facts and figures, information and quotes, seated at a table for the arrival of our opponents.

It was our Debating debut and we were nervous. Not only was the subject of Campaign Election Reform complicated and new to us, but we weren’t very organized.

Even today, the kids down at Blockbuster Movies shudder when I walk in the door because they know I can’t find shit in there. They use a System of putting the movies in alphabetical order, but they also have categories like New Releases, Drama, Comedy, and Action. Oh yeah, there is a Horror section too. These categories, to me, are quite subjective. One man’s action movie is another man’s drama and so on and so forth.

I think the movies should all be under one category.
“Sweat and Underwear”
That’s what everything all boils down to anyway.

But back to the debate….and our opponents entrance.
They carried Gold Plated Briefcases, Rolodex files, and had a Desktop name tag made from Etched Glass that read:

Ignacio and Nicholas
Jesuit Preparatory Academy

They were wearing Red Bow-Ties and Coal Black Double Breasted suits with the School Crest blazoned on the pocket.

They placed all this high tech debating equipment on their half of the table, glanced pitifully at our shoeboxes, went and shook hands with the three judges and returned to the table, standing “at ease”, hands clasped behind their straight backs to face Kathy and I.
It was enough to make me stop my slouching, and sit straight up in my seat.

But the most intimidating thing about this was not the Jackets, the Bow Ties and Breifcases, or even the Glass Placard that gave them the look of O.J. Simpsons Defense Team.

It wasn't even the Rolodex files that I was sure were filled with more and better facts, figures and quotations than our shoeboxes, or the fact that they would actually be able to find the card they needed when they needed it that made me queasy...

It was the fact that our opponents could not have been more that 12 years old.
The biggest one was about 85 pounds, soaking wet. My kid sister coulda' broke him in two.
The smaller one was no bigger than a minute.
They were lap babies and they were about to kick our ass.

Kathy looked at me. She was goggle-eyed like you wouldn’t believe, and she had turned white as a sheet.
Kathy was a good kid, but I knew she was shook, so I leaned over and whispered to her:
‘Man, we are in the shit now”
and gave her my best grin.
But inside I was all sweat and underwear.


"Who wants Red Lobster?"

Our 13 year old, pre-pubescent , never-kissed-a-girl-or-squeezed-a-titty opponents were about to kick our ass. They opened their gilded briefcases and began their case. They were the Affirmative which moved towards Election Reform.
Just 60 days prior, Nixon had resigned as President. Slush Funds, CREEP (Committee for the Re-election of the President) and Watergate had become words even a 4th grader was familiar with.

The House and Senate in Washington were debating the same topic as Kathy and I and all the other High Schools. Election Reform was prominent in the country's consciousness. Looking back, I did not realize at the time how cool it was to be role playing (if not playing a role) in this issue.

Bear with me here.

The centerpiece of our opponents case was to take all donations for each party and put them in a big pool, then distribute those funds equally through a General Accounting Office. The hope was to eliminate secret contributions, illegal donations, and make certain no one would gain a monetary edge.

As our counterparts gave their presentation, Kathy and I scrambled frantically through our shoeboxes, looking for facts figures and information with which to refute their case.
We had determined that I was to go first to present my 5 minute rebuttal.
On shaky legs, I stood up.

Who watched the Biden/Ryan debate?
What they do up there is really hard to do, especially for a High School kid, but the 85 pound 13 year old (with the Paul Ryan hairline) that led off was like William F'n Buckley.
It was either Nicolas, or Ignacio, it didn't really matter.
His presentation was flawless.

Why I had joined the debate team I didn't know at that moment. I was born to be a Chef.
The room seemed to be spinning around me, my knees were about to buckle and it sounded like sand was pouring into my ears. I wanted to crawl under a rock.  So I cleared my throat and began:
"I need a moment to get my shit together."
Yep, that's what I said.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kathy pound her forehead into the table and cover herself with her hands, and from under her tousled blonde hair an audible moan escaped.

Motivated by shame and with a sense of pity towards my partner, I finally began to speak. I don't recall what I said, I was dizzy and having an out-of-body experience up there. But suddenly, the smell of Kathy's perfume was replaced by the faint scent of apples.
Like I said, I was born to be a Chef, and I could smell apples.

As I spoke, the apple smell grew stronger. I looked to our opponents. I saw in their opened briefcases they each had a small Brown Paper bag.

With this new visual input, my senses heightened and I began to detect a faint but unmistakable smell of Tuna, and then Roast Beef on Rye, and even a Hostess Twinkie.
OMG! Their Momma had packed their lunches!

And then an idea hit me like someone had dropped the Watergate Hotel on my head, with Haldeman, Dean and Mitchell all tumbling down, and CREEP members and Secret Cash funds all spilling out...I knew I had to find a way out of that shoebox. It was killing me, but I sensed an opportunity..
Right in the middle of my rebuttal, I came to a complete stop and looked down at Kathy.

I said:
"Kathy, how much money do you have?"
She looked at me all confused and I gave her that "Just Tell Me " look and she reached for her purse and said "I think I got $4"

"Four dollars?" I said while pulling out my billfold. "Thats fine Kathy, just put it there on the center of the table, and I'll put my two dollars with it..."

I was gaining some momentum here. I turned to my counterparts and said...

"Nick, Iggy, how much do you boys have?
They looked at each other and started to reach for their wallets.
I continued...
"No, don't bother to get up, you don't need to put your money in the General Fund here. We will just pretend that you have...oh...$10...so that gives us $16 in the General Fund. You betcha. Now, I see you boys brought your own lunch, probably Tuna on Wheat and Roast Beef on Rye, and that can be your vote..."

At this point they were lookin' at me like I was Kreskin because I knew exactly what they had in their little lunch bags. I was born to be a chef.
I was on a roll, and all the way out of that shoebox full of index cards.

"...But Kathy and I, dog-gone-it, we are voting for Red Lobster and we are going to take our half of the GAO fund which includes ya'lls $10. Now I know what you boys are thinkin'... that we aren't going to get much at Red Lobster for $8, and you are right. But clearly, as I am about to show, your case does nothing to stop Secret and Illegal Campaign donations"

I pulled my billfold back out and and produced the Twenty Dollar bill that Dad had taught me to keep tucked away for emergencies. With a dramatic flourish, I held it high.

"But I just happen to have a little 'Slush Fund of my own, and now not only do we have enough for Kathy and I to eat like Kings, we have enough to take two of these three judges with us.
So, who wants RED LOBSTER?"

Like I keep sayin', I was born to be a Chef.

I sat down. Kathy was beaming.
My opponents spent their next 15 minutes arguing against my convoluted case, while Kathy drilled holes in theirs.
We won our first Debate!

Here, Richard Nixon presents me with my Debate Trophy!

Monday, October 22, 2012


The radio station I’ve been listening to has become lame. I’m hearing the same songs the same time of day all the time.

I hate that.

Increasingly, I’ve been turning it off entirely.
I had it on Friday, and they played some horrible song and I thought about turning it off.

But then another song came on, a catching little tune by some chick with a great voice. It was so “POP” that it had to have enough cyclamate in it to kill a pony. I really couldn’t stand it, but neither could I turn away. I listened and wondered about that voice.

It wasn't Janis, or Grace Slick; it didn’t have the personality of Chrissy Hynde, or even Edie Brickell; it was a thick sweet syrupy voice, like drinking non-dairy hazelnut creamer right out of the container. It was kind of like Cher maybe, without all the testosterone; it was Madonna, minus the Prozac.
Who could it be?

And then, the horror of it all. Suddenly I knew it was the artist I’ve avoided all year. I’ve never heard one of her songs straight through, but I knew I was listening to Adele.
I have got to find a new radio station.

Put a hat on her and you got Boy George.
Crack her in half and Andy Devine and Cindy Lauper come crawling out.

Friday, October 19, 2012


He was 60 feet tall, and dumb looking, but everyone loved him anyway. He actually said a big  "HOWDY" every 20 seconds or so at the entrance to the State Fair of Texas. But about 20 minutes ago Big Tex caught fire.

"My My, Hey Hey...its better to burn out than to fade away."

Heres what he looked like before...

Goin' home to Jesus.

Thursday, October 18, 2012


Last I heard, she was a $5000-a-night Vegas Escort.
It had been just a rumor, but I had every reason to believe it.
She was just that good. Really.

I had met her when she was 16, going on 25. She seduced me, plain and simple. There was nothing sleazy or slutty about Tressa, She was just one of those natural born lovers, like Aphrodite or Venus; Anne Boleyn or Cleopatra.
And the next four years would prove we had a thing.
I was 19 and she was 16 that first time, and after, as I lay on my back, her propped on one elbow looking me right in the eye, grinning she says:
"That was FUN!"

She may have been my junior, but I was way overmatched.

When ever I tell a story about doing something I shouldn’t have and having it come out right, I think of Tressa.
Whenever I see the ghost of a half-moon in the middle of the day, I think about Tressa.

She was always so natural being out of place...but she was always right where she ought to be, at least when she was with me.
What she did after that, on her own time, I did not know. It seemed to work both ways.
She never asked where I had been, or what I had been doing either.
I don’t recall we ever once said good-bye. It was always see you later; unbinding, tentative on visibility, and pending whenever later might be, presumably at a future date.

I remember the end of the summer of 1980. Rita had left late that spring. It had been long lonely summer that had dragged its sixty-nine 100 degree days out far too long.

It was strange the way Tressa had called out of the blue at 3AM.
It was strange that I was so relieved to hear from her, even though she said she was in big trouble. How can you be relieved to find a lover in trouble? Because there are some, those who gravitate towards the edge, that you are relieved to hear from at all.
It was very strange that the stupid movie I had been watching had just finished having Fred Astaire tell Ginger Rodgers that “Fate is a fools word for chance” when the phone rang.

Tressa said over the phone “I am taking a chance you can help me”
I said “Chance is a fools word for Fate”
And Tressa just laughed and said “Are you watching that Fred Astaire movie too?”

Man, that’s Fate for you.

It was strange the way Tressa would call when I needed a friend when she needed a friend.
It was strange that I didn't know then that she didn't call enough, that it would have been OK for me ta call once and a while.
It was strange to see that it was still 102 degrees  at 4AM as I passed the big clock downtown to save Tressa from whatever she had gotten into, that summer of 1980.
It was strange to think instead of taking her to my house like I wanted to do, that I was taking her to a bus that would take her far away, much farther than ever before.
Because she had gotten pretty close to the edge I guess.

I can say all that was strange now, 29 years later, but really it wasn’t strange in 1980; just the way its not so strange to see the ghost of a half-moon faintly in the noonday sun.

I can still see her face, framed in my car window at the bus depot, grinning her dimpled grin and saying
‘See ya later, Steve”
‘Yeah , Tressa, see ya later”

This time it took 29 years to see her later.
Seeing her again was like seeing a magician perform his tablecloth trick without spilling a single drop of wine.

Because,  you see, the last I heard, she was a $5000-a-night Vegas Escort.
It had been just a rumor, but I had every reason to believe it.
She was just that good.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012


"Women! What can you say? Who made 'em?
God must have been a fuckin' genius.
The hair... They say the hair is everything, you know.
Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls... just wanted to go to sleep forever? Or lips... and when they touched, yours were like... that first swallow of wine... after you just crossed the desert.
Hoo-ah! Big ones, little ones, nipples staring right out at ya, like secret searchlights. Mmm. Legs.
I don't care if they're Greek columns... or secondhand Steinways.
What's between 'em... passport to heaven.
I need a drink.
Yes, Mr Sims, there's only two syllables in this whole wide world worth hearing: pussy. Hah! Are you listenin' to me, son? I'm givin' ya pearls here."
Lt. Col. Frank Slade

Monday, October 15, 2012



Friday, October 12, 2012



Linda: I get a sense from your posts, Steve, that although you appreciate a woman's physical attributes, what you really admire is their internal strength and devotion to ones they love and support. Or am I reading too much into your posts?

Steve: In this picture, I like the placement of the ribbons in her hair, and the fact that it looks like she might need a ride home.

Linda:Well, like I said "I might be reading too much into it!"

"You might use your eyes, your hands, or your smile to help her, but it will always ultimately be your words that undress her”

Thursday, October 11, 2012


Up until 1982, my only experience with Gays had been through Drama Club in High School, where it had been whispered that certain members of the Department were "queer", and a few waiters I had worked around being a Chef. There was a big part of me that still didn’t believe someone could be truly gay, and that the only reason they behaved in that manner was that they were lonely, or just wanted to be touched.
I still didn’t quite believe they did whatever they did.
There must be a mistake. They were gay by some kind of default.

In 1982 I was Saute’ Chef for the Crystal Cactus, the gourmet restaurant at the Fort Worth Hyatt. The broiler man was Jeff, and he and I had a lot in common.
We managed to do something together at least 4 nights a week after work. If it wasn’t a party, then it was a game of “Risk” or all night Frisbee. Jeff was great with a Frisbee, and we would throw together for hours. He became one of the best friends I have ever had.

We used to do a bit from  "Guildenstern and Rosencrantz are Dead". Its a spinoff play from Billy Shakes famous "Hamlet" in which the two guards of Hamlets fathers tomb toss a coin that comes up heads 99 times in a row.

They contemplate the odds...
"If we postulate" says Guildenstern.
"And we just have!" replies Rosencrantz…
"Ninety-Nine Times!", both in unison.

So whenever things got weird at work or at a party, Jeff and I would go into our Guildenstern and Rosencrantz bit, and things would get a little weirder…it was pure fun.

My mother had had a stroke which was part of the reason I lived with her. My father was in a V.A. Hospital with Alzheimers. He had been for years. Over the course of a year Mom met Jeff several times.
Ever since her stroke my mother’s speech had changed in the typical stroke victim fashion. She now talked like a little girl with a bit of a lisp and sing-song cadence.

Getting ready for work one afternoon, I mentioned that Jeff was on vacation to New York and I had a new guy to train.
My mother gets an odd look on her face and asks what he is doing in New York.
“He says he is going to see as many plays as he can in 4 days” I tell her.
“ Did he go by himself?’ she asks.
‘No, he went with a couple of the waiters from the Restaurant”
Mom looks at me over the top of her glasses.
“Steve, is Jeff gay?
“No, Mom, why do you ask?”
And in that sing-song voice she says “Well, he...just seems... like he might... be gay.”

Now in 1982 my Mom was 65 years old and had been a housewife all her adult life. I doubt she had ever met a gay person. I was surprised that she knew the word.
I thought about it all night and finally determined that she was probably right. My best friend in the whole world, with looks and energy and charisma to burn; the guy that I hung out with 4-5 nights a week and could leap at least 4’ in the air covering 10-12 feet and catch a Frisbee behind his back; that I found myself on the same page with, completely in sync, time after time after time; my best friend that I was so proud to know....he was Gay!

It was a real awakening. These were real people in real relationships and there wasn’t anything wrong with them. Whatever I had been thinking about Gay people was all wrong.

Jeff left the Hyatt in 1986.
Then one day I found myself behind him in a checkout line in 1988. He had not seen me.

"If we Postulate..." I said very loudly.
He flinched but didn't need to turn around.
"...And we just have..." came the reply.
In unison as he turns around;
"...NINETY NINE TIMES!" and we embrace.

I never saw Jeff again. He’s one of those people that you like, one of those people in your life that you will always love, and I’d sure like to talk to him again one day.

And that’s my story here for National Coming Out  Day.

Tuesday, October 09, 2012


You may recall last year I hired a Nutritionist and she gave me a diet to follow.

But ya know what? This ol’ addict loves to eat, and eating is the only vice I have left.
No dope, no cigarettes, no ‘Yum-Yum” so I take it out on food, and all the Nutritionists in the world can't help that.

Then back in May, I finally took another suggestion my doctor gave me (because I have learned to take suggestions) and joined a gym. But it only took a few weeks to figure out that somewhere down the line I had rotator cuff damage.
Haha! There went $30,000, and now I’m not supposed to lift more than 5 pounds or get within 20 feet of a treadmill.

But you know what?

I finally waited long enough that this is going to pay off for me.
The doctor is actually paying me to lose weight!
You heard right, he is PAYING ME to lose weight!
I am in a study, and taking some untested little blue pill.

God, I love big pharmacy!
God, how I love this country!

Of course, if I lose 30 pounds and then my dick falls off, whats the use?

Friday, October 05, 2012


“The men in the room suddenly realized that they did not want to know her better. She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, not up close. And she held her sword, and she smiled like a knife.”


Thursday, October 04, 2012


"I've said this nineteen dozen times but you still don't believe it. Man is the one animal that can't be tamed. He goes along for years, peaceful as a cow, when it suits him. Then when it suits him not to be, he makes a leopard look like a tabby cat. Which goes double for the female of the species." 
Robert Heinlein

Tuesday, October 02, 2012


Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                 Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

from the hollow men by ts eliot