Religious People Are Peculiar

Clearly the Christian god has some serious issues with jealousy.

Type The Complete Words, Please

The next person who says "celebs" to me is going to find himself or herself smacked in the face. The word you're looking for is "celebrities." There is no reason to shorten it. You're not in that much of a hurry.  And shortening it makes you sound like a moron anyway.

I was reading the December 2, 2014 issue of Variety, and there was a short piece on a documentary film (and it's documentary, not doc). And the writer, Ronnie Scheib, clearly needs a severe beating, particularly for this line: "This caution somewhat fudges the film's throughline, but if Berg can find a distrib willing to brave the forces that have silenced this open secret for decades, the documentary should find avid auds worldwide" (p. 112). Distrib? Auds? Seriously? The words you were looking for are distributor and audiences. Don't be an asshole, Ronnie. Don't make me come after you. Use complete words from now on.

I understand that often it's not the writer of a piece that creates the headline, so I'll let you off the hook for the use of "Doc" in the title.

Bird (Thanksgiving Update)

Those bastards across the street - the ones with that loud bird - have moved. I couldn't be more pleased. But there was a time when I feared they had left the bird behind, and that it was going to scream until it finally died of starvation. I tried to find information on how long that would take, but I wasn't certain just what type of bird it was. You see, the moving truck arrived, and they packed all their belongings into it. And they left. And the house was dark. But the bird still screamed. I thought perhaps they'd come back in a couple of hours to retrieve it and whatever else might be left in the house. But three days passed before they came back for that fucking bird. Three days during which it screamed. Or perhaps it wasn't those people that came for the bird. I suppose it doesn't matter who eventually took the bird. Someone came for it, for it's no longer annoying me, and for that I am thankful.

Poets

When poets give readings and stress every single word as if giving instructions to a retarded child, I want to leap out of my seat and smack them across the face. Because someone needs to let them know they're being bad.

Bad Words

I often use the word "fuck." Occasionally someone will ask me not to use that word around him or her. And sometimes someone will ask me not to swear. Okay, fair enough. But I too have a list of words that I don't want to hear. This is it:

• multitask
• proactive
• blouse (This one is just an ugly-sounding word.)
• nylons (Also an ugly-sounding word.)
• slacks (Another ugly-sounding word.)
• selfie (Not really a word.)
• guesstimate (Also not a word.)
• irregardless (Also not a word.)
• waitressing (Also not a word. "Waitress" is a noun, not a verb. You never hear anyone say "waitering," do you?)
• momentarily (This one I don't want to hear because every time I hear it, it's used incorrectly. It means "for a moment," not "in a moment," so don't tell me you'll be with me momentarily or I will punch you in the face.)
• forte (This one I don't want to hear because every time I hear it, it's pronounced incorrectly - "forte," meaning "an area of expertise," has only one syllable - it rhymes with "snort")
• African-American (This one is just stupid. What would you call a black person in France? And what about white people who were born in Africa and now live in America?) 
• full-figured (Enough already! Please just say "fat" or "large.")
• reboot (This one bothers me specifically when it's used to refer to yet another remake of a film. Don't get fancy. Call it what it is: a lack of imagination coupled with a lack of guts to attempt something new.)

While we're on the subject, I also don't ever want to hear anyone say "is comprised of." That is incorrect. What you should say is "is composed of."

Once everyone has made these adjustments, then we can talk about my use of the word "fuck."

Bird

There is an awful sound in my neighborhood these days, because new neighbors across the street own a large bird. The first time I heard it, I thought a child was screaming in pain in the alley. And I went outside to either help the kid or finish him off. Either way, whatever would stop the noise. But it turned out to be a bird. It takes a special kind of asshole to want to own a bird. To separate it from other birds, to keep it in a small cage, an animal that should be flying about, enjoying its life. So of course the damned thing is screaming out in agony at all hours. I can hear it in my apartment, even with my air conditioning on and all my windows and doors closed. That is one loud motherfucker, and its screech is so obnoxious that it immediately puts me on edge. I need it to stop, but I'm afraid that people who are awful enough to own a bird aren't going to be understanding enough to keep it quiet. They need to put a blanket over its cage whenever they're not home, and if I'm lucky, the poor bastard will suffocate and die.

New And Improved?

I hate when a product's packaging or an advertisement says, "New and improved." It can't be both. If it's a new item, then it's not improved. If it has been improved, then it cannot be new. Please purchase a dictionary. Thank you.

For Love Of Mistress Boobilicious

Mistress Boobilicious inspires artists to create unspeakable works, pieces that can be shown in no gallery for the cries and accusations of indecency that would surely issue forth from prudes and pundits as a result. Religious leaders scoop out their own eyes as the only way to avoid the greatest temptation, because they can't trust themselves. Action becomes involuntary, like salivating. Mistress Boobilicious inspires much of that as well, from men, women, animals, anything within a certain radius. Even tall trees lean over to get a better look at her as she walks by. I heard a tale - and I believe it - of a corpse rising out of his coffin in an effort to get a hand on one of her remarkable breasts. He was unsuccessful, and died a second time of despair at his failure.

Religion

I've been having trouble sleeping lately, but this morning I woke only once - not bad - until there was a banging at my door at 10 a.m. I waited a moment, to see if it would stop. It didn't. Then I remembered that UPS might be delivering something today. So I put on a pair of shorts and opened the door.

Two attractive women were there, so I knew it was trouble. "Hi," the younger and cuter of the two said, "we'd like to share with you the newest issue of -" And I saw the little Jesus pamphlet in her hand, and recognized that large, twisted smile as that of a demented slave of the Lord. And I quickly said, "No, thanks," and shut the door.

Goddamnit! It was ten in the morning. Don't these monsters know that decent folks are asleep at that hour? If I'm going to be woken by someone at the door, I want it to be the mailman bringing me some intriguing package, not two nuts peddling their wacky notions. I wish I hadn't bothered to put on shorts.

Mistress Boobilicious And Her Aquatic Adventure

As I understand it, Mistress Boobilicious only went into the ocean because she heard the dolphins were feeling frisky. Some of the younger dolphins, that is. What then occurred varies by the teller. But apparently by the time she got into her swimsuit, many of the dolphins had tired of their games and gone home. But of course her presence in the water attracted all manner of excited beasts. And some of these creatures were driven into a frenzy, which her teasing did not satisfy or quell, but rather agitated and enraged, to the point where the waves could not contain them, and some passersby were injured and impregnated. The authorities have not pressed charges, for who could be blamed in such circumstances?

Raccoon

I was just walking home, and the streets of Valley Village were deserted, except for a giant raccoon that was heading in the same direction I was, lumbering across the street. Because of his slow pace, I was catching up to him. Finally he noticed me when I was right behind him, and he stopped and turned around to size me up. And then he growled at me, as if he were going to attack. I told him, "It's okay," to let him know I wasn't looking for a fight. But I was thinking, "Come on, I need a new coat." He took me at my word, turned his back on me, and headed off. But I really would like a raccoon coat.

Pudgy

Bugger me, I need to lose weight. And quickly. It's not a matter of pride or vanity, but rather economy. I can't afford new pants. So I need to be able to fit back into the ones I already own, and that means losing some weight. I thought this new prominence of my belly was a sudden thing, that these khakis had fit me just a few weeks ago, but a friend told me that the last time he saw me I seemed a bit pudgy. Okay then.

Anxiety

I think my anxiety is keeping my depression at bay. Hurrah for anxiety!

Quiet Night

I'm afraid my brain is going to revolt. To leave me. It berates me for not making good on its work. Yes, even my brain is upset about this lack of money. To fund its projects, its dreams. My imagination may revolt. It may say, "Enough," and seek greener pastures. And then what? There used to be all this time. Tons of it. So much time, later, to do those things, and that thought staved off depression. Later, later. All of these things. And now it's later, and none of those things - not one - none has come to pass. And I can't go on fooling myself. I know this. I know it. No one needs to tell me. (They do, still, of course.) But what options have I? Earlier I could have sought out another direction. Not so now. I'm locked in, and what was admirable ten, twenty years ago seems sad now. Pathetic. Something to pity and avoid. I know. And yet I'm still optimistic. For again, what choice have I? I'll keep it up until either success or... that other thing.

Old

Oh boy, I just did an old person fart. You know, that sad sound, where it's not forced out, nor has there been any attempt to hold it back. There's no real music to it. It's just there, like a grunt. And whenever I hear an old person make that sound, I look, and it's like he or she didn't even hear it, isn't even aware of it. And that's the saddest thing about that sound. There's no humor to it. It's like a little death.

Mistress Boobilicious Strikes Again

Mistress Boobilicious foils a jewelry robbery, then rapes a policeman. "All in a day's work," she tells this reporter modestly.

I Like Cheese

I like cheese. And I like wine. And I like to eat cheese while I'm drinking wine. But the only cheese I have at the moment is a bag of finely shredded sharp cheddar, which is great for bagels and in burritos and so on. But is rather awkward to eat while drinking a bottle of wine and watching a movie. I was grabbing handfuls from the bag and then trying to drop it into my mouth without getting it all over the place. I failed, of course. And now I'm drunk, having finished the wine (and the cheese, for that matter), and trying to remove all the little bits of finely shredded sharp cheddar from my bed. I will likely fail at that too. And in the morning I will wake with little bits of cheese stuck to me. Ah, something to look forward to. I need to go grocery shopping. Fuck, I need to go to bed. I probably shouldn't be posting blog entries while inebriated. But what the hell. I like cheese.

Lettuce Has Become Unreliable

Lettuce has become unreliable. This seems a recent development, but perhaps my memory is simply unclear on the subject, and all along lettuce has been trouble. But these days, for sure, lettuce is turning brown so quickly. Two days. I just checked the receipt, which is still on the counter. I bought the lettuce on the eighth, in the afternoon. And on the tenth, it had gone bad. Or at least it had gone brown. What is the cause? Lettuce was more reliable than this, wasn't it? Has it come under the influence of bananas lately? Or is something wrong with my refrigerator? The water seems the right temperature, so...

In a marginally related topic, when I was a child and forced to go to a church, every time the priest said, "Let us pray," I imagined the church full of heads of lettuce bowing and mumbling in prayer. This went on for years, and I was never able to shake the image. Finally I just had to leave Catholicism altogether. Things are fine now.

Shit

Recently I was told not to worry about a medical bill that I had received and could not pay. That was excellent news, and I so very much wanted to believe it. Today I received two more bills, for twice the amount of the original one. Trying to avoid panic, I decided to take a walk and return a few library books and mail the phone bill. The phone bill itself was also an issue, as the folks at AT&T had said they hadn't received my previous payment and so had tacked on a late charge. The late charge itself was more than 15% of the original bill. Clearly, AT&T is getting more and more greedy. But anyway, I called that company, and after some confusion the woman said they had in fact received my earlier payment, and that I didn't have to pay the late charge.  The theme here, of course, is that things that are supposedly taken care of often turn out not to be. And that leads to anxiety. I mean, when I do something, I want it done. I don't ever want to have to deal with it again.  I'm guessing I'll be hearing from AT&T again about that late charge. And who knows what the deal is regarding these medical bills? While I was walking home, trying not to think of these things, a man rode by me on a bicycle. As he passed me, I heard him breathing heavily, and then heard him say, "Shit." I wanted to thank him, I wanted to embrace him right then, because for that moment I felt totally connected to another person. We're all dealing with various shit, and that, if nothing else, connects us.

Religious People Are Peculiar

I agree. Tighten those nipple clamps, baby!

Today's Thought

My dirty socks smell like Doritos. What does that say about Doritos?

Mistress Boobilicious

Mistress Boobilicious And Her Deft-Footed Dwarvish Dancers will perform their musical homage to chocolate delights. One night only. Guaranteed to shock and please, and bring the audience to its knees. Fun for the entire family. Children pay double.

One Thing I've Learned

One thing I've learned: If someone tells you not to call her crazy, and is serious about it, she is undoubtedly one completely unbalanced and nutty individual.

Religious People Are Peculiar

Wow, with all the missionaries gone and all the sinners in there, this church must have some damn good parties.

Religious People Are Peculiar

Soylent Wafers are people!

be aware young Israeli's from this women she is infected with sexual disease

I have a file of cartoons and miscellaneous items that make me laugh. A while ago a friend called me to tell me he spotted a poster that had been put up in several locations in his neighborhood, a poster he was certain I'd want to add to my file. And when I saw it, I burst out laughing, and took it down to keep for myself. Whoever posted it has a wonderful grasp on the English language. My favorite bit is that the woman he is describing (or "women," as he says in the second line) is between 5.3 and 110 pounds. That's quite a range. You'd think he'd be able to narrow it down a bit. And actually, I'd love to see a woman who weighs only 5.3 pounds. That's low even for a newborn. I also love that she stole ten dollars worth of stuff from him. I wonder what it was that she stole. A T-shirt perhaps? Obviously, he meant to say ten thousand dollars. But let's face it - it would be amazing if the guy who wrote this possessed even ten dollars worth of stuff, and no one is going to believe he has ten thousand dollars worth of anything.

Anyway, I just have to share this with everyone. Because we all need a good laugh. I covered up the woman's first and middle names, as well as her eyes. After all, she's not the one we're laughing at here. Clearly the guy that posted this is completely off his nut.

Enjoy.

Thanks, Christians!

Every year, to celebrate the birth of their fictitious hero, Christians kill trees, decorate them for a week or two, and then toss them out at the curb. I just wanted to take a moment from my busy day to acknowledge their fine work. Here are a few photos taken the evening of January 6, 2014.

Religious People Are Peculiar

Another creepy message from a terrorist sleeper cell.