Faith hurts my Hed lotS

I’m going to jump into the semi-serious side for a moment and layout my religious beliefs once and for all.

I don’t believe in anything!!

OK, well that’s not entirely accurate, I believe in science and logic, but even those I scrutinize as much as I do the fantastical worlds of faith. While I don’t subscribe to the tenants of a system that thinks human kind came from clay or from a bamboo reed or the blood of a slain dragon or maize dough.

But enough of that for now…because in the day or so that it has taken me to get this far on this post my brain has officially broken. Earlier in the week while coworkers where talking about the awesomeness that is Curling. One of them mentioned a woman Curler who was pregnant. The first thing that popped into my head was; Where they using the fetus as the Stone?

I know, I know…its wrong of me to know technical Curling terminology, but what can I say I’m a well of useless and inane knowledge.

The second lapse into dreamland happened today as I was returning from the filtered sustenance dispensing machine and internally chided/marveled at two coworker’s diligence in their professionalism. In other words; I wondered why they had ties on when it was Friday and from working in an office environment Fridays always mean the day you can binge drink openly and dress ‘casually’. Honestly, for me casual is a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, unfortunately that doesn’t fly to well in the business world I find myself living in.

As I thought about their diligence for customer service and the presentation of The Company through wearing a tie on Casual Friday I looked down to see if I was wearing my only polo and realized it was Thursday and I too had a tie on.

I know I broke something recently and it’s all starting to click into misalignment.

Back to the hatred.

Last week a dear friend of mine opened my eyes to the world of Nonstampcollector and for a few minutes I was marveled at the power and ingenious of it all…then after a few more videos I realized he was essentially saying the same thing again and again just in different and quirkier ways. Which isn’t terribly bad, I just lost interest. Regardless here is one of the better videos I ingested, but there is a larger volume I have yet to observer so the awesomeness of this selection may dull in time.

http://www.youtube.com/user/nonstampcollector?blend=1&ob=4#p/u/38/SGkgmU9vG_o

While a valid point that I 100% agree with and would love to use in an argument with a Mormon, if it wasn’t for their inherent illogical nature restricting the conversation from getting anywhere, I actually don’t care to argue semantics with the believers anymore. Where once I was the Sinn Feih equivalent of an atheist, I am now the unbelieving guru sitting atop a pile of dog-eared manuals and codices, comfortable in his own world yet willing to despence my view points on others if asked (or not asked).

While I don’t believe in anything that I consider fantastical (some science theories included) I lean towards the ideology imparted by that great teacher of acceptance, The Matrix.

The new golden rule is thus; ‘There is only one.’ er ‘Each individual controls their own belief. If you believe in life after death, you will find peace in Heaven. If you believe in reincarnation, you will become the butterfly. If you believe that Elvis works at The Wienery, you might want to see your physician for an increase in your meds.’

Essentially religion, spirituality and faith are personal. I take it to the extreme (because I don’t like doing anything half-assed) and say that each person controls their spiritual/religious/faithlyness reality. Everyone is right in their individual regards and should be free to believe what they want to with the golden exception of ‘as long as it doesn’t impede on other people abilities to do the same thing’.

Thus, organized religion can go fuck its self.

Someone needs to come up with a way to say my new Golden Rule that will fit on a tee shirt and work within the half second attention span of all Americans who grew up watching Sesame Street.

Alguien necesita subir con una manera de decir mi nueva norma de oro que quepa en una camisa de te y trabaje dentro de la media segunda capacidad de concentración de todos los americanos que crecieron Sesame Street para arriba de observación.

Today’s number is 12.

El número de hoy es 12.

Taquito.

Taquito.

РОБОТ

I woke up and realized that Robots seem to control my life in both good and bad ways. I’m surrounded by beings that have different levels of control in my life which are autonomous and ferrous-metal based.

(Christians)

(Suburbanites)

But mostly my music comes from robots and that is the majority of my influence.

Let’s just hope the fucking Terminator doesn’t show up, or if he does he’s got some damn clothes on. Arnold is getting to old to be parading around without his shirt on, let alone naked. That brings back nightmares from seeing Iggy Pop shirtless at a concert in the 90’s…even 14 years ago his ass was at grandpa status.

In other archaic relics who actually should have died long ago, let’s not forget George Clinton. It’s incredible considering, or perhaps due to, the amount of chemicals this man has ingested through out the past half century or so, that he still remains on this corporeal plane let alone semi-upright. Although it was pointed out to me that he more than likely is kept in cryo-freeze in Berkley and is only reanimated for the annual return of the Morthership and to plug for Steve Job’s candy colored lozenges.

Honestly though George, why Crack? You have more than enough money/status than to be picking up some rock…that’s just sad. Or maybe the Cartels have him on some sort of crash pad black list. Maybe we need to do a fund drive. ‘Help P-Funk pay off their debt to the Columbians’, buy a box of cookies and Bootsy gets a speedball!

Speaking of robots owned by organizations, I return to my longstanding theory that The Rolling Stones have been dead since the early 70’s and the current ‘band’ is in fact animatronic robots owned by Disney.

I’m going to cap this with a shout-out to one of the oldest touring performers who actually matters to anyone outside of small selective circles…B.B. King, who led the conspiracy to kill Stevie Ray Vaughan in a delta-blues ethnic cleansing campaign in 1990. A few years later, due to a pact with the European Blues Conglomerate, headed by that one dude from Cream, reparations were made by backing a new Caucasian bluesman boy.

Ultimately though, the great blues man actually continues his touring to support the legions of illegitimate children spawned though out the years at each town. Keep ‘em coming B.B., may your ancient semen still be viral. But you took out the wrong Stevie when it came to cleaning the Blues-pool.

Perscribed - Jittery

As with anyone else who grew up on Ritalin I am only distracted by bright shiny things and mayhem, thus my severe fascination with explodynesses’s. Coupled with the Ritalin directed geek hood I am essentially a pair of Penny Loafers away from an abandoned farmhouse in Indiana and a cement truck full of gasoline.

My childhood was spent writing up D&D characters and melting G.I. Joe’s with neighbors’ lighter fluid. In the metro area a wonderful loophole allowed dime stores (a now extinct thing) to sell minors mild explosives during the celebration of telling England to GO FUCK IT’S SELF but did not allow said explosives to be used anywhere said minor could freely travel without the knowledge of more responsible individuals.

Answer to problem; fuck what the laws say, let’s go shove smoke bombs in people’s houses!!

Ah, miscreant youth…

As I progressed to the age of incarceration my explody exploitation became more cerebral. Case in point. The never completed ‘Akane blows up the world’ montage which I began in high school.

This 30 second low quality splicing extravaganza brilliantly showcases my lack of friends and non-nerd hobbies as I picked over my VHS copies of Ranma ½ for scenes with which to splice one of the characters doing something with the nuclear explosion from Akira.

At one point my love of explody became extreme as I turned Anarchist to celebrate my freshman year of high school and entertained Death by Cop scenarios resulting in the Sears Tower exploding. My reputation at school had preceded me and, dating myself here, I was thoroughly grilled by my peers in regards to my whereabouts on April 19^th, 1995.

Eventually I realized Anarchy was too restrictive and contended my self with putting my head inside of subwoofers at Hardcore shows for the remainder of the decade. I think that actually did wonders to my personality, that and the ayahuasca.

On a side note...kitty gets a taquito!!

Winning over the MasseSS

While lamenting about the various possibilities on why some sports are not popular in the US with two coworkers, we discovered a surefire way to make cycling a major draw for American audiences.


If you can’t do it with loud noises do it with blood and lots of it. Imagine the excitement in the peloton when audience members start throwing chain whips and pedal wrenches to the Domestiques. Disc wheels would offer more than just an aero advantage when the threat of a golf club through the spokes sets in.


Yet for some reason soccer has never really caught on in USA even with its history of semi-game related blood shed.

Yet, even though NASCAR and track racing are the same thing, minus the sponsorships by Budweiser, big V8 engines and Kentucky, legions of Wal-Mart frequenting members can’t be found at any of the nations 27 velodromes. Yet, there is always bike jousting...they already look like Road Warrior rejects too.

Speed skating and track running are also pretty similar to NASCAR in that you go counterclockwise around an ovular course for a pre determined length/lap count to determine who gets the next round of high paying sponsorship deals. The NASCAR ones tend to be more fruitful though…

I am also reminded, while on the subject of nuclear weapons and bicycles, that a few people at the shop last year started joking about creating a Post-apocalyptic Hipster movie.

Set in the not too distant future of New York’s Williamsburg neighborhood, the survivors of the cataclysm assert their dominance of precious territory and resources while atop ‘vintage’ Bianci’s wielding modified bike tools as weapons. It’s like a cross between West Side Story and Escape from New York, but with more hair product and less leather.


Hide your bagels and vinyl now, they are not safe from the future of humankind.

NOT! Candidate Material

For a number of reasons which would result in embarrassing revelations (mostly embarrassing to my campaign lackeys) during any political campaign I would never be able to run for something as basic as a county tax surveyor or a taquito representative, let alone the President of the USA.


First off; I've done more drugs than Bill Clinton and Obama combined and multiplied by some amount...maybe not as much as Bush II, but only the CIA knows that for sure.


Secondly; I'm not very sensitive to peoples particular self chosen social choices.


Also, I'm overtly Socialist. And as we all know now Socialists are Nazi Communist Muslim Terrorists.


I advocate public drunkeness coupled with drunken bike riding. I figure if I'm going to rapidly travel while smashed I'll risk killing only myself. I do however greatly solicit against public jock drunkeness.


Also, unlike Tiger, I couldn't wait for the Ping deal to come through before building my harem.


I think clubbing baby seals is actually a really good punchline to most jokes.


I think everyone should have to pass a test to breed, even with the idea that I more than likely wouldn't have passed that test.


My answer to most problems are whiskey and stabbing.



Finally, I really, honestly and completely just hate everyone...and when I mean hate everyone...I mean anyone who would vote for me and who wouldn't. My inaugural speech would probably consist of me giving everyone the finger and telling them they can all go fuck themselves and...