A Man Of My Own Heart

I know how he feels. When the food is too cold, the manager needs to be dismembered.

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James T. Kirk's Guide to Permissive Parenting

Here is a radical approach to child rearing. Though, I would recommend something less drastic: corporal punishment, more corporal punishment, and even more corporal punishment.

Then again, Dr. Spock knows best--though what would Dr. Leonard H. McCoy say?

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George Herman Ruth was a drunk, a womanizer and overly fond of greasy food; but he wasn't a cheating bitch.

It appears that Major League Baseball is going to develop a comprehensive steroid abuse policy. I would like to think the Player's Union and Team Owners came to this decision out of love for the game; of course, potential legislation by the likes of John McCain probably helped the process along. My only concern--actually, it is more of a thought, really--is why in the fuck is this even an issue.

Steroids are illegal. There are hundreds of federal, state and local laws that prohibit the sell, distribution and use of illegal steroids. In other words, it is against the FUCKING LAW to use S T E R O I D S. MLB--god love its corrupt soul--is not now, or has ever been, excluded from these legal mandates. McCain shouldn't have threatened new legislation; he should simply have called the appropriate law enforcement authorities. Let them set up a few stings, arrest a few dozen players, and imprison the ones who aren't willing to reveal who gave them the steroids.

I don’t care if someone uses illegal drugs, as long as you don't bitch about the consequences--jail, prostitution, retardation, anal rape and genital warts. Major League Baseball players are welcome to use steroids; in fact, I am all for a league of muscle-bound, shriveled balled, psychopaths. I am just tired of hearing about the story. Here is my solution: Ban the players who cheat, be it through the use of steroids, corked bats or gambling on ones team. Zero tolerance is a draconian measure, but any policy that makes paupers of millionaires is a good thing in my book.

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Prolicide

What is the greatest threat of Islamo-fascism? Some will say it's nuclear and chemical warfare, others will contend its the loss of liberty, most fear the advent of domestic terrorism--suicide bombers come to the Suburbs, and I can't take umbrage with these fears, and I don't know what the singular greatest threat is, or even if one nightmarish scenario takes precedence over another. I do know this, however: The greatest evil caused by Fascism, be it Islamic or secular in a nature, is the destruction of innocence. The attacks on 9/11 stand as the vilest act of terrorism in history, yet that event, along with all other terror attacks, pales in comparison to the destruction being wrought on the souls of millions of children.

Children become adults; it is the chronology of man. Along the way, we become less naive, cast off the shackles of ignorance and lose a good deal of childhood innocence. The point is that children grow up and lose much of what makes them so precious--innocence. However, as I said earlier, this is a natural phenomena, it is the key component of the human condition and one that we all experience, in one form or another. The problem is that Islamic terrorism doesn't allow this process to occur, nor does it simply hasten it--like our culture of sex, violence and egocentricity does,-- instead it actively seeks to destroy the innocence of children; replacing it with vitriol hate and willful ignorance.


The Jews eat children; they rape our women and kill our men. The United States is the progenitor of all that is unholy, they value freedom over Allah, place life before honor and, worst of all, they support the Jews. We must kill the infidels, at all costs. Sacrifice your life and know absolute bliss, otherwise you risk eternal damnation at the hands of Western devils and treacherous Jews. In other words, the West is bad, America is worse, and the Jews are pure evil.

This is taught to countless children, it is force fed from birth and continually reinforced throughout adolescence. This dogma is responsible for the deaths of their children's souls. There is no worse crime, there is no greater evil. They are replacing the ignorance of naiveté with the ignorance of blind hate. The fact that this is done under the guise of religion makes pure evil somehow worse.

President Bush used the term Axis of Evil, and he was absolutely correct in doing so. He limited the term to several nations, though it truly applies to many more.(That is a post for another day) These nations feed their children a steady diet of hate; generation after generation is lost. It isn't about economics, it isn't about values and morality, it isn't about truth: It is about the annihliation of youth and the price that comes with it. Fascism is responsible for the deaths of millions and destruction of innocence in so many more.

I wish that we could fight hate with love; that truth overcomes lies; but I fear there is little that can be done externally, leaving the reclamation of their children's souls to the same people that allowed them to be taken away in the first place.

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I am an asshole

A friend told me that I am too cynical. He believes I think the worst about people, places and things. He was very smug about his observation, as if he had made some grand discovery that escaped the notice of everyday man. Of course, I am cynical about life; just as birds fly, fish swim, and the ACLU harbors terrorists, I see the worst in existence. It is my natural inclination, if you will.

However, upon further introspection, which took about thirty seconds of thought--fifteen of which dealt with killing squirrels, I concluded it wasn't cynicism alone that informed my being. I not only see the worst, I actively hope for it. In other words, I take joy in the failings of others, if only to prove my cynicism correct. The foulability of man isn't enough; his outright and utter failure is what I desire. Then again, that's just me.

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Moral Quandary

Is it wrong to want to hit this? The more I learn about her case, the more I want to lick in-between her toes.

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Confederacy of One

I am the Ignatius Reilly of the twenty-first century. Many of you may not know who Ignatius is. Simply stating that he is the literary equivalent of Bob is not enough. Mr. Reilly, whose creation may very well have resulted in Toole's (the author) suicide, is a literary character without equal or merit. He is a loathsome, egocentric madman who sees modernity as hopeless corrupt; he fights against the oppression of everyday by virtue of sleeping, eating, watching cartoons and reveling in his flatulence. Yet, even this bloated messiah of intemperance has good points; sadly they are buried underneath a labyrinth of lard and intellectual nihilism.

I don't particularly like the character, but I can't deny we are very much alike. I spend my days in self-exile, pondering the inevitable end of civilization, bemoaning the barbarians within our own gates. Too, I watch an unhealthy amount of cartoons, consume an even unhealthier amount of food and suffer from insufferable bouts of gas--my pyloric valve is a difficult mistress. Our greatest similarity is not surprising, at least for those who have read the book and know anything about my person, we both find work to be a pedestrian cause; it is an end to reason, not a means to an end.

I do admit that finding my entire psyche, the entirety of my being, encapsulated in a little under four hundred pages is a bit depressing. Though, much like the book, my life consists of a series of comedic disasters, however; unlike Reilly, I am not destined to escape the mono-color walls, no, Bob is clearly set for a long stay in the ward of mental delving.

There truly is a Confederacy of Dunces that stands in my way; it is a Confederacy of one--me.


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Bob & Allah Approve of this Message

Have you heard about the new Muslim Lifestyle Network? I am sure it is flagship show "How did we only manage to kill 3,500 people on 9/11?" will resonate with the American public. Though, I am not so sure about "Talking Puppet Jihad" or their controversial reality show, "Suicide Bombers: The New Hebrew Holocaust." Then again, I don't have my finger on the pulse of America, or in this case a gun to our collective heads. One can only hope that it will be as uplifting as BET--the network that put the nig back into black. (Looping gangsta rap videos throughout the day that even the corrupter of all that is good--MTV--won't run.)

While on the subject of intolerance, I wanted to give a hearty congrats to South Park for tackling the controversial issue that is Paris Hilton. She is the most unfairly maligned of the psedo-celebrity whores. Can a girl suck-start a Harley and still be an untalented rich bitch? Paris Hilton proves both facts are not mutually exclusive, time and again.

All this talk about Paris Hilton reminded me of this article on abortions gone badly. Death--both that of the child and mother-- is an adverse side effect, obviously. But really, isn't the alternative much worse: To take responsibility for ones actions and give birth to a child. It is good to know that feminism is alive and well.

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This post is dedicated to Ken Jennings. The streak might be over (damn you H&R Block) but his legacy will never die. He will be forever known as the second greatest Mormon superstar. (Steve Young is first)

Human Ingenuity

The clock reads 2:35 am and I almost didn't poop. It is a common occurrence for Bob to wake up and take an early morning bowel constitutional. Usually it is a painless affair, or relatively painless--a diet consisting of Taco Bell and White Castle does tend to get a bit "messy." I had hoped to sit down, grunt a few dozen times and drop brown napalm on the porcelain jungle, however; that wasn't to be the case.

Earlier in the night, before going to bed, I had defecated and defecated well. I used the customary half a roll of toilet paper, as my hairy inner buttock requires heavy maintenance and eternal vigilance, unbeknownst to me this was not ordinary toilet paper, it was 2-ply. In other words, the sheets were double thick and, as I learned several hours later, much more likely to clog a toilet.

I am not one to be prepared in life; much of my existence consists of coasting by on my good looks, charm and rapier-like wit. Coasting is not the right word, actually. Drowning in my inequities would be more precise. Anyway, I never before saw fit to purchase a toilet plunger. A clogged toilet happened to other people--Democrats for example--but the porcelain god was full of tribute and ready to "give" back. I didn't know what to do, where to turn to, or who to call. I couldn't go next door and borrow/steal the parent’s plunger, it was too late at night and last time I came over after midnight, mom threatened to shoot me in the balls. I considered driving to Wal-Mart or Kroger to buy a plunger but it was cold outside and shitting my pants (at least partially so) isn't terribly uncommon, so I prioritized warmth over personal hygiene. You will be glad to know that it didn't come to splattering my undies, instead something far worse happened.

Here is what I mean by clogged: the toilet was filled with urine, brown sludge and the odd piece of corn; it was a cornucopia of the human digestive and excretory systems. I decided to think outside the box and endeavor how one man--sans a plunger--could overcome a shit filled flotsam. Then it hit me, I would use my toothbrush to push the excess toilet paper through the pipes. It seems that a toothbrush wasn't designed for this process as it broke in two. I was out of ideas, and the shock of cold water from the bowl considerably expedited my need to shit. It was now, never or in my pants. I decided to give it one last try and stuck my entire fist into the hole, which seemed to fit perfectly, and hoped to make a plunger out of my arm. It sort of worked. Ten minutes and three wet farts later I managed to unclog the toilet with only the aid of my child-sized fist. My colon was overjoyed.

The lesson from this incident: Don't shake hands with Bob.


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Be Thankful for what you don't have--namely, my life

Christmas is just around the corner. It is a time of happiness, a season to appreciate what we have, and in my case, what I don't have. Here are the haves and have nots of Bob.


The Haves


The early stages of heart disease

An ass that itches in perpetuity

Two Devotees of the Hamster God--Me

Erectile Function

A fear of alien abduction--Damn you Signs

The Devil Goat who lives underneath my trailer

A beautiful, bountiful pair of man teats

A penis

An eerie similarity to Ignatius Reilly (Thanks for pointing that out, Harty)


Have Nots


A girlfriend/money guzzling whore

The love of my family

A life

Worthwhile friends (I kid, not really)

A ten inch penis, though I am almost a third of the way there

An enlarged clitoris

Dead Bodies buried underneath my trailer (There is always next year)

A job

Money

Self-Respect

Hope for the Future

The ability to write functional sentences

The capability to properly regulate my glucose levels

15 Gigs of Porn (I deleted it during a moment of moral weakness)



As you can see, I live a full life, too bad it is mostly filled with shit.

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