Around and Around

Ever get a song in your head that just goes around and around and you can’t get rid of it for love or money? This is my latest, the 1977 classic Cherchez La Femme by Dr. Buzzard’s Original Savannah Band. Enjoy.

Tommy Mottola lives on the road
He lost his lady two months ago
Maybe he’ll find her, maybe he won’t
Oh, one never knows
He sleeps in the back
Of his big grey Cadillac, oh my honey
Blowing his mind on cheap grass and wine
Oh, ain’t it crazy baby, hey
I guess you could say hey, hey
The man has learned his lesson, oh hey
Now he’s alone
He’s got no woman and no home
For misery, oh, oh
Cherchez la femme

Miggie, Miggie Bonija’s very upset
She’s sick and tired of living in debt
Tired of roaches and tired of rats
I know she is, oooh
So her noble man says
“Baby I understand, oh my honey”
Now he’s working two jobs at Eighth Avenue bars
Oh, ain’t crazy baby
Now she complains
That her man is never present, no
She goes next door
I know that she’s just playing the whore
Hey for misery my friend, hey
Cherchez la femme

They’ll tell you a lie
With a Colgate smile, hey baby
Love you one second and hate you the next one
Oh, ain’t it crazy, yeah
All I can say, ay, hey
Of one thing I am certain, ooh-hoo, ooh-hoo
They’re all the same
All the sluts and the saints
For misery my friend
Cherchez la femme

Hey now, Cherchez la femme
Oh babe, Cherchez la femme
Yeah, Cherchez la femme
Oooh that’s amora, Cherchez
Oooh that’s amora, Cherchez
Amora amora be mine, be mine
Devine (Oooh that’s amora, Cherchez)
Cherchez la femme
(Se si bon, Se si bon, Se si bon)
Cherchez la femme, rumba
(Se si bon, Se si bon, Se si bon)
Cherchez la femme, rumba

 

Pitchers

…lookin’ for catchers.

 

A Little Comic Relief

Because I need it.

 

Okay…

…so despite yesterday’s unfortunate events, I still luvs me some hot inked menz.

Especially when the ink’s just peeking out from their tight white T-shirts. Woof.

Spotted today at the local Targay:

Caught!

 

A Letter to T-Bone and Two Kats Tattoo

Last night I was so depressed over the day’s events that I was in bed and asleep by 9 p.m. I woke up at 4:30 this morning, and immediately remembering the abortion that was on my arm, was completely unable to get back to sleep. I got up and composed the following letter. It won’t change a thing (the tattoo is what it is at this point) but at least I feel a little bit better letting my “artist” know in no uncertain terms exactly how I feel about it.

It’s going into the mail later today:

11 May 2008

T Bone,

They say your first tattoo changes you forever. It took me years to get to the point mentally where I was ready to get inked. Once I decided I was ready, it took me weeks to get the design that initially popped into my head “just right.” At one point yesterday afternoon, just as you’d finished filling in the outline with black, my vision became reality and I felt a sense of elation I haven’t experienced in years. My tattoo was perfect.

But then you kept inking. Being a virgin to the scene, I thought maybe you were just going back over some areas you’d missed.

But when I looked over and realized that instead, you took it upon yourself to “improve” my original design—without even asking me—my heart sank. My first tattoo—my initiation into the brotherhood of the inked—was ruined. Even if I liked the shadows (and believe me I don’t), they don’t even match the contours of the original design!

I mean seriously, WTF were you thinking when you decided to take it upon yourself to do this? Is it common practice in your shop? Before we started was I expected to say, “And oh, by the way, don’t make any changes or additions to my design?”

Alternating between sadness, anger, and depression over the last twenty-four hours, I have come to three conclusions:

• You should never have done anything beyond my original design without first asking me. A simple, “Hey, I think shadows and some highlights would really make this look great,” would’ve at least offered me the option.
• When you’d completed the initial fill-in, I probably should’ve said, “Wow, that looks great! Thanks!” and stood up.
• I should never have paid you.

Now that I have this thing on my arm in perpetuity, I’m faced with the option of laser removal, having it completely inked over and turning it into a huge black armband (fitting, considering how I’m feeling), or continue praying that some internet buds of mine in the tattoo business are correct when they say that the shadows and highlights will eventually fade—in about two. fucking. years.

As one of those guys said, “Scarring someone for the rest of their life is the most reckless thing I can imagine an artist ever doing. Anyone who is permanently altering someone’s appearance should ALWAYS ASK before making any changes or additions from the original, agreed-upon plan, especially when it alters the original design. Even if it is something the artist will think makes the piece “better,” the client should always be asked before it is done. Always!”

And frankly, realizing your fuck-up, shrugging your shoulders and offering the lame excuse/apology of, “I just wanted to give you the best tattoo possible,” doesn’t cut it. It’s NOT WHAT I WANTED, NOT WHAT WAS AGREED UPON and it CAN’T BE FIXED! You should never have done it in the first place.

 

FUCKWAD!

This has probably been the worst day of my life for at least the last three or four years.

This afternoon I got my first—and if today’s experience is any indication—my last tattoo.

I went to a shop called Two Kats. It was recommended by someone at work. I felt completely at ease with the artist—a guy who called himself T-Bone—the minute I walked in.

He took my design, made a stencil from it, positioned it, and when I gave the okay, started inking. (The pain wasn’t bad at all—certainly much less than what I was expecting.)

I kept glancing over, and things were progressing nicely. It was finally finished and filled in. It looked great.

But he kept inking. I thought he was filling in some missed spots, but it turns out he was embellishing my original design!

WITHOUT ASKING ME!

My design was very simple, very tribal:

And at one point, that’s exactly what I had!

But then I glanced over, and instead of simply filling in some missed spots, I discovered he’d put shadows under everything! Excuse me? Was that a part of my original design?

And now that I see it in all its mangled glory, the fucking shadows under the lizards’ tails don’t even follow the original contours!

JEZUSFUCKINGCHRIST!

I mean seriously…WTF was he thinking?!?

“I was just trying to give you the best tattoo for the money.”

Why didn’t you just give me what I wanted, YOU GODDAMNEDMOTHERFUCKING FUCKWAD!

It’s no wonder I had to sign that paperwork releasing them from all liability!

Before he screwed it up, the ink was perfect. It was exactly what I wanted and I was so proud of how good it looked.

But afterward….well…all I can say is that I haven’t felt the need to cry in years, but I was fighting back tears on my entire drive back home.

Now, not only my dad, but also my friend Mark in San Francisco can say, “I told you so.” My dad, for simply getting the tattoo at all, and Mark, for not going to Palm Springs and letting Mad Dog—his artist—do it.

And now I’m stuck with this piece of shit the rest of my life, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

“The shadows are light,” T-Bone said. “They’ll fade.”

Maybe. (According to madhouse in about two years.) But my memory of this fiasco won’t. Ever.

At least I can be guaranteed of it healing properly, because it is never going to see the light of day again.

And now—thanks to that asshole at Two Kats—instead of being able to happily join the fraternity of the inked, this whole episode has turned me off to it altogether. When I see tattooed guys on the street or online, instead of admiring the work (and yes, getting a little turned on) it will only be a searing reminder of how totally screwed I got today. Thanks a lot, T-Bone.

 

Live, From the Hillary Bunker!

Hat tip to Bill in Exile:

 

Quote of the Day

Will we never learn?

Beware the leader who bangs the drums of war in order to whip the citizenry into a patriotic fervor, for patriotism is indeed a double-edged sword. It both emboldens the blood, just as it narrows the mind. And when the drums of war have reached a fever pitch and the blood boils with hate and the mind has closed, the leader will have no need in seizing the rights of the citizenry. Rather, the citizenry, infused with fear and blinded by patriotism, will offer up all of their rights unto the leader and gladly so. How do I know? For this is what I have done. And I am Caesar.” — Julius Caesar

 

Otter

I couldn’t make you wait until next Thursday for this critter.  Hope y’all don’t mind…

 

Weekly Photo Challenge

Restaurant

The Space Age Lodge and Restaurant, Gila Bend, AZ.

(I’m only doing it this week because I actually had some interesting photos I could use!)

 

TGIF

I wish some hot guy would go all Lestat on my neck.  Or vice versa…

 

Make It Stop

Last year, after Kucinich—and then Edwards—dropped out of the presidential race, I pretty much lost interest, feeling like the proverbial man without a country. While I didn’t particularly like either of the two remaining candidates, I felt that Clinton or Obama would still make an excellent president. Hell…after living through the last eight years of the chimp-faced fucktard in the Oval Office, Mickey Mouse would make an excellent president! And despite some initial misgivings, I finally resolved that whoever walked away with the Democratic nomination in August would receive my vote in November.

I’m not so sure about that any more.

I have never been—and frankly still am not—particularly for Obama (he just doesn’t get me excited the way Kucinich or Edwards did), but as Clinton has grown increasingly shrill and desperate, I have most definitely come to loathe her, making Obama my de facto choice. In the extremely unlikely event that Clinton manages to snatch the Democratic nomination away from him, it is far from certain—even when faced with the apocalyptic alternative of a McCain presidency—that I will be actually be pulling the lever for her and not simply sitting out a presidential election for the first time in my life.

Maybe that’s playing right into the Repulicans’ hands, but at this point I feel like saying, “To hell with it. Let’s just get it over with and blow up the fuckin’ planet. Maybe that will finally put an end to neocon philosophy, christianity, and all this end of days bullshit once and for all when Jeeezus fails to appear and save their self-righteous asses from the nuclear nightmare they brought about themselves.”

That I even feel this way is such a sad commentary on both Clinton and her husband, people whom I once—despite their very human shorcomings—greatly admired. I used to think that Bill Clinton was the greatest president of my generation, but I can’t honestly say that any more. He has sullied his reputation beyond redemption as his wife’s campaign has become more and more strident and delusional.

As I’ve said before, it’s a bad sign when I find myself screaming, “FUCK YOU!” and flipping her off as often as I do when I see the smirking chimp.

Hillary, you’ve lost. GO AWAY.

From AMERICAblog:

Clinton, who AP calls a “deluded also-ran,” now says West Virginia is the next test to prove she’s more electable than Obama. That’s deluded.
by Joe Sudbay (DC) · 5/08/2008 02:19:00 PM ET

Today, the Associated Press explained the state of the Democratic race for President:

Nonetheless, Tuesday’s results drastically reshaped the dynamic of the campaign, positioning Obama as the all-but-certain nominee and casting Clinton as a dogged but deluded also-ran.

It’s true, but as a “deluded also-ran,” she’s not stopping. She’s not. All the superdelegates and DC insiders may think she’s going to stop undermining our nominee, but she’s not. According to The Page, “West Virginia is a Test.” Hillary only takes the tests she can win—and uses them to make Obama look bad.

And, why the hell is Bill Clinton still out there stirring things up? Of course, he’s on the same message about West Virginia per a campaign fundraising email I just got:

Our next test is just five days away in West Virginia. Hillary needs your help right now to keep winning.

Okay, she’s not winning. She’s lost. The Clintons are really starting to look pathetic—and they’re starting to appear bitter, like sore losers do.

It is deluded to make “electability” THE issue, when the candidate making electability THE issue is losing the election.

Make this stop.

Hillary’s people again threaten Pelosi, say they’ll defund Democratic congressional races
by John Aravosis (DC) · 5/08/2008 03:10:00 PM ET

Do you freaking SuperDelegates need any more information about this woman? She’s now using you as human shields. But hey, you just keep sitting on your collective asses, like the DNC, watching Hillary destroy our party. Because, you know, it would be mean to tell her to take a hike now that she’s lost. I mean, she might even cry. And sure, she’s a Democrat using racism as a political weapon, possibly pushing millions of blacks out of the Democratic party for good, but that’s nothing compared to hurting Hillary’s feelings. So, yes, let’s all just sit back and watch Hillary destroy our nominee and our party over the next month, and then when we lose to McCain in November we can all act really surprised. Never saw that coming.

VOTE WHITE
byJohn Aravosis (DC) · 5/08/2008 05:25:00 PM ET

Mike Barnicle in the Huffington Post:

Now, faced with a mathematical mountain climb that even Stephen Hawking could not ascend, the Clintons—and it is indeed both of them—are just about to paste a bumper sticker on the rear of the collapsing vehicle that carries her campaign. It reads: VOTE WHITE.

 

Uh huh…

Frankly, I think this is the first time I’ve ever been on this wretched planet, and after spending the last half century living as a clever primate, I sure as hell know it will be the last—at least as long as war-mongering, fanatically-religious humans are the dominant “sentient” species here.

In any case I seriously doubt there was much farming going on in the area of Alaska in 1550.

Your past life diagnosis:

I don’t know how you feel about it, but you were male in your last earthly incarnation. You were born somewhere in the territory of modern Alaska around the year 1550. Your profession was that of a farmer, weaver or tailor.

Your brief psychological profile in your past life:
Seeker of truth and wisdom. You could have seen your future lives. Others perceived you as an idealist illuminating the path to the future.

The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation:
You fulfill your lesson by helping old folks and children. You came to this life to learn to care about the weak and the helpless.

Do you remember now?

 

Thursday Critters Trouble

 

20,000

 

August 1992

Seems like only yesterday.

I wouldn’t mind having the beard, or the hair—or the hair color—back, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want to go back to being that guy. No…of that much I am certain.

August 1992. Thirty-four years old and—as is often the case with folks that age—absolutely positive I had the entire world figured out. I knew how the game was played and quite erroneously thought I was a master at it.

August 1992. Two months into the infamous Rory Hansen affair; an affair that bordered on obsession and showed me in no uncertain terms that I didn’t know how the game was played and that you can’t always get what you want. After the inevitable—and spectacular—crash and burn with Rory, I followed up by making several very poor professional decisions and sent my career into a tailspin that forever changed the course of my life and would take more than a decade to recover from. I may actually write about it someday. Or not.

How’s that for a tease?

 

Subtle Enough?

I just realized the other day I could insert stuff behind the clear plexiglass in the sign outside my office.

I was going for “burning in hell,” but think I ended up with “flames of technology.” I guess it could be taken either way, which is probably a good thing considering all the easily-offended egos around there.

 

Tuesday Ink

Remember Joe Rogan from Fear Factor? I was never a fan of the show, but I’ve always thought he was damn hot—if in a kind of smarmy, skeevy sort of way. He’s not a boy you’d ever bring home to meet Mom, but you’d gladly let him whisper vile things in your ear while he fucked the crap out of you in the back room of some filthy bathhouse and you’d love every minute of it. Anyhow, ol’ Joe is all inked up and lookin’ fine these days.

And that nipple looks like it needs some serious attention. Do I have any volunteers?

“And then she said, ‘Gurrrrrl…” (Just sayin’)
It looks like that nipple still needs attention. Not to mention that treasure trail.

In a heartbeat, dude. In a friggin heartbeat.

There’s somethin’ about an inked, hairy, stubble-faced catcher that gets my motor running.

I think I need some “alone time” now.

 

Go Ahead, Send Hate Mail

This guy has put into words some nebulous thoughts that have been swirling around my head for quite some time, although I was thinking more along the lines of “civilization itself negates natural selection,” not merely the existence of a Welfare State. It’s not politically correct by any means, but I do believe he makes some valid points.

Here’s why the Welfare State always ends up collapsing under its own weight:

We negate natural selection by letting the crummy genetic material propagate. What’s worse, not only do we allow it to propagate, we let it prosper to the point where it crowds out the more adaptable genetic stock.

It’s not so much that we “allow” the stupid and lazy to breed. You can’t ethically prevent anyone from having kids, and any policy aimed at forcible birth control smacks of eugenics and has “immorality” written all over it. No, the folly of the welfare state is that it shelters the stupid and lazy from the negative consequences of their own choices, and keeps those particular genetic lines from dying off like they would in nature.

We not only don’t discourage them from breeding, we pay them to have offspring. We then proceed to shelter them from every possible bad consequence of their laziness, inability, or stupidity by providing food stamps, free housing, free health care, and little warning stickers on the toasters and blowdriers that tell them not to use those devices in the shower. We foster a culture of altruism where any self-caused misery on the part of the have-nots and know-nots is automatically made the responsibility of the people who didn’t make the same mistakes. We remove most of the incentives for being smart, being productive, and for avoiding decisions that may lead to starvation.

When you reward someone for birthing kids they can’t feed by taking money away from the people who don’t produce more mouths than they can feed, is it a wonder when eventually the first group outnumbers the second? Is it a surprise when the first group figures out they can outvote the other group to keep the honey flowing? In a system where the vote of the non-productive counts as much as the vote of the producer, you’ll eventually and inevitably have fiscal collapse, as the number of contributors gradually shrinks to a point where it will no longer support the number of leeches on the system.

Is this the opinion of a heartless egoist, or that of a realist? Am I just totally off-base for thinking that the current system of dolism has nothing to do with “compassion”, and that it is mathematically and ethically unsustainable?

I’m really conflicted on this topic, because at one point I was without health coverage and became a recipient of state-provided health care that quite literally saved my life.

What are your thoughts?

 

Dumbass

Maybe if you hadn’t dropped out of school in sixth grade you might be a little better at spellin’ ‘n stuff. Fuckin’ dumbass.

 

Anderson Cooper Knows His Bears

What he said…

What he was thinking…

“How do you know those things, Anderson Cooper? How are you so smart about bears?”

No comment.

 

Gratuitous

 

LOVE IT.

(Hat tip to Bill in Exile.)

 

Let Them Eat Cake

Who cares what the peasants think?

CNN Poll:

Seven in 10 people questioned in a CNN/Opinion Research Corporation survey released Friday say things are going badly, with only 30 percent saying things are going well.

“It’s been 16 years since the public gave the country’s condition such a bad rating: January 1992, to be precise, in the last year in office of the last president named Bush,” CNN pollster Keating Holland said.

“Seventy percent is a lot worse than two years ago, when 48 percent thought times were bad and the Republicans lost control of Congress,” CNN Senior Political Analyst Bill Schneider added.

McCain, keep parroting Bush’s policies. PLEASE.

 

Sooooo Good!

Available at Targay Target:

I don’t eat it every day, but when I’m in the mood for breakfast cereal, this stuff is great!

 

Potty Mouth

Hot damn!  Higher than last time. Guess I’m doin’ something right.  Fuckin’ A!

Check your’s here.

 

Telling It Like It Is

 

You Park Like an Asshole

Some days I think we should never have come down out of the trees.

And then other days I’m convinced the vast majority of us never really did.

 

Woof

 

You May Have Noticed…

…a definite lack of my usual biting political commentary lately. That’s because I am totally and completely burned out on all of it. At this point I have very little hope that the people of the United States will be able to abandon their 20-second American Idol attention spans and have the wisdom, strength, and perseverance to do what is necessary to put this country back on course and veer it away from the path of self-destruction on which it currently finds itself.

Why do we need outside enemies when we can destroy ourselves from within so much more effectively?

George Bush, Dick Cheney and their minions have accomplished in eight short years what Al Queda couldn’t even dream of doing in fifty: completely eradicating over 200 years of Democracy and Constitutional law in the United States and turning our country from the shining beacon of freedom in the world to a leader in state sponsored terrorism. Bin Laden (if he’s even alive) is surely sitting in a cave somewhere laughing his ass off. “Thanks for all the help, George! You’ve been great! Kisses!”

And while that monkey-faced-fuck-knob (thanks, Donnie!) in the White House has the lowest approval rating of any president as long as they’ve been polling (lower than even Nixon before he resigned), the Democrats still do nothing to remove him from office—or even attempt to reign him in. What the fuck are they afraid of? By refusing to exercise their Constitutional responsibility, they are giving tacit approval to everything he has done over the past eight years. Nice.

Fuck ‘em all.

And Hillary Clinton—a woman I view as one of the figureheads of this entrenched Democratic power structure—is supposed to be our salvation? Please.

Hillary Clinton will not win the Democratic nomination, much less the presidency.

Because of her refusal to accept defeat and an almost pathological desire to destroy Barack Obama, she is all but guaranteeing a Republican win in November. Is this what she wants? Is it because she thinks that by subjecting the country to four more years of neocon rule she’ll get the Oval Office in 2012? I’ve got news for the bitch: if we end up with McCain as president this year, there won’t be an election in 2012, because the first thing that raving lunatic will do is nuke Iran, setting off World War III, killing us all.

The Mayan Calendar ends in 2012, supposedly signifying the end of the world. I’m starting to believe it’s already ending; 2012 is just when the last human being dies of radiation poisoning or starvation.

At least I won’t have to worry about paying off the MINI!