tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70915310128058819372023-11-16T08:03:26.749-08:00Shirt of the DayMy Life in 100% CottonThe Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.comBlogger110125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-47430772611414128502018-03-29T13:15:00.001-07:002018-03-29T17:02:54.012-07:00DAY 110: ROBOCOP<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4QdKAwc7wtI6yVTQCVIeeH-D5mnr4YNutTnOasVoJIFveZvs5MVPY4O3SC5R7qN_hTGPOZD31M2Plt2Jm4zzmIbOweB3M_0tCD3Blshc0MpvNCyOu0HB1irVpK30y48XOmkilaUmj52g/s1600/Robocop2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4QdKAwc7wtI6yVTQCVIeeH-D5mnr4YNutTnOasVoJIFveZvs5MVPY4O3SC5R7qN_hTGPOZD31M2Plt2Jm4zzmIbOweB3M_0tCD3Blshc0MpvNCyOu0HB1irVpK30y48XOmkilaUmj52g/s400/Robocop2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">I was lucky enough to
experience my pre-teen years in the halcyon days of the 1970s and early 1980s.
This was a time free of the shackles of smartphones and social media, and
reality wasn’t found on television. It was a time of Hardy Boys and bionic men,
talking cars and galactic battlestars, and you couldn’t help but smile every
time somebody whistled Sweet Georgia Brown. But it wasn’t all Farah Fawcett on
rollerskates.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Society had barely
time to reconcile their relief and anger as the Vietnam War came to a close
before having to stress about the second Cold War that was heating up and the
omnipresent threat of annihilation from Nuclear Armageddon that was all too
real. Paradoxes abounded. A recession was followed immediately by a financial
boom, and the sexual revolution was curtailed by the AIDS crisis. On the radio
classic rock was just rock (and was awesome) and disco was staying alive. In
reaction to both genres, and the state of the world, counter culture punk came
out kicking and screaming and new wave leapt of its shoulders, and we saw the
emergence of metal <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and </i>rap. It all
existed at once, and it was ours baby. It was a schizophrenic time. For every
excess there was a cautionary tale just around the corner. It was all very
confusing and chaotic and completely awesome. It was bat-shit crazy.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Kids were allowed to
be kids but given adult responsibilities and independence. 10 year olds could
operate gas-powered whirling-bladed lawn mowers and get up at 5am to deliver newspapers
so they could earn a wage to waste on kidstuff like comic books, Wacky
packages, and Atomic Fireballs.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Children were to be
seen and not heard but not really seen as you were out of the house
before your parents awoke with a hangover and not back in until the
streetlights came on. The waking hours that you were home you were relegated to the basement rec-room, or banished to the bedroom due to acts of mischief or maleficence.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">If you ran afoul of
Stranger Danger (who apparently had a predilection for white vans) a child could
seek refuge behind the closed doors of a complete stranger’s house because they
had taped a piece of paper in the window that proclaimed them a “Block Parent”.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Navigating this landscape
of contradictions wasn’t easy, but we had some guidance from the Saturday morning
gurus.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">I learned that robots could
put their arms back on but I could not from Astro. I learned not to drown my
food from The Bod Squad. I knew exactly what conjunctions function was, and that Lolly's was the place to get your adverbs. Being a champ not a chump was One To Grow On. The responsibility
of knowing that only <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>I</u></i> could
prevent forest fires weighed heavy on me. It wasn’t until my difficult teen years
that I discovered that knowing was only half the battle.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">But not all lessons
were easily come by. Even disciplinary measures were subject to the discordant
and incongruous climate. Parents executed a form of discipline/education called
Tough Love. This was an authoritative form of parenting that put principles
before popularity. Parents were not desperately vying to be your “friend”, they
were too busy being your parent. This meant that they were doing their job to
better prepare you for the real world, to make you autonomous. This was
accomplished by meting out punishment, or teaching life lessons, in an overtly
harsh or stern manner. A contrarient style of being cruel to be kind. Children
were made to take responsibility for their actions and learn through failure,
mistakes, and pain. And my mother was a master at it, a third degree black belt.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Get caught smoking, no
problem, mom would sit you down and make you smoke as many back to back
cigarettes in one sitting until you turned green and puked.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Want to know if the
curling iron really was hot because it didn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">look</i> that hot, she’d encourage you to not just touch it but to grab hold of
it. By the metal.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Leave your GI Joe’s
out after being told to put them away? Well the questionable solution was to
pack them up and donate those American soldiers to the Vietnamese family the
church sponsored.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Harsh? Perhaps.
Forgettable? Not a chance. You only made these mistakes once.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">What made my mother a
master is that she never just taught a simple lesson; she taught lessons that
were multilayered and compounded. To obtain information and confessions she played
the roles of both Good and Bad Cop, switching between the two seamlessly. She was
adept at police interrogation techniques like Entrapment, Emotional Blackmail, Manipulation
and Brutality.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Allow me to
illustrate.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><br /><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">My older brother and I had been fighting, likely over the fact that I existed. For the devout reader this is old news, for the newer converts or those just now coming to their senses, stay awhile, bask, and I'll give you the Cliffs Notes version. My brother and I didn't get along, we were brothers in name only. He was 4 years older, 75 pounds and a foot larger than me, and used his considerable weight against me to work out his anger over the same familial dysfunctions that I was subject to. The only time I looked up to him was in the literal sense, when he would pin me down and dangle a string of spittle over my face and suck it back up at the last minute. Or not.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">After enduring a particular humiliating session of bestial torment at his meaty hands including but not limited to Charlie Horses, Indian Rug Burns, Pillow Smothering, and General Pummeling, I felt a stinging need for Justice. For Vengeance. He had me as an outlet for his rage. I had nothing, no avenues of recourse, opportunities for revenge presented themselves infrequently at best. <span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";">
</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;">I quickly assessed the situation.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Fisticuffs had already proven futile, and my
homemade nunchucks had been confiscated earlier in the week, so physical
retribution was a non-starter. He owned nothing readily available that he
cherished that I could destroy. There was only one thing left to do, the secret
weapon of last resort avaialbe to younger siblings across the globe. One foot
planted on the stairs leading up to the Adult Realm, I looked defiantly into
the weasel eyes embedded in his fat churlish face and invoked The Ancient Incantation:<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;">“I’m
telling mom”<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";">
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";">
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";">
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;">Then
promptly hauled ass to the first</span><span style="color: black;"> landing of the stairwell. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There was no pursuit. Instead, his softly spoken words wafted up to me and stopped me in my tracks. "Mom doesn't care. It's my right". </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A chill went up my spine as I realized 2 things about his statement. 1) The smug look on his face told me he believed the latter statement, and 2) he may be right about the former. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Anger at this possibility welled up inside of me. I brought out The Big Guns.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "courier"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"I'm telling her...that you...swore", my words were measured, as though being spoken by Michael Caine.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: black;">He recoiled as though slapped. Swearing was tantamount to kicking baby Jesus in his baby nards while pouring sugar into the gas-tank of the Pope-mobile in our household, and subject to extreme punishment. Yet another puzzling precept to understand as my father's propensity for expletives was legendary; this fell under the 70's axiom of "Do as I say, not as I do". My brother's lip curled upward in contempt. "I didn't swear. Gaylord isn't a swear. I did not swear".</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: black;">"Mom doesn't know that" I levelled back. And with that I sought out The Matriarch.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: black;">I found my mother in the kitchen preparing dinner. It was 11 o'clock in the morning. I gently tugged on her Galloping Gourmet apron, "Mama?"</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: black;">Deeply focussed, she curtly dismissed me with the warning "Do NOT ask what is for dinner because you know what the answer will be." I did indeed know what my mother's reply to that simple query always was: Horse shit and tram tickets. On the once a year my father transformed animal flesh into a fossil fuel his response to the same question was "You'll get nothing and like it!".</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: black;">"I know mama. I need to tell you something", I feigned demureness.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: black;">"Well out with it lad" she said, having not yet turned to acknowledge me.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: black;">"It's bad" I was building anticipation. She wasn't biting, and continued her elaborate preparations. I tried again, "Like really REALLY bad".</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: black;">"I don't have time for shenanigans boy". My mother never had time for shenanigans.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: black;">Ok, to hell with the hors d'ouerves, lets get to the main course. "Your other son swore".</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: black;">Attention was gained. My mother put down the clarified butter, slowly put the lid on the tub-o-lard, and finally turned to look at me, her face betraying no emotion, "What do you mean 'he swore'?"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: black;">"Yeah, he like, swore".</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: black;">"What did he say?" she coolly asked.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">"You know, he said a bad word", I sounded dumb even to my ears.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">"I understand that, but what EXACTLY did he say?" her eyes unblinking never left mine, analyzing, scrutinizing. I suddenly started to feel a little nervous.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">"Um, you know, a bad word, a...um...a swear word". I hadn't thought this through.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">She smiled gently. "Tell me what word he used son". No longer a question, a direction.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Oh man oh man...I really hadn't thought this through. An image of my brothers fat smug face flashed in my mind at that very moment and I had my answer. Might as well go for broke. Deep breath, "The F word". I feigned a pained look of innocence and dismay. Inwardly I was laughing maniacally thinking of the whupping my brother was going to receive. Vive La Retribution!</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">My mothers smile became tighter. It was a wan and strangely disturbing expression. "Tell me exactly what he said".</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">"Like I said, the 'F'..." she cut me off.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">"Stop. Again: tell me what he said, tell me the exact words he said".</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Oh I did not like this at all and began to regret this tack, but I was pot committed. "Um, he um, he told me to 'F' off".</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">"No son, the words. I need you to say <i><u>all</u></i> the words so I can make sure I understand". My stomach knotted and I felt a brick in my bowels. </span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">My inner voice sounding like an exasperated Charles Nelson Reilly screamed 'What's there to understand? FUCK! F-U-C-K. I'm telling you he fucking said Fuck!', but what I said quietly was "I don't want to mama. I want to go now". I was now so worked up that I didn't realize I had started to cry.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">My mother's face softened and she hunkered down to my level. She produced a tissue out of thin air as all mothers have the ability to do and tenderly brushed my tears away. "Sh-sh-sh-shhhh. There there now, what's all this about now? There's no need for tears. Just tell mama what your brother said and you can go. We'll put this silly nonsense behind us." She smiled a smile that was Love and Warmth and Protector and Toasted Cheese Sandwiches. Everything would be ok.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Wiping the snot from my running nose with the back of my hand I very quietly said, a whisper at most, "He told me to 'Fuck Off'".</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">"I couldn't hear you son, speak up" she cooed.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">I very much wanted this to be over, so I took a deep breath, and projecting from my diaphragm, repeated "He told me...to...FUCK OFF". </span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Well that was liberating.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">The elation I felt at having uttered THE taboo word to an adult was short-lived and replaced by a searing pain as I my mothers fingers clamped around my ear, twisted, and lifted me up off my feet. What the fuck? What fresh hell was this?! My bare feet (wearing shoes in the house was also obviously a punishable offense) were only making occasional contact with the shag carpeted floor as I was hauled by my burning lobe to the washroom where I was roughly shoved onto the also shag carpeted toilet seat. I was hysterical at this point, one part due to pain, one part due to confusion, and one thousand parts due to fear at what I knew was coming next.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">"What did I do mama, what did I doooooo?" I pleaded through an expanding </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">bubble of </span>snot. I knew the answer to this as surely as I knew the answer to the dinner menu query.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">"You swore. Twice. We do not use profanity in this house" she calmly explained as she reached for her implements. "We are going to cleanse that foul mouth of yours" she continued as she held the bar of Ivory soap under the warm running water of the tap, sounding remarkably like Carrie White's mother.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">What happened next was all kinds of god fucking wondrous awful.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Washing a child's mouth out with soap for swearing was common practice back then, but my mother took it to the next level. She didn't just make me hold the soap in my mouth, she <i>scoured</i> my mouth. With a nail brush. </span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Yes indeed, she scrubbed my teeth, tongue and gums (especially the gums, the domain of those hard to clean words) with a fingernail brush that had been under actual filthy fingernails, lathered with a bar of soap that had been used on every single body part of every single member of my family.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">A lesson not soon forgotten taught by the Master. You certainly got your money's worth. In the hands of a lesser disciplinarian the lesson would have been as pedestrian as "Swearing is bad". I took away so much more than that. Not immediately though, these were slow release lessons that I didn't realize stemmed from my mother's constabulary parenting style until I was a neurotic teen, such as but not limited to:</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Swearing actually<i> is</i> bad. Swearing causes pain.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">When you tattle on someone you are only telling tales on yourself, and no one likes a tattletale. Tattling also causes pain.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Fight your own battles. Don't outsource your dirty-work, outsourcing hurts everyone.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">You can't fool your parents, trying to may cause injury.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Don't trust your parents. Actually, Trust no one. Broken trust stings like a bitch.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">No one wins in a fight. Fighting can cause grievous bodily harm.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Karma's a bitch. A soapy painful bitch.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Lies will come back and bite you in the ass, lies hurt. So do nail brushes.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">It
was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of
wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it
was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the
season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of
despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us. I'd buy
that for a dollar.</span> </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">William Makepeace Thackeray said Mother is the name for god in the lips and hearts of little children. Apparently Ivory is the taste of betrayal on their lips and gums. Did my mother give me these lessons out of love? Tough Love? Like I said it was all very confusing and chaotic. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Or maybe she was just bat-shit crazy.</span></div>
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The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-14719138541240836322018-03-07T16:40:00.001-08:002018-03-07T18:52:35.752-08:00DAY 109: BOB ROSS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMy7rf8pp-LIJ_vfkHH7JexSiPpxlYcsov2jZ0U_u_d3EChluGFLIDUB4eYA6e7ZdoCSHyOsDwI4IsBToewMBkrP7qHnM4HKNfQrgdprh3PmSXOqWT9uRNMZpupcqCFK0rRRa2yDtSzdk/s1600/Bob+Ross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMy7rf8pp-LIJ_vfkHH7JexSiPpxlYcsov2jZ0U_u_d3EChluGFLIDUB4eYA6e7ZdoCSHyOsDwI4IsBToewMBkrP7qHnM4HKNfQrgdprh3PmSXOqWT9uRNMZpupcqCFK0rRRa2yDtSzdk/s400/Bob+Ross.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">In this world where the majority have opted to make their private life </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">public and yet still seem justified in acting surprised and indignant </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">when their opinions are challenged or their nudie pics are stolen from </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">The Cloud or The Matrix or Bespin or wherever the fuck, honesty seems </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">as rare as an uneaten Ho-Ho in Kevin Smith’s cupboard. By </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">putting their lives on display people have become a product that they </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">market, and like a trailer for a movie showing only the best scenes they </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">market a shiny happy edited cut, presenting an idealized version. A </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">façade, a plastic facsimile of reality: The perfect untouched meal </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">arranged on the perfect china plate in the perfect lighting balanced </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">by the artistically just out of focus and wiki-researched perfect </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">complimentary bottle of wine “Before”, but not the wine-stained </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">tablecloth, sink-full-of-dishes, droopy red-eyed, hand-down-the-pants,</span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">farty, sleeping on the sofa in a display of drunken resentment </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">“After”. Harrison Bergeron tried to warn us about the dystopian hollow </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">perfection these masks create, and we all know happened to him, right?</span></div>
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<span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">No? Then I recommend reading a book you illiterate maroon.<span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">That’s not reality. Life is not all Norman Rockwell. It’s messy. More </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">like a Jackson Pollock.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I’d like to share something with you, something different, something </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">refreshing: Reality. For a change of pace, instead of reveling in my </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">all-encompassing awesome, I invite you to wallow in my humiliation. </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">You should feel honored; very few know of this embarrassing slice of </span><span class="m_7294047230951008784gmail-Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">shame-filled pie.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">The night before had been a cracking exercise in excess, rife with debauchery and ultra-violence. The entire sordid affair is described in detail on Day 108, so do yourself a favor and peruse that anecdote. The short version for those of you that move their lips when they read: a trip to a city an hour away, a stupidly gratuitous amount of bourbon and recycled beer, convulsive cake-shaking, and a trite misunderstanding with the a club's security detail that lead to my hasty and heavy handed ejection from the premises followed by a Royal Rumble of such ferocity that the Titans themselves shuddered in awe. I may or may not have had my ass handed to me. My judgement impaired by alcohol and a possible concussion, an executive decision was made to keep the abuse rolling by gorging on fast-food and passing out on a friends decrepit couch that was covered in stains of questionable origin.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">I awoke abruptly, sore and disoriented, my face and hair soaking wet. Panic set in. <span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Was I on fire again? </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Was I drowning? </span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">In a toilet? </span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Did I flush?! </span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">My eyes half focused and I saw my amigo Jimi standing over me, an empty pint glass in his hand. "Aren't you supposed to be at work in an hour?" he asked. </span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">My wrist was bare. I'd lost my Batman timepiece in the skirmish with the no-neck Neanderthals! (For the younger readers, before the world became enslaved by the Apple Overlords, civilized folk wore miniature clocks secured around our wrists that enabled them to tell time, set an alarm, signal Superman for help, and talk to Tess Trueheart).</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">"Shit shit shit", I sat up and winced. My hematomas had hematomas. "Dude, why'd you pour water on me? I'm soaked!" I asked as I struggled to lace up my boots.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">"You puked in my shoes" he responded.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Not stopping the complicated procedure of playing Cat's Cradle with my laces I briefly glanced over to where Jimi's shoes lay under a canopy of viscous un-chewed food. They had most certainly been befouled.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">"That's not mine you dick. I had taco's. Your left shoe has pepperoni on the toe. Carl had the pizza. Your right shoe is overflowing with Alphaghetti, and you sir, are the only Alphaghetti Gobbler I know".</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">"Oh".</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">"Dick" I reiterated, putting the issue to bed in a way only boys and men can.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Half a cold meat-ish filled taco clamped between my teeth I forfeited my Battle of the Boots and raced out the door into the crisp December morn, a blur of obsidian starkly contrasting against the crisp white canvas of rapidly falling snow that blanketed the world. It registered briefly that I was stranding the friends I had chauffeured here, but you know how the old proverb goes: "Fuck 'em".</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">I felt...off. My skin was sensitive and I was slightly feverish, and my insides seemed to twitch. I assumed it was my injuries from the night before </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">competing for attention</span>, those both self inflicted and sustained by the steroid monkeys. I ached all over from bruising. My liver screamed. I tenderly folded myself into Castle Greyskull looking very much like a dog fucking whiskey bottle, and headed for work. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">It became apparent almost immediately that I was not going to be on time for work, or anything anytime soon for that matter. The snow storm had rapidly upgraded to bonafide blizzard conditions; visibility was non-existent, and I could feel mighty Greyskull's tires sliding on the un-plowed highway. I was crawling. And I was really not feeling very well. Hoping that the city streets might be plowed, or at least provide me safer passage, I abandoned the motorway for the city streets. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Big mistake.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Apparently the suddenness and volume of precipitation caught the locals who experienced this phenomenon Every Single Winter completely off guard, notably the husk of the SUV that was strewn across the fast lane, and the transport truck on its side across the other 2 lanes. It was a pallet of crimson brake-lights from a hundred other vehicles, more now piling up behind me, hemming me in. There was nowhere to go, no way to turn around, trapped. I was six shades of fucked.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Turns out my detour on a road to nowhere was not my first mistake. Apparently multiple pitchers of recycled beer chased with seven late night taco's that were constructed using caulking guns and drowning in hot sauce had that particular honor.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Without warning my colon painfully cramped as if it was on the receiving end of an Indian rug burn (get off your Cultural Insensitivity soapbox before you fall and hurt yourself Sally...that's what it was called and that's what it felt like). My guts were roiling like a sack of agitated asps. My skin was on fire, it hurt to be wearing clothes and I started to shake all over. I was perspiring profusely, a cold, shiver inducing sweat. I was very unwell indeed. There was sudden movement in my intestines. I looked around in a panic at the sea of unmoving cars, willing them to part like the Red Sea. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Oh I was most definitely in a tight spot, the proverbial pickle.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Another seismic cramp seized my insides, accompanied by audible movement. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Oh god oh god I wasn't going to make it! </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">I clenched.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">In a flash, I flung open the heavy door of Castle Greyskull and bolted from my car into the middle of the stationary bumper to bumper traffic. This wasn't so much a conscious decision as it was a necessary but involuntary action. My hands already fumbling with the pentagram buckle of my belt I made a tight-cheeked shuffle through the metal gridlock and climbed the snow-bank on the far side of the crowded road. Painfully aware of the hundred plus pair of eyes now raptly watching me through their windshields, pants now around my ankles, I squatted. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">Even in this devastating moment of urgency concern for my reputation crowded my thoughts. If I faced the traffic my face would be on display. If I turned my back to them what was on display would be far more graphic. I opted for the not ideal compromise of my profile.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">I violently voided my bowels in front of the multitude of horrified spectators, relief washing over me in an awesome wave. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">As I wallowed in my own molten putrescence I inadvertently made eye contact with the aghast motorist directly next to me, her mouth agape in an O of shock and disgust. No turning back now, any shred of dignity lay steaming behind me, I scooped up a pile of snow and cleaned myself up as best I could. She kept staring. I didn't know what else to do, so I winked at her. I don't know why I did, but as god as my witness I fucking winked at her.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">She was either going to have years of therapy bills, or one hell of a story to tell of the man in black in the snowstorm who<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"> was Jackson Pollocking all over the place. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "courier new";">This was not a happy little accident. No sir, not at all. </span></span><br />
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</span>The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-23356510580320390152018-03-01T13:36:00.001-08:002018-03-02T07:11:16.011-08:00DAY 108: WHAT IS BEST IN LIFE?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">In one of the winters of my mid-twenties discontent a series of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">unexpected events along with some hedonistic decisions and a skewed </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">sense of what is hilarious resulted in the single most ignominious </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">moment of my life. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">They say we only die once. I disagree. We die countless deaths on the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">way to the last one: of despair, embarrassment, humiliation. Come now </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">and join me in a tale of one of those petite morts. A messy one at </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">that.</span>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">On this particular night the goal was simple if not routine at </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">this point of our misspent youth: Crush our enemies, see them driven </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">before us, and to hear the lamentations of their women. The reality of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">which translated into: consume copious amounts of cheap recycled </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">beer, cavort with nubile young ladies with low standards whom have </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">hopefully also consumed copious amounts of cheap recycled <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">beer</span>, and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">avoid getting into any type of trouble that may result in grievous </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">bodily harm being inflicted upon our fragile persons. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "courier new";">The best laid plans of mice and men and all that flowery Robbie Burns stuff. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Let’s just rip this bandage off and roll around in the salt a while. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">On a chill winter’s night many moons ago, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">five of us piled into Castle Greyskull, my bench-seated behemoth of a K-Car, and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">set a course for the University located several cities away where some</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"> of our more scholarly comrades endeavoured to increase their </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">intellect through the alcohol induced culling of slower brain cells, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">addition through subtraction. The atmosphere in Greyskull was </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">light and jovial, the banter what you’d expect from guys who have let </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">you sleep in their bathtub so as not to get vomit on their carpet: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">proclamations of ill-gotten shotgun privileges, boasts of the bevy </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">of buxom babes that would be bedded, and accusations directed at those <span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">who smelled that which most certainly had been dealt. There was an </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">incessant cacophony of complaints regarding the soundtrack I selected </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">for our sojourn: non-stop Goth (not to be confused with Emo, which is </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">puerile and utter shite). I was a stalwart supporter of the Doom & </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Gloom Movement, and attired myself accordingly: All black, all the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">time...black shitkicker boots, black pants (since we’re talking shame </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I’ll admit that I had on occasion worn leather pants, this, however, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">was not one of them), and black t-shirts advertising my adoration of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">bands that made you want to either drink a quart of bleach or stand at the edge of the vertiginous abyss in</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"> the pouring rain and scream in rage until the veins in your neck <span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">pop like a gamma radiated Henry Rollins. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">My darker musical and fashion tastes were a source </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">of bemusement and harassment from my friends who were rockin’ their </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Dockers to the likes of U2 at the time, but my car, my rules, my </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">tunes, so shut yer cakehole!</span>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Upon entering our less than studious amigos’ hovel our olfactory senses </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">were assaulted by the not unfamiliar yet strangely comforting aroma </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">that was equal parts stale beer and fast food, and the by-products of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">both. Pleasantries such us “What’s up Gaylord?” and “Suck it, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">douchetard” dispensed, we set out on foot for the nearest </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">watering hole. As I look back in the retelling I’m envisioning us </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">confidently strutting through the city streets in Tarantino-esque slow </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">motion set to a soundtrack of some obscure yet totally badass 70s </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">song, and I encourage you to do the same. In reality we were a clumsy </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">staggering gaggle of awkward and unkempt 20-somethings tripping over </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">our Docs and desert boots and own self-importance. We engaged in the act </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">of Priming--the time-honored ritual of chugging as much cheap straight </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">liquor as possible prior to hitting the bar, maximizing our limited financial </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">resources and minimizing both our inhibitions and ability for critical </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">thinking. Our destination was an underground club that catered to </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">idealistic destitute students who still believed that the world was </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">their oyster and that they had invented thought. When I say “underground </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">club”, I don’t mean that it was some elitist enclave that </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">only the select Chosen had access to; I mean it was literally 20 feet </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">underground, a rickety flight of stairs leading to a windowless filthy </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">shithole, but it suited our purposes: no cover charge, cheap recycled </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">beer, and lots of young ladies going through a period of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">self-discovery and experimentation as a means of working through their low </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">self-esteem.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Of its many flaws and infractions this firetrap's most unforgivable crime was the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">music. Music is, was, and forever shall be an intrinsic and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">inseparable part of my life, but by the very nature of this being a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">university club DJ’d by university students, the soundtrack to our </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">evening sucked balls. In a futile attempt to educate the denizens of this earthbound Mos Eisley I implored the DJ to play anything by Bauhaus, Joy Division, Skinny Puppy, Sisters of Mercy....for all that is good and holy I'd even settle for a little Alien Sex Fiend! I was met with looks that vacillated between confusion and alarm.</span>
In a desperate bid to abate the harassment the now frightened maestro suggested a one-time only set of Nine Inch Nails, Rage Against The Machine, and Ministry. I could work with that. I magnanimously and drunkenly conceded and hit the sticky dance-floor. I flopped around like an angry epileptic octopus on amphetamines, creating a frightened berth around me. The only thing that I can attribute such commitment to this ugly piece of performance art would be a cathartic release of familial resentment and Catholic repression. Or the consumption of a legendary amount of alcohol. I say this because then, as now, I find dancing to be the most ridiculous of endeavours for a man to engage in even if you have the hips of Adrian Zmed and the moves of Deney Terrio combined. Which I did. In spades. But I digress.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;">My spasmolytic congress with the danceteria had left me overheated and drenched in perspiration, not all of it my own. One of my Docker rocking comrades commented that my face was red like a rose in a thorn bush, like all the colors of a royal flush. Beer and bourbon seeped from my pores, and my black uniform clung to me uncomfortably. The world began to tilt unnaturally. I needed to cool down, I needed fresh air. I headed to the base of the stairs, the only outlet for oxygen in this dungeon, and collapsed against the wall, one foot up, arms folded across my chest, unlit cigarette dangling from my mouth like a sullen James Dean, the embodiment of angst. I had just redesigned cool. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new";">As I gulped in what little air wafted through the entrance a gaggle of obviously first-year students reinventing themselves shambled in and cued up in an orderly line bristling with hormones and idealism in front of me. The head of the line, all adam's apple and acne, silently extended his drivers licence to me. Without pause I accepted it, squinted in affected scrutiny, handed it back and blandly declared "$2 cover tonight". The group unquestionably reached into their chained wallets and Hello Kitty purses and produced the cover charge which I promptly collected and pocketed, even making change for the future hipster in the oversized Dinosaur Jr tee. I remained staked out at the foot of the stairs repeating this ruse for the next 25 minutes, accepting ID and lucre until I had amassed $76. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new";">I knew my entrepreneurial venture was about to come to an abrupt and violent end when I spied four BOUSes (Bouncers Of Unusual Size)advancing towards me like a herd of ornery pachyderms and I was a wayward ivory poacher asking for directions. To their credit these knuckle-draggers were alarmingly fast for brutes lacking necks. I received several cursory sedating blows before I could attempt to explain I was just holding the money for a friend. Sausage like fingers closed around my Billy Idolesque coiffed 'do and dragged me up the flight of stairs, patrons calmly stepping aside as I was unceremoniously deposited onto the icy concrete of the parking lot. I'd danced this particular tango before and knew that retaliation was a fool's gambit. I opted to turtle, protecting my angelic punam, and feign death, patiently suffering the powerhouse kicks and punches that rained down upon my ribs, kidneys, spine and legs. The cro-mags eventually lost interest and lumbered off, celebrating another successful no-contest group assault. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new";">I waited until I could no longer hear the sound of them breathing through their mouths before (for the benefit of those who had witnessed this biblical smackdown) gingerly picking myself up and casually dusting myself off as if I had merely stopped to take a short nap on the pavement. I could taste my spleen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new";">Clutching my hard earned doorman money in my bleeding fist and cursing my friends that were oblivious to my impromptu exodus I limped towards the nearest fast-food establishment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new";">No enemies had been crushed. No nubile women lamented or cavorted. Trouble that resulted in <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">bodily harm was most decidedly not avoided.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new";">However, copious amounts of cheap beer was consumed. <span style="font-family: "courier new";">One out of three ain’t bad. <span style="font-family: "courier new";">And I was up 76 bucks! I'd call that a win!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new";">The best part? I haven't even gotten to the embarrassing part yet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new";"><br />To Be Continued</span></div>
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<br />The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-25572773027781115982015-05-04T15:04:00.001-07:002015-05-04T19:15:27.484-07:00DAY 107: VADER & LUKE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Word of advice, whenever somebody who trusts and looks up to you asks what happened to your closest friend and prodigious progeny that you just happened to have hacked up, completely severing 3 of his 4 major appendages during a lightsaber duel of epic proportions, and left them to die slowly in molten magma that agonizingly seared what remaining flesh they had, always always ALWAYS blame it on somebody else. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Lying: The Way of the Jedi</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">MAY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU!</span></span></div>
The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-86195182556816662102015-03-01T13:05:00.002-08:002015-03-01T13:12:43.977-08:00DAY 106: LIVE LONG & PROSPER<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2o7QJN-oYqZgMS4qjh3F88uQw4Rn6yqwuLcI6vZIYJI9nSyEqAbg8V7jxezVV3APeUsxeRf0D_4xTeyfZcaDYYRMFvLF6iuY0ygh3m_uFvFYNOuHFFCsK4uS6yoTJhdyKDcSlBLXekcg/s1600/Photo+25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2o7QJN-oYqZgMS4qjh3F88uQw4Rn6yqwuLcI6vZIYJI9nSyEqAbg8V7jxezVV3APeUsxeRf0D_4xTeyfZcaDYYRMFvLF6iuY0ygh3m_uFvFYNOuHFFCsK4uS6yoTJhdyKDcSlBLXekcg/s1600/Photo+25.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Leonard Nimoy passed away.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I'm not going to try to up my geek cred and tell you I'm not upset because I have attained Kolinahr. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Nor am I going to make reference to the Genesis planet.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And if anyone makes a "Beam me up Scotty" joke I may just go amok time on their ass.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I'm also not going to suggest the world lost a great actor, but instead perhaps an iconic one, and what was lost was what he represented to me.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I guess what I'm saying is Spock is dead.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And with him went part of my childhood.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Noted psychoanalyst Erik Erikson, who was disappointingly in no way the viking warrior his name suggests, put forth that who we become is shaped during our formative years between the ages of 0 and 11. We learn during this time about who we are and how we view the world, about guilt, and purpose, and identity. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am swinging swaggering adult proof of this. Sure I evolve and sort of mature, but the core concepts, the things that make me <u><i><b>ME</b></i></u>, haven't changed since I was a swinging swaggering kid with feathered hair and hand-me-down bellbottoms.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I still actively engage in the same neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie pursuits now that I did when I was but a knee high to a grasshopper nerdling, the foundation of which being science-fiction.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I firmly believe that many of us, The Chosen Ones, are born with a predilection for fantastical fanaticism, but if stifled it will wither and die like an unwatered Triffid. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My obsession with all things </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">outer-spacery</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> was far from malnourished. It was encouraged and nurtured by my father. This is likely due to the fact he had no one else to enjoy his own obsession with sci-fi. My mother by virtue of being my mother was a girl, and therefore had no interest or time for silly space operas. She preferred the reality-based shenanigans of Coronation Street. She couldn't get behind the concepts of alien races, sentient robots, or space exploration, yet had no problem swallowing the walk-on-water pill washed down with a tumbler of raise-the-dead. And my brother, The First Born, stayed in his room studying all day, scarfing down Jos Louis, and devising new ways to make my life a living hell.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So The Fat Man and I escaped our tormentors by submersing ourselves into the farscapes of science-fiction and fantasy.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We didn't see eye to eye on, well, anything really, except sci-fi. It was the one thing we actually did together. Our relationship outside of these moments was that of Lawgiver and Law-Breaker. We'd watch anything sci-fi from Buck Rogers and The Six Million Dollar Man (Bigfoot, baby!)to The Man From Atlantis and Quark. But our main staple, what we truly bonded over, were the exploits of Captain Kirk and the gallant crew of the USS Enterprise. It seemed to be on almost everyday in the 1970s, and we watched faithfully. Together. Side by side. My dad favored womanizing problem-solving-through-violence Kirk because he fancied himself somewhat of a lothario himself. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I was a fan of that green blooded hobgoblin </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Spock, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">as he straddled the lines of sci-fi and fantasy, and let logic prevail instead of letting surrounding negativity get him down. The ears and the nerve pinch were pretty sweet too.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Leonard Nimoy kept popping up in in these 22 to 45 minute geek excursions into escapism my father and I took together during my childhood years. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Nimoy didn't just bring us Spock, o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">h no</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">He brought us Paris in Mission Impossible.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">He brought us the new age self help guru David Kibner in one of my all-time favourite movies, Invasion of the Body Snatchers.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">He brought us In Search Of...(Bigfoot, baby!)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">He unabashedly brought us his vocal stylings to the Ballad of Bilbo Baggins.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Nimoy brought the world all of these things, but most important to me he brought my father and I closer together, he brought us common ground.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">When I heard the news of Nimoy's passing I immediately wanted to talk to my father. I was 4 digits into dialing his number when I remembered he too had also passed on recently. He had boldly gone...wherever. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"I guess he can tell him himself" I said aloud to no one, but the idea of that meeting made me smile.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Live long and prosper indeed.</span></div>
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</span>The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-72275668165347052642015-02-13T03:59:00.001-08:002015-02-13T03:59:30.463-08:00DAY 105: FRIDAY THE 13TH <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">By now I'm sure you've cottoned on to my love of horror movies. (If not, go back and read Days 2, 28, 61, 62, and 88....go ahead, I'll wait). I've been asked time and again "Why?", and "What is wrong with you?". I don't really have a nice convenient answer to either of those. Part of the answer lies in the childhood empathy I felt for the classic monsters that were persecuted for being different. Another reason is the addictive rush that comes with fear. I think the most succinct and honest answer is, in the words of that sagacious seafarer, "I am what I am". I wish it was more poetic or complicated. I know a lot of people don't get it, but I don't get a lot of people. I also don't get how Adam Sandler and Tatum Channing have careers that lasted more than one movie. Or how no one else seems to notice that Penelope Cruz is a giant Praying Mantis.<br />
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I'm not that creepy kid anymore but I'm still drawn to the horror scene, if there is a thing. I think its just habit now. I watched so many creature features in my formative years that I forever have an association with them. They are an indelible part of me and my youth. Going back to that slime covered well where unnameable things slither and flop is like going back to my childhood.<br />
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Leaving childhood in the first place is not something I ever felt was mandatory. I know I have to get older, but I made a conscious decision early on that I wasn't going to grow up. The things I took delight in as a child still entertain me today. Why would I ever stop reading comics, or enjoying science-fiction, or grin ear to ear watching Harryhausen's Centaur thoroughly kick the Griffin's ass? Why would anyone actively choose to invest in work over these things after already wasting so much of their life there!<br />
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In the summer of 1983 I think the fear and anxiety of leaving behind childhood and by default longheld childhood friendships preyed heavily upon the collective psyche of my tightknit consortium of fellow outcasts. It was our last summer together before going away to separate highschools. And we knew it.<br />
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After 9 years in the trenches together it was time to break up the band, whether we wanted to or not. 2 Pauls, 2 Johns, a Ted, a Mark, and me. On the surface we made assurances to each other that we would remain eternal brothers, bonds that can’t be broken, but part of us knew that things would not be the same. We were moving forward, gonna meet new people, make new friends. Hopefully many of them girls. That was a secret sanctum I wanted access to in a big way. I’d seen enough movies to know that teenage girls gathered together in their bedrooms clad only in their undergarments to talk about boys and have spontaneous pillow fights. They had no reservations about going topless in front of each other as well. Oh, and third base, that was something else I was keen to explore. I wasn't entirely sure what it entailed but I was pretty damn sure I wanted it. I was fairly convinced that 2nd base involved boobage, and I'd already tried my hand at that, literally. I had furtively copped a 3 second feel on Julie Hubert at our grade 8 graduation dance. It felt in my hand how I'm pretty sure my cheekbone felt in hers when she clobbered me. I was the resident expert on 2nd base amongst my peers.<br />
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As the first day of our Great Secondary School Adventure loomed ever nearer one of our numbers, Mark, propounded that we gather as a group that Saturday evening in his rumpus room for a movie marathon. We'd order pizza, gorge on Nacho Doritos and Penny Candy (which was actually a nickel) like Big Foot, Bottle Caps, and Red Hots, and over stimulate on Swamp Water, an unearthly concoction of every available soda in the house. We all agreed that that sounded A-O-fuckin-K, Cool Beans.<br />
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"You guys can all stay over too!" he excitedly blurted. And then his eyes widened and his mouth clamped shut. He hadn't realized what he had said until the words had left his mouth.<br />
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Whoa.<br />
<br />
Stop right there.<br />
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"Whataya mean 'stay over'? Like a sleepover?" the word veritably dripped with contempt from one of the Paul's lips.<br />
"Whaaaat? No! No no no. All I meant was we are gonna party all night and its gonna be late so if you want, you can just like...crash...or something". Years of Dungeon Mastering had made Mark a most nimble master of improvisation.<br />
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Crashing. Crashing was something we could get behind. It was not at all like a juvenile kiddy sleepover. So we all went home and asked our moms if we could crash at Mark's on Saturday.<br />
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We arrived at Mark's at 7pm, the plan was to watch 3 movies back to back until midnight. I was responsible for providing the pirated VHS movies (obviously). I had selected releases from the previous year, with a Killer Inbred Mountain Man theme, a classic and oft overlooked sub-genre I am still fond of to this day.<br />
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The primer was the little seen Canadian gem Humongous, a personal favourite, but the weakest of the offerings. This acted mostly as background noise as we tore into the pizza like starved vultures feeding on carrion, pepperoni and pizza sauce dangling from our maws like dripping viscera.<br />
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Our bellies distended, clothes smeared with grease, we communicated through belches and monosyllabic grunts, life imitating art as the credits rolled on Mutant Hillbilly movie # 1. We were not boys, we were all that is man.<br />
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As I slammed the 2nd mutant masterpiece into the top loader, another unheralded tour de force, Just Before Dawn, Mark's older brother Gerry kicked open the door and made us all jump, our collective prepubescent screams sounding very much like girls. Gerry was a lot like Chet from Weird Science, except with man-boob bitch-tits; if you haven't seen John Hughes' magnum opus I'm not sure why we're even talking. Gerry was universally disliked, even by his parents, and he knew it, and used his considerable weight to facilitate the venting of his resentment. He wanted desperately to be accepted, even by us kids, but was incapable of being a human being, and all attempts at coolness manifested as extreme douchiness. He had also been caught masturbating in the boys room and had to change highschools mid-semester.<br />
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By way of greeting he flicked Mark's ears and said "Hey gaylords, you been playing spin the bottle with each other all night?". No one made eye contact. Direct eye contact is seen as a sign of aggression in the animal world, inviting challenge.<br />
"Leave us alone Gerry" mumbled Mark, his face taking on a crimson blush, embarrassment for sharing this DNA quickly turning to rage.<br />
"Or what, Dickweed?" Gerry sneered, looking for an audience that had found interest in the frayed edges of blankets and the address on the empty grease spotted pizza box.<br />
Mark's eyes flashed. As a younger brother myself I knew that reckless look. "Or I'll make damn sure your new school finds out you transferred there for playing a little 5-on-1...JERK OFF!".<br />
We wanted to laugh but knew it wasn't safe. Prudence, boys, prudence.<br />
Gerry's eyes narrowed to two fiery slits, his mouth a tight white line. He wasn't breathing. The carotid artery visibly throbbing. His eventual exhalation carried a warning that sounded more like the hiss of an agitated cobra than human speech, "When you least expect it, expect it". And he left, deflated. A silent cheer went up around the world from all younger siblings.<br />
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We broke the heavy silence with whooping guffaws, John # 2 braying like a wounded donkey, and each took turns high-fiving Mark, He Who Had Won The Day. This small victory had really lifted our joviality and camaraderie to a new level. We watched Just Before Dawn with gusto, laughing at the decapitations and cheering on the deformed hillbilly psychopaths as they hacked through the disposable 30 year old teenagers.<br />
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On to the main event, the coup de grace, the one we'd all been waiting for: Friday the 13th Part 3!!! In 3-D, except it wasn't, but Ted insisted on wearing 3-D glasses anyway because that's just who Ted was. We were excited and a little bit nervous because we had all watched Part 2 the year before and it had scared the living bejeezus outta us, including me. I still get a little creeped out whenever a dude approaches me wearing a pillowcase over his head, carrying a pitchfork.<br />
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Corded remote in hand, I reached up from my throne of privilege in the recliner to turn the lights off.<br />
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And that's when Mark's sister Robin bounced into the room, "Hi guys" she beamed. We all knew Robin from when she went to our school; she was a couple of years older than us and was already in highschool. She was alright, never gave us the gears like Gerry did, but none of us except Mark had seen her since she left our school 2 years ago. It was apparently a very productive 2 years because now she was alright!<br />
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As she stood under the plastic shield of the panel lighting, her blonde feathered hair full of luster and bounce, her Jordache jeans snuggly hugging an ass that wouldn't quit and legs that went all the way up, and breasts actual breasts as god as my witness that forced Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons to opposite ends of her three-quarter KISS concert tee, I fell in love.<br />
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"What are you guys watching" she cooed.<br />
"Scary stuff" was Mark's curt attempt at dissuasion.<br />
"Ooooh, I love getting spooked. Mind if I watch?". She loved getting spooked. My heart skipped a beat.<br />
"Seriously, its really gory stuff", Mark rebuked.<br />
"Just let her watch man" I interjected. Robin smiled the most beautiful smile, and then I swear she kind of gave me an appraising look. Mark just gave me a funny look. "Come on man, its Jason!" I said by way of non-explanation of my actions. I could see Mark's internal struggle, he was teetering. I resorted to an old standby "Seriously man, no ticky no washy", this always made Mark laugh, and none of us new why, including Mark. He grinned "Hit play gwai lo! Ja-son! Ja-son! Ja-son!".<br />
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I turned off the lights and Robin rested her world class derriere on the arm of my chair. She was practically sitting on top of me!<br />
<br />
At the opening Ch-ch-ch-kill-kill-kills Robin squeezed my shoulder. My pants became suddenly two sizes too small. With each appearance of Jason, trading in his linens for the now iconic hockey mask for the 1st time, her arms wrapped tighter around mine, and she slid farther down the arm of the chair until she was actually sitting in the recliner with me. None of the guys noticed because they were glued to the screen and freaking right the fuck out. Her nails were digging into me and it hurt like hell, and I was extremely twisted and uncomfortable, squeezed into the arm of the chair. This. Was. Awesome.<br />
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I never wanted this movie or night to end. If only Jason could cut a swath of nubile young flesh forever and ever. But alas, the movie had climaxed and I wasn't far off. The lights came on and Robin disentangled herself from me and stood up with a demur "Sorry" as I rubbed my numb arm. I just grinned goofily up at her, at a loss of words, for the first time in my life. "Thanks guys, goodnight", and just like that she was gone. It was over.<br />
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As we settled in for the night we discussed our favourite parts, the consensus being a tie between one of the victims having their head crushed and his eye flying at us in startling 2-D, and the dude getting sliced in half with a machete while walking on his hands . Even though we had just finished watching the movie minutes ago, most of the discussion started with the phrase "Remember the part when...?". Then we got to talking about what WE would do if confronted with a horribly disfigured backwoods maniac, but my mind kept drifting back to Robin. Had she checked me out, or had I imagined that?<br />
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It was after midnight and we were all pretty tired, but with the lights out, in the basement of an unfamiliar house, we were all pretty freaked out. I'm sure we all wanted to suggest turning a light on at some point, but there was no way any of us would be the 1st to speak up; we were heading to highschool in a few weeks, we were gonna be TEENAGERS, not scared little kids leaving the safety and comfort of childhood behind for chrissakes!<br />
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The only reason I know that we fell asleep is because we were unceremoniously awoken when the door was kicked open. There, framed by wood-paneling, artistically lit from the hallway light behind, stood a hulking figure in a hockey mask. John # 1 screamed "JASON!" in a piercing castrato. John # 2 pissed his pants but denies it to this day, insisting he fumbled in the dark and spilled Swamp Water in his crotch. Ted put on his 3-D glasses.<br />
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While everyone else froze, or urinated, or experienced the world in red and green, I heard a serpentine voice in the back of my head repeat a threat from only a few hours ago "When you least expect it, expect it"....Gerry the Masturbator!<br />
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Mark had already earned his hero status for the day, it was my turn. My plan was simple: I was going to throw something at Gerry that he'd have to duck, then charge him and tackle him, ripping off the hockey mask in a Scooby Doo reveal. When Mark and the other fellas realized it was Gerry they'd all pile on and kick his fat ass.<br />
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I sprang into action.<br />
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I launched a half full 2 litre bottle of RC Cola and began to run at our would be tormentor. And then things went sideways. He didn't duck, the plastic bottle had gained considerable momentum and hit him square between the eyes of the goalie mask. As he started to fall backwards my socked feet hit the polished wood of the hallway and I lost all control, spastically colliding with my target mid descent. My flailing hands pressed into his chest as he hit the ground and the wind rushed out of him with a resounding "Oooof!". My hands still pressed into his fleshy chest and I squeezed and twisted his man boobs with all my might. The Mega Purple Nurple. He screamed like a girl. A banshee-like wail. It was...upsetting.<br />
<br />
He slapped my hands away, bucked me off, and ripped off the hockey mask in one fluid angry motion. Beneath the mask was not the disfigured undead son of Pamela Vorhees. Nor was it Gerry of the five knuckle shuffle. I only had a second to register it was Robin before she slammed the hard plastic mask into my face and called me a fucking asshole.<br />
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And so ended my first love before it really began. At least I was still the resident expert on 2nd base, and then some.<br />
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</span>The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-37715903338573915132015-01-14T10:31:00.000-08:002015-02-08T13:08:11.742-08:00DAY 104: AMERICAN HORROR STORY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">2014 was not a very good year. As a matter of fact it sucked balls. Seven shades of suck to be exact. It was scheming and duplicitous, it's chicanery boundless. If I’d heard it laugh I’m sure it would have sounded like “MUAH-HA-HA-HA-HAAAAA”. 2014 was Snidley Whiplash.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We started referring to the year in review as The Show, an abbreviation of The Horror Show, The Shit Show, The Gong Show…take your pick.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It started out of the gate with the loss of my father. It was sudden and unexpected, but not entirely surprising. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My old man was a larger than life character: big voice, big laugh, and appetites surpassed only by his girth. Compromise and moderation were completely foreign concepts to him. He was a man of excesses, and unlike Jenny Craig or the Bill Collectors, they finally caught up to him. He lived life by his own terms, right up to the end, and that gives me some comfort. Pops was a good dude, and I’ll miss the stubborn, ornery, fat bastard.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Not done with me yet, in a move that critics described as “below the belt” and akin to “pouring copious amounts of salt into a raw, gaping, oozing wound that also happens to be located below the belt”, 2014 was the year I lost my best friend and family pup of 14 years. To some she was The B-Dog, to others Buffy, but to us she was simply The Boo, and she was tits. Again this was unexpected, out of the blue. One day she was there, the next, her Neighborhood-Watch Post an empty bed of dander and memories. Those of you who have been with me long enough know that I put more stock into animals than I do people and The Boo was a member of my family. 14 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; color: #141823; line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">years of unconditional friendship and companionship, she brought us nothing but happiness. We had a great run Boo, we will miss you too.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">A lurking, skulking </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">2014</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> recognized I was limping like a wounded gazelle ripe for the culling, and next targeted my meager finances.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I was forced to make some emergency repairs to my humble domicile; The Bat Cave needed an unplanned, unforeseen overhaul. The leaking Bat-Windows needed to be replaced, and the antiquated Bat-A/C and Bat-Furnace both went tits up and new ones needed to be installed. Add to this </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">the funerary and legal costs from my father's abrupt exodus and the absoludicrous veterinary bills I incurred out of desperation, for a grand total of $You're Completely Fucked. Cleaned out. Destitute. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Sprinkle all this with a technological upgrade cluster-fuck of unprecedented magnitude at work that has rendered my once meaningful and satisfying job mind-meltingly insufferable, the passing of a family friend, and the escalating desiderata of a bat-shit crazy mother and I give you 2014's World Famous Sodomy and Offal Pie.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I'm not looking for condolences, cliched words of encouragement, or <hugs>, although I'm not adverse to anyone sending a homemade lasagna, or bawdy photographs (not you WaxMyMonkey69, respect the court order). </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My old man used to say to me before he left this shitty world that you can find sympathy in but one place: between “Shit” and “Syphilis” in the dictionary. Sage words fat man, sage words indeed. I’m only telling you this to let you know where I've been and assuage your concerns. I'</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">ve not been maudlin, mired in melancholy, or wallowing in a wading pool of what should have been. I'm not listening to The Smiths Greatest Hits or suddenly given to prose.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> I wasn't absent due to a chronic case of the Mondays. I was just fucking exhausted.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I was tired and couldn't give it my all. I didn't want to be the equivalent of seasons 7 through 9 of The X-Files. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The world has become accustomed to an expected level of Awesome from me and I wasn't going to half-ass it. I mean too much to you.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px;">But now I’m back. Give me some sugar, baby.</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Death is a part of life, the part that makes living worthwhile. And loss serves as a reminder of what you still have.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Sometimes you gotta get knocked down just so you can come up swinging. Perspective. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So when you climb aboard the Pork-Chop Express and are barrelling down the freeway of life, and you think you see Snidely Whiplash in the rearview twirling his mustache, you just drift those 18 wheels of mayhem onto the soft gravel strewn shoulder and give that greasy fucker a good old fashioned dustin’ and just keep on truckin'! </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Only look back to see how far you have come and what you have left in the dust.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Just remember what ol' Jack Burton does when the earth quakes, and the poison arrows fall from the sky, and the pillars of Heaven shake. Yeah, Jack Burton just looks that big ol' storm right square in the eye and he says, "Give me your best shot, pal. I can take it."</span></div>
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The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-5916758308024717762014-06-14T11:04:00.000-07:002014-08-31T11:05:44.630-07:00DAY 103: VINCENT & JULES<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Get it?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Nah, I ain't citrus, I just don't dig on rind, that's all.</span></div>
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The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-60806415285975842232014-05-04T19:02:00.000-07:002014-05-05T19:05:47.084-07:00DAY 102: C-3PO<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz7hgZNdcWcsty2WmznzHLP91WURYP8WCxXpJUi-0GlUsXOkQ3MZbhlB86E9WC-po7KvQbQ7uBtyOX9kFySxhDpwpfnri87xEHkZYYT-SXZKao5JIV4eHPvhwIk56ZX5DR3NHKrcNXL6E/s1600/Photo+19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz7hgZNdcWcsty2WmznzHLP91WURYP8WCxXpJUi-0GlUsXOkQ3MZbhlB86E9WC-po7KvQbQ7uBtyOX9kFySxhDpwpfnri87xEHkZYYT-SXZKao5JIV4eHPvhwIk56ZX5DR3NHKrcNXL6E/s1600/Photo+19.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">C-3PO, a protocol droid fluent in over six million forms of communication, specializing in human-cyborg relations, and always has Anthony Daniels inside him, thinks Luke's hair is <i>'to die for'</i>, and hopes your May the Fourth is <b><i><u>Faaabuloooous</u>!</i></b></span></span>The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-24424406888462424512014-03-19T19:58:00.002-07:002014-03-19T19:58:37.140-07:00DAY 101: THE YELLOW PERIL<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-AFNS3BVN8rYrC4Bu0Py_TxqNRhyphenhyphenOFBgfWp4DgPq6OXCsQJJGv0y_6ZIjzOf2wKmQs9KnuuAiR61YZ8W1AmsdaEh6bZT_r7WNkZWKYsno7TTsin7Bs1xOvDJ22hMIjD-2uoak2Uck4k/s1600/Photo+70.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-AFNS3BVN8rYrC4Bu0Py_TxqNRhyphenhyphenOFBgfWp4DgPq6OXCsQJJGv0y_6ZIjzOf2wKmQs9KnuuAiR61YZ8W1AmsdaEh6bZT_r7WNkZWKYsno7TTsin7Bs1xOvDJ22hMIjD-2uoak2Uck4k/s1600/Photo+70.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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It doesn't matter what color shirt you wear,</div>
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your bellybutton lint is <i>always</i> blue.</div>
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Think about it.</div>
The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-82209847987740184262014-02-13T13:06:00.000-08:002014-03-13T13:07:10.522-07:00DAY 100: FLASHDANCE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir6SiKgQXVqYCkZBP_Fa0x5uVg74rhyphenhyphenKirVArC33XSP4qtggH0eE97dNMzLi4gNRYHWn1-t46G-VMeXKIvdPp1gjpL85HKPIHb-5ym0kjAr6lb1DzjBoZL9cU7VJPeljOfVWaZUh2lQwI/s1600/Photo+19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir6SiKgQXVqYCkZBP_Fa0x5uVg74rhyphenhyphenKirVArC33XSP4qtggH0eE97dNMzLi4gNRYHWn1-t46G-VMeXKIvdPp1gjpL85HKPIHb-5ym0kjAr6lb1DzjBoZL9cU7VJPeljOfVWaZUh2lQwI/s1600/Photo+19.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Well hello Mr. Fancypants! Shirt of the Day celebrates another milestone! 100 days of my life in 100% cotton! You are soooo fucking welcome.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Please, come, let us celebrate all that is me! Some libations, a little night-life, some dancing....</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Unfortunately I am in dispose being a magnificent bastard, so as per our prenuptial contract (and completely </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 18px;">unbeknownst to her), my lovely bride will be my supposititious understudy.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 18px;">Let's meet her shall we.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Adorable but feisty Carla is an orphaned blue collar worker by day and an aspiring dancer by night. Just a Steel-Town girl on a Saturday night, looking for the fight of her life, really. Truth be told, she's a friggin' maniac, a maniac on the goddamn floor. She's dancing like she's never danced before. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And I....I have a giant bucket of water.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Yay Me!</span></span>The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-23500171271819727902014-01-16T14:11:00.000-08:002014-03-09T12:26:52.121-07:00DAY 99: WALTER<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij8mVQ9K13zXmdrZ6RFRfzPrM65OijveKYJk8LmVGvuiwcHRN_0LTzCJIfsufUjA4hvRv3LRvbVv30HPh2J8vKQ8S86SW1wjoBwejMyuPFfUjJ6HkRWNoE-70eyYJaGC9LQygpb5EoYCU/s1600/Photo+38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij8mVQ9K13zXmdrZ6RFRfzPrM65OijveKYJk8LmVGvuiwcHRN_0LTzCJIfsufUjA4hvRv3LRvbVv30HPh2J8vKQ8S86SW1wjoBwejMyuPFfUjJ6HkRWNoE-70eyYJaGC9LQygpb5EoYCU/s1600/Photo+38.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Beards. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Loathsome things.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And yeah, well, you know, that's just like my opinion, man, but I think you've cottoned on to the reality that my opinions are the right ones. Nuff said.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I pleaded to The Four Winds to hear my prayers to rid the planet of the resurgence of this shaggy scourge. Turns out The Four Winds are big Zach Galifianakis fans and instead the prevalence of this heinous hirsute hipster "accessory" intensified. They were everywhere, multiplying like New York sewer rats for the face.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I just couldn't fathom how someone could look themselves in the mirror whilst donning a filthy facial facade that screams LAZY and DIRTY and think "Damn, that lack of effort looks gooooood". Its a sign of one having given up. Like trackpants for your chin.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So I took it to the streets and began to poll. I found a coffeeshop that had an abundance of "Share The Road" bumper stickers, so I knew I was in the right place, but I still had to discern between the homeless and the hipster. It wasn't that hard once I closed my eyes and listened for those who described food as "artisan", wine as "oaky", and both mispronounced and misused "bourgeoisie".</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The younger generation told me they feel it makes them look experienced, distinguished. Mature. Like a seriously padded resume that you hope a potential employer doesn't look too closely at or follow up with your references and see you for the fraud you are.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Sadly, the older gents were either following orders from the spousal "boss" or wanted to compete with the youngsters, blindly following the trends in a desperate grab at the fountain of youth, a pathetic attempt at relevance.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Lies. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Lies for your face.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">If you've been following for awhile you have probably sung the praises of my thoughtful insights, and perhaps </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">boasted to your friends that you know me</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">. So you know that I traffic in the truth. I want you to squint your ears and listen closely as we get down to the real nitty gritty. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Put down your fair trade coffee served by someone with a permanent sneer of minimum wage superiority, and close your laptop upon which you have been fervently tweeting other people's ideas as though they were your own. I hope you pick up what I am about to lay down.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">You don't look experienced or mature. You don't look distinguished or hip.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">You look hairy.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Fat guy, you are only fooling yourself if you think that a sculpted angular beard is tantamount to a jaw-line. I can see the extra chin underneath those bristles.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">If your partner encourages you to grow a beard its because they desperately want you to cover your face. You are likely very unfortunate looking, or they are simply just sick of looking at you.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">You know what a beard really is? Its a sieve</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> for your face. T</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">he equivalent of a disgusting kitchen sink drain trap. It catches crumbs and snags wet food in its bristly weave like a fishermans net. It soaks up that vegan and gluten free coconut bacon and kale protein-shake with a wheat-germ & pomegranate booster blast that you had for lunch. Last week. Drool and spit and snot and other bodily fluids are absorbed like the quicker picker upper and flavor saver rolled into one disgusting furry disease carrying </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">petrie dish under your lip.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Of course there are exceptions to every rule. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">ZZ Top. Green Arrow. Chuck Norris. Gandalf. The Amish...they all get a pass.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Beards. Mark 'em zero Donny.</span></div>
The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-58202783485998315632013-12-31T11:28:00.000-08:002013-12-31T11:28:13.807-08:00DAY 98: CAP FOR PREZ<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTroDnDmGM-jmvPCOprNINzUTm1qd6qyqIzDs9LUI9xROes28TCLu6g0Xd7iN-xcJi_puc5UZc7IxdDM-2-v6nCcwEEpadpce0tPP37v8BjtCeEIpVjh8zhlpAh40rCkzxlVuGa6nXy-g/s1600/Photo+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTroDnDmGM-jmvPCOprNINzUTm1qd6qyqIzDs9LUI9xROes28TCLu6g0Xd7iN-xcJi_puc5UZc7IxdDM-2-v6nCcwEEpadpce0tPP37v8BjtCeEIpVjh8zhlpAh40rCkzxlVuGa6nXy-g/s400/Photo+16.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I don't make New Years resolutions, the world is already filled with enough broken promises. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Manhattan was not made into a walled off maximum security prison in 1988.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">You neither called nor respected me the next day.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And I still don't own a flying car </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">OR</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> personal jet-pack.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">What I will do instead is continue to fill you with awe by regaling you with tales and truths about <b>Me</b>.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">When I was a teenager I really </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">really </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">wanted to sleep with Marie Osmond.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Happy New Years everyone! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">(especially you Marie)</span></div>
<br />The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-35207014434181207172013-12-31T10:56:00.001-08:002015-03-01T10:31:28.259-08:00DAY 97: BOO-BERRY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNv6A-fR6uBdEN18WZM84UeLSBUgOdoZxvFkGhLhtjn9ibaCllcELV5GGfBVBBe_SZ9LL2b-k9A18n2MGCAoDpaYEML80BxO9ak8BU3OVT7Rt-vgm0APSz9Ad9QXFArby7_fRcxHNYJNI/s1600/Photo+22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNv6A-fR6uBdEN18WZM84UeLSBUgOdoZxvFkGhLhtjn9ibaCllcELV5GGfBVBBe_SZ9LL2b-k9A18n2MGCAoDpaYEML80BxO9ak8BU3OVT7Rt-vgm0APSz9Ad9QXFArby7_fRcxHNYJNI/s1600/Photo+22.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">When I was a little boy my mother used to call me "Doubting Thomas". This wasn't because my name is actually Thomas or Tom or Tommy. This cumbersome moniker was bestowed upon me due to the fact that I didn't have faith in anything, and also because religion played a big role in my mother's life and invariably managed to seep into everything she did and said.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">For those of you unfamiliar with the story of Doubting Thomas, its from the bible you illiterate heathens. And also, you're going to hell. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The story goes that after Jesus died he rose from the dead and crashed a party the apostles were having, but booked before Thomas got back from a wine and fish run. The apostles told Thomas that he had just missed the dead and risen messiah, to which he responded "I calleth bullshit, thou dost yanketh my chain". The rest of JCs entourage insisted it was true but Tommyboy was having none of it and refused to believe them based on their word alone, and wouldn't budge until he had actually seen the man himself, and even then he felt it morbidly necessary to <i>feel</i> the wounds in his hands, feet, and side. Jesus called his bluff and popped in again a week later when he knew Thomas was home and said "Stick your fingers in me". Needless to say Thomas freaked, and Jesus said those who believe without the need for proof are tits.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I disagreed.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I related to Thomas. Skepticism is healthy and I enter into most situations with a general disbelief and elevated level of distrust. I need to question things and people, I'm just not going to take the word of a stranger or manufacturer. There is always fine print to be analyzed, ignorance to be banished, and people to be proven wrong.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><div style="font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I never just trust the Expiry Date on perishable food stuffs. My milk doesn't know what day it is. I'll decide when something is Best Before thank you very much...I question, I experiment, I sample before coming to a conclusion. As a general rule, milk should not be chewed.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I never trust the results of our bathroom scale that has a cartoon picture of a Pokemonesque squirrel family on it joyfully and illiterately exclaiming "Wo Love Family" (yes, "Wo") that we purchased for $3 at a Korean bodega because through repeated trials the results have my weight as 127 lbs, 204 lbs, and 184 lbs all on the same day. Oh, and I also question its accuracy because it has a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">cartoon picture of a Pokemonesque squirrel family on it joyfully and illiterately exclaiming "Wo Love Family" and we purchased it for $3 at a Korean bodega.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">(For my fanbase who need to know everything about me, I weigh myself on the electronic scale </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">in the examination room</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> at the vets whenever I'm left to my own devices ...my weight fluctuates between "Awesome" and "Perfect").</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This pragmatic precociousness used to </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">crease my parents something fierce</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">, but then again most of what I did as a child used to frustrate the shit out of them</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">. It was embarrassing for them, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">and by small-town default the entire community, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">to discover</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> at Parent-Teacher Night </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">that not only had I been openly and publicly questioning the nuns on the plausibility of the bible, but also forging my fathers signature on the notes I was being sent home with. As an interesting side-note, a byproduct of this artful deception was that my signature today is identical to that of my fathers.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Personally I felt it irresponsible for the habit-wearing Third Reich to try and repress a curious mind and not recognize and admire my resourceful circumvention of their flawed and archaic practices. When someone tells you on Tuesday that someone long dead and unable to duplicate the results defied the laws of physics you had just learned on Monday by walking on water, I think its ok to say "Are Lou Ferrigno?". Much in the same way when the same someone instructs a 10 year old me to hand-deliver a disciplinary note to my easily-ired parents advising them of my shenanigans, and then have them sign and return said note, all verification being on the honor system, its also ok to say "Are Lou Ferrigno?".</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My apprehension and rejection of blind faith extended to all fantastical testaments that were presented to me with an absence of verifiable facts, from blindness caused by excessive masturbation, to the existence of Santa Claus. Both prospects caused countless sleepless nights of consternation and furious dedicated research.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">One Christmas Eve, however, my analytical superiority was shaken.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">A week before Christmas I arrived home from school, disciplinary note hidden deep in the pockets of my tattered Little Rascals knapsack, kicked off my multicolored Sparx hightops and announced "There is no Santa Claus. Its all bunk!". </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">You see, earlier that day The Schultz boys had requested a few of us meet them by The Super Secret Spot (aka behind the grade 8 portable) at recess. I fidgeted excitedly throughout Geography in anticipation of this clandestine gathering, fantasizing what wonders it would yield: nudie mags, bottle rockets, a pair of their older sisters panties, Terms and Conditions for a rumble (something akin to "3:30. Be there. No weapons"). The truth was much less exciting but elucidating nonetheless: They had found their sequestered cache of Christmas presents with the labels addressed "From Santa" already attached along with a stack of purchase receipts. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The fat man from the North was a sham, a ruse!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My declaration of disbelief really rattled my mother for some reason. Maybe she wasn't ready to have her little boy grow up and forfeit innocence at such an early age, or more likely it was the fact that the principal had unbeknownst to me already called her and interrupted her macrame class to advise her of the thus far undisclosed letter crumpled in the pocket depicting the likenesses of Alfalfa, Buckwheat and Spanky. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Her sputtered response was prolonged and lacking in ambiguity: Wait til your father gets, wait til your father gets, wait til your father gets home. Go wait in your room!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And wait I did. But idle I wasn't. There were preparations to be made. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I catalogued my possessions and began to divvy them up, updating my Last Will & Testament (Garfield Notepad edition circa 1980)to ensure each would be allocated to a deserving home. My Justice League of America comics would go to 'Army' Armstrong, my Doctor Who novelizations would need to be split between 'Sniff' Schneider and Theodore, and I left specific instructions to be buried with my Famous Monsters and Fangoria magazines...and a flashlight, just in case.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Next I strategically slid copies of Tales Of A Fourth Grade Nothing, Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang, and several Fighting Fantasy books down the back of my oversized hand-me-down Levi's orange tabs in a feeble defensive attempt against the impending and inevitable whupping that was about to occur; I used paperback editions so they could conform to the contours of my perfect and shapely buttocks, although the end result looked like I was smuggling a Betamax in my gitch. Or that I was literally shitting bricks, which was a fair assessment.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">There was little left to do other than wait. As always, I knew I was right. My convictions and resolve were strong, my arguments and validation solid. But I'd still get punished, persecuted. I realized that this was how James Tiberius Kirk must have felt </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">in The City on the Edge of Forever</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> when he chose not to interfere with history when he went back in time and instead accepted the dire consequences of the death of his lady love, and I took comfort. Solidarity through sacrifice, brother.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My father arrived home resplendent in his beige three-piece polyester suit, the buttons on the vest straining to contain the massive girth housed within and in threat of becoming unexpected projectiles. I pressed my ear to the coolness of the Flash Gordon poster tacked to the back of my bedroom door (Get Ready To Kick Some Flash!) and tried to make out the exchange between my parents. Hushed quick mumbles tripping over each other, curt staccato baritone interjections, punctuated by the sound of ice-cubes hitting glass. I did make out two exclamations that were recognizable in their familiarity through frequency: "What now" and "Jesus Christ".</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I hurriedly jammed another Judy Blume down my pants.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But the expected charging elephantine footfalls never came. The door remained on its hinges. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">They were making me wait, sweat it out. I imagined my father at a wheel-stone sharpening his belt buckle.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The door slowly creaked open and I said a quick prayer to JT Kirk. Instead of a belt wielding sumo or rampaging Gorn I was greeted by my sweetly smiling mother holding a tray containing a plate of homemade cookies and 3 tall glasses of homogenized milk. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">What fresh hell was this?! Was this some new psychological tactic?! I eyed her suspiciously as she handed me one of the glasses and took one for herself. "Who's the other glass for?" I inquired warily, knowing my father preferred beverages of an amber nature.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"Santa" she replied. I took a deep breath, summoning my inner Kirk, and explained that I now knew the truth about ol' Saint Nick, that he was as phony as Burt Reynolds hairline. In what can only be called Dirty Pool I added "Every year I ask for a happy family". </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">She smiled sadly and patiently and insisted Santa was real. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"Prove it" I challenged.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"I don't need to. I just know. And as for what your friends <i>think</i> they know, all I can tell you is that sometimes Santa works in mysterious ways, and that includes working through other people" she deftly countered.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Wait a second...this was starting to sound awfully familiar...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Before I could call "SHENANIGANS" there was a series of loud, startling bangs. My mother's face lit up in mock surprise. "There's Santa now, on the roof! You best get into bed like a good boy or he may skip our house!".</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The commotion had not originated on the roof, it had come from the kitchen, and it was very obviously the sound of my father rhythmically opening and closing a couple of cupboard doors in what he thought was an approximation of reindeer hooves.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I may have been 9, but seriously, Are Lou Ferrigno?!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Should I just play along and placate their need for me to believe, or should I press on with my argument.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">As I contemplated the presented Choose Your Own Adventure paths before me, there came a window shaking 'WHUMP', this time definitely from the roof. My mothers look of mock surprise was replaced with one of genuine and sincere amazement. My father burst into the room and exclaimed "What the hell was that!?". As he stood there framed in my doorway, his chest heaving from the exertion of taking 6 steps, the look in his eyes gave me pause. He was startled, and a bit afraid. They both went to the window looking for the source of the thud.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My conviction faltered. Could it be....no, it couldn't...could it? I was unfamiliar with this new feeling of uncertainty.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The novel prospect of being wrong propelled me into action. I hastily pulled on my red-tongued Cougar Pillow boots and charged past my frozen parents, out of the house, and onto our front lawn. I looked up and saw nothing because my eyes were squeezed tightly shut, as if part of me was afraid of what I might see pawing at the roof of our humble bungalow. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I slowly opened my eyes. There in the middle of the roof was a very large branch from our neighbors ancient pine tree that had succumbed to its snow laden weight. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">No flying caribou. No mystical sledge. No red garbed winking Kris Kringle. No ghost of Christmas Past.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I sighed in relief. I wasn't wrong. The planet continued to rotate on its axis. The sun would rise in the east. Buck Rogers would be on tv forever.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But for a brief moment a window of wonder and belief had been opened. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I will always hold on to that feeling of wonder. It made me realize that blind disbelief is as irresponsible as blind faith. I am now open the <i>possibility</i> of certain beliefs.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">What my beliefs and opinions actually are is not the point. What's of consequence is that it is important to question things, to find out the truths for yourself. Well...that, and my beliefs and opinions <i>are</i> the <i><b><u>right</u></b></i> ones.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But sometimes, just sometimes, the end results supercede and discount the need to analyze the Why, and it is ok to look a gift horse in the mouth. Just trust it, go with it, accept it, enjoy it. E</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">mbrace the wonder.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It may have taken the fat man a couple of decades but I finally did get that happy family. I will never question </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The Why and The How.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">To those of you that are lucky enough to be part of my inner circle, and especially to my beautiful wife whose wonder I marvel at daily: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Wo Love Family!</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Live Long and Prosper!</div>
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-11987508832471531982013-08-11T19:06:00.001-07:002013-08-11T19:08:02.771-07:00DAY 96: NEON RIDER<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUc8cx1wbTJzU7qoeprc9qQQyKEZyEJnQkurEJyItAXntc9DChUQDlRJVzVRIfmJO3kEAY-h8RZd8natae9JGYonMJh3hLHyE_rWQUfWB-Cn8teXRSpNKTVXFCNf_E_3nD29mTGnPpyCY/s1600/Photo+20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUc8cx1wbTJzU7qoeprc9qQQyKEZyEJnQkurEJyItAXntc9DChUQDlRJVzVRIfmJO3kEAY-h8RZd8natae9JGYonMJh3hLHyE_rWQUfWB-Cn8teXRSpNKTVXFCNf_E_3nD29mTGnPpyCY/s400/Photo+20.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Time sure has a way of slipping through my fingers, kinda like that Slime that came in the green garbage can container. Gooey, drippy, oozy, cold n' clammy....yup, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">exactly</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> like time. Its been months since I had the opportunity to remind you of Me. It must have been awful. I'm sorry.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
Lately the clutter and pace of the Present, and having to play a constant game of chess with the Future, has been as mind-numbing and exhausting as an Ingmar Bergman movie marathon without subtitles. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />I just haven't been feeling it of late. And then I received a sign.</span>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
As though patiently waiting for the right moment it was needed, wedged between a drawer and the back of the dresser where it had fallen aeons ago, I discovered this long forgotten reminder of the Past. A Neon Maniac Prophet.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
This </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">seizure inducing neon rider instantly transported me back </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">to </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">my misspent youth of the</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">late 70s / early 80s. Not to a specific event or story, sorry, just the overall feeling of that general time and me in it. And I FELT like that kid again. Alive and rejuvenated. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I mean sure I vividly remember the fashions that were indicative of the time and culture, from procreation stifling tight denim and Cougar boots with the red felt tongue pulled out, to harem pants and popped pink collars. And shows on television about superheroes and Cylons that made staying home on a Friday night worthwhile. And the airwaves were ruled by rock and made interesting by new wave music. But those are all THINGS, products. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Remembrance of those Things may hark back to the period, but it isn't going to make me </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">feel</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> the way I did. I should feel that way all the time because they are all the same Things </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">now</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">recycled, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">the fashions, the shows, the music, except the rock is now classic and the wave isn't new.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But this shirt, this imagery encapsulates a time of my life, the feeling of that period perfectly. There is something about this particular neon that heightens my nostalgic recall and makes the past seem now. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">After drinking a box of wine I animatedly tried to explain this recondite intangible sensation in more words than was necessary to my wife, struggling to put into words how a motif or color, something non-specific, could transport me back.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Thinking these concepts so profound and esoteric that I was destined to disentangle and massage them alone like the fat kid locked in the bathroom on Prom Night, I conceded to silence.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My wife tucked me in and succinctly stated in her quiet patient way "Totally. Salt & Vinegar chips smell like Grade 7".</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And there you have it.</span></span>The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-91997525234783624502013-05-04T06:32:00.001-07:002013-05-04T06:32:27.757-07:00DAY 95: HAN SOLO<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXXA5BcUijR0vl3ZnwqM8EfM8Yygwcs6eAspjNixvz9ehn6JgrYp8hEG59_BGnUUdvlqmzsJX5LApogK5WYbxOhIo2OfYBb6GMfrDA9OsWwuS9OQfxQ-wfDG2C_Tf_0tChRI8JCY10JmM/s1600/Photo+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXXA5BcUijR0vl3ZnwqM8EfM8Yygwcs6eAspjNixvz9ehn6JgrYp8hEG59_BGnUUdvlqmzsJX5LApogK5WYbxOhIo2OfYBb6GMfrDA9OsWwuS9OQfxQ-wfDG2C_Tf_0tChRI8JCY10JmM/s400/Photo+15.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I recently saw an old red carpet interview with George Lucas right after the release of The Phantom Menace. There was something about the glaze in his eyes when he laughed that disturbed me because I could tell he didn't really believe his own laughter. It was a nervous type of laughing, the same kind as that of a landlord I once had whose wife was "visiting her sister in Vermont", right before the police dug up his cellar floor.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I have one word for you George:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><i>KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!</i></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Happy May The Fourth, bitches.</span></div>
The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-11289976402294721402013-04-11T19:55:00.005-07:002013-04-11T19:57:15.129-07:00DAY 94: KOBAYASHI MARU<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">Now where was I....it's been so long...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;">Oh yeah, telling you how awesome I am. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;">Wait....no...it was something to do with how less awesome everyone else is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;">No, it was definitely how awesome I am. The devil's in the details.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;">My wife is insisting I was talking about her, but that doesn't sound right...I like to talk about <i>me</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;">She is so adamant in fact that she has suggested a wager: my collection of 1977 Happy Days Dr Pepper glasses against her 1977 Escape From Death Star boardgame from <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Kenner</st1:place></st1:city>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier;">Ha ha! She is on! A quick review of past entries will drag her folly into the light kicking and screaming like some wrinkled pink-eyed underground albino Mole Man!</span><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Courier;">******</span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier;">Damn it. She was right.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;">Adios Joanie and Richie. Sayonara Potsie and Ralph. Stay cool Fonz.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;">Curse you wrinkly Mole Man!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;">I can't believe I fell victim to one of the classic blunders - the most famous of which is "never get involved in a land war in <st1:place w:st="on">Asia</st1:place>" - but only slightly less well-known is this: "Never go against a Czechoslovakian when the Death Star is on the line".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier;">A pox upon your perogies and newfound poorly rendered Henry Winkler glassware! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;">Cocksure Bohemian!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier;">I had been regaling you with "The Tale Of The Night We Almost Weren't", a robust and romantic retelling of our classic first date. It was upon this historic date that I discovered that my love affair with horror movies and the puritan sweetness of my lovely bride do not mix. Like oil and vinegar. Elevators and flatulence. Religion and reality.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />What had started as an exciting foray into new romance had quickly turned to tears. Don't they all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />Should I have known that scary movies would have such an adverse reaction on such a gentle sheltered soul? Maybe, but in my defence I'm pretty self absorbed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />She left my car that night a trembling, sobbing mess. Don't they all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />Now normally this wouldn't have bothered me as I am somewhat callous and brimming with apathy, but there was something about this girl, she was <i>special</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />Now I don't mean <i>special</i> in the same way that parents tell their children that they are Special and Unique like the other 2 <i>billion</i> Special and Unique children on the planet that have yet to make a significant contribution to merit those particular accolades. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />No, she is beautiful but doesn't act like she knows she's beautiful, preferring jeans and t-shirts over heels and tiaras. She gets bored by work and baby talk, and doesn't define herself by her salary or procreative prowess. She is sweet and kind and wishes everyone happiness. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />Plus she is quirky and klutzy as shit, which cracks me up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;">She is the real deal, the single most authentic person I have ever met.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br /><i>AND</i> she had the wherewithal to eventually recognize my supreme awesomeness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />Can I get a collective Hallelujah!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;">Can I get my 1977 Happy Days Dr Pepper glasses back?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />No? Damn it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />Fine. She was ok I guess, and I had blown it. Two weeks had gone by and I hadn't heard from her. If I didn't make a move I may never get a second chance. But i</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">f I called and pretended like nothing happened I'd look like a selfish insensitive jerk. And i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">f I called and apologized I would be admitting guilt <i>AND</i> showing weakness, so that wasn't an option. It was the Kobayashi Maru: a no-win scenario. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">Obviously this type of thing didn't happen to me very often. I didn't know what to do. I was getting a complex. Who am I kidding, no I wasn't, but I don't like to lose. Kobayashi Maru be damned!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier;">I was considering reading up on “How To Concede” when something excellent happened: she got streptococcal pharyngitis! Sweet deal! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />You see brethren, one of my many amazing qualities is that I listen, I observe, and I remember. Not because I'm some sensitive sentimental type. No sir, it’s because I can then recall and <i>USE</i> the information I have stored at a time </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">advantageous</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;"> to my personal gain. What's that? "Manipulation" you say. Why, yes...yes it is. But why the disdainful wrinkling of your nose when you say it, like I've farted in your car, the windows are stuck closed and the heater is on? It’s not a bad word. It’s the ability to guide and influence someone to a desired outcome, and if that desired outcome is <b><i><u>Me</u></i></b>, well, then its a Win-Win for everybody.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier;">I remembered a fleeting conversation we had had about what our parents did for us when we were sick as kids. Her mother would tuck her in with a stack of Word-A-Search and Crossword puzzles, Richie Rich comic books, and a Bomb Pop, the red, white and blue popsicles. My old man would tell me to quit my whining, be a man, and walk it off. Happy Days indeed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />All I had to do was recreate these conditions, showing her I both Care <i>and</i> Listen, whilst subconsciously harkening her back to a time of feel-good innocence far removed from the associations of horror movies and bad dates!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />I quickly went into action gathering the necessary items for strategic deployment. The Word-A-Search and Crossword books were easily procured. From my own private collection I selected a fistful of funny pages featuring the exploits of the poor little rich boy and his foil Reginald Van Dough Jr. I'd like to point out the extent of my mastery of manipulation by the added tier of subliminal messaging by selecting issues that featured the porno-named characters of Mr Woody, Nurse Jenny, Minnie Mintz, and Captain Fuzzby, and avoided any appearances by Pee-Wee Friendly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />The Bomb Pops proved slightly more challenging. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Courier;">In 3 separate Mom & Pop shops, my very specific popsicle requests were met with the blank lifeless stares of 16-year-old grocery clerks who don't give a fuck and store managers who gave up giving a fuck long ago. My panic was surpassed only by my desperation. My plan hinged upon this phallic shaped delicacy. I must secure at least one solitary Bomb Pop...I MUST! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />Setting my own personal principles aside I manoeuvred Castle Greyskull into the parking lot of one of those new Mega Stores where purchasing an overpriced loaf of bread, a container of milk, and a stick of butter was revered as an Experience, and deemed an Adventure by bored housewives trying to hide their age and cellulite behind black yoga pants. I deliberately parked in one of the spots reserved for Expectant Mothers. Hey, why not...its a suggestion, not an enforceable law. Getting pregnant is a lifestyle choice not a disability, a totally normal physiological experience. If you are in such a state that you can't waddle a few extra feet you probably shouldn't be at the mall in the first place. You'll thank me later when you can fit into your yoga pants.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />I ran into the store, a man determined, a man possessed. A hot sweaty mess and very much out of my element. Sensing that this particular fish was not only out of water but somewhat dangerous, the elitist staff played a practiced game of Hide n’ Go Fuck Yourself, deftly eluding, blatantly ignoring. Catching a fleeting glimpse of green apron and red acne I darted up Ethnic Foods, finding only curry and kimchi. A mirage.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier;">I slumped against a rack of chutney and began to sob. Game over man, game over!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier;">I felt a feather-light touch on my sweaty ankle and freaked the fuck out, my depression broken by my absolute terror that an Ethnic Tarantula had stowed away in a can of Borshch like a little hairy eight-legged Mikhail Nikolaevich Baryshnikov.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier;">Sprawled at my feet, was a very pregnant woman, the pasty white of her complexion broken by rosy blotches and a sheen of perspiration, her breath coming in heavy ragged gasps. Her shoes had split open exposing her swollen feet and ankles, and her bloated swaying teats appeared on the verge of doing the same. A tube of Preparation H was clutched in one hand, her other reaching for me, she croaked in a parched rasp "No....parking...".</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">I</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;"> screamed. And ran. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">I couldn't win!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;"> All I wanted was a fucking Bomb Pop, couldn't they see!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">It's a madhouse. A MADHOUSE! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">Grabbing random shoppers like a crazed Kevin McCarthy at the end of Invasion of the Body Snatchers I was trying to get them to understand my need, but the only words I could get my mouth to say was either BOMB, or POPS.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier;"><br />And <i>that's</i> how a simple shopping excursion ended in tears and security restraints. Don't they all.</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Courier;"><span style="font-family: Courier;">I eventually did find a box of the red, white, and blue popsicles (they </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">had been renamed to the much friendlier Rocket Pops), and presented them to my ailing amour. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">It did the trick. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">Using manipulation I had altered her associations. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">I had reprogrammed her thinking so it was possible to get the girl.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">Some may say I cheated. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">I just changed the conditions of the situation. I should get a commendation for original thinking. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">I don't like to lose. And I don't believe in the no-win scenario.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Courier;">I just stole back my Fonzie.</span><br />
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The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-89688597069766571462013-03-31T12:50:00.001-07:002013-03-31T15:54:01.256-07:00DAY 93: COUNT CHOCULA<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghW1OijTIyCtMdNp8Nt40JFOuCO6BK4QvmJbs4ofNkCMRPCbOqYZla5QLKj-99edfZf2N61x8oI8lSbb0SjtX_mSkSeQYH9haccI0H56nlIl3L5M-u3kQkrLxq1Rvkvo4EGxOpd2kfkO0/s1600/Photo+19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghW1OijTIyCtMdNp8Nt40JFOuCO6BK4QvmJbs4ofNkCMRPCbOqYZla5QLKj-99edfZf2N61x8oI8lSbb0SjtX_mSkSeQYH9haccI0H56nlIl3L5M-u3kQkrLxq1Rvkvo4EGxOpd2kfkO0/s400/Photo+19.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class="" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">At </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">a time of the year when thoughts may turn to such pleasant things like </span></span></span><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Crucifixions and Cream Eggs, Passover and Peeps, I thought I'd share some quotes from that good book about Rising from the Dead, and the battle between Good and Evil: </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"<i>There was one great tomb more lordly than all the rest; huge it was, and nobly proportioned."</i> </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"<i>There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights." </i></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><br /></i></span></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>"I will not let you go into the unknown alone."</i></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="" style="line-height: 18px;"><i><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">“I want you to believe...to believe in things that you cannot.”</span></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="" style="line-height: 18px;"><i><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">“The blood is the life!”</span></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">That's right, Bram Stoker's Dracula. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Give a prize to the fellow in the black everything.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="" style="line-height: normal;"><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I don't know what I'm supposed to call things anymore. The PC douchebags are demanding society become more inclusive of others beliefs by banning Easter Egg Hunts because the reference to Easter is contributing to the decay of the moral fiber of the country. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="" style="line-height: normal;"><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Not being one to really care what anybody thinks, I say the PC police can go jam a basket of Holiday Eggs up their incredibly tight self-righteous asses. So, to that end, </span></span></span></span><span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">HAPPY EASTER to those who celebrate and to those who don't but don't complain about getting the time off of work, whether you believe in Magic Bunnies, risen messiahs, or glittery vampires.</span></span></div>
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<span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">All I know is Vlad the Impaler + Easter Bunny= Bunnicula. And I think that pretty solidly puts an end to that discussion, the final nail in the coffin so to speak.</span></span></div>
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<span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Anyway, all this jibber jabber about resurrection got me thinking about things.</span></span></div>
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<span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Like Logan 5 and the renewal of Carrousel.</span></span></div>
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<span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Like the dying Jean Grey surfacing from the icy depths as The Phoenix.</span></span></div>
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<span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Like Doctor Who regenerating, but not Sylvester McCoy, more like David Tennant.</span></span></div>
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<span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Like Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler.</span></span></div>
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<span class=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Shirt of the Day begins anew. </span></span></div>
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The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-46801365771241046032013-01-01T08:12:00.001-08:002013-01-01T08:12:40.831-08:00DAY 92: THE FLASH<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSgMYrBzfU3f9eFPYbvoJbmMfOTPUTd0MWRaWwRVSRrpHaPLXOqgUDP0fX8AinyzLIFJddvm2lwUo0uGoUBnAbVdur-f7cT13ZKhY-XGQEdt_p7gtFt43fcqrZs9jOV0n8A5Bij8COko/s1600/Photo+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSgMYrBzfU3f9eFPYbvoJbmMfOTPUTd0MWRaWwRVSRrpHaPLXOqgUDP0fX8AinyzLIFJddvm2lwUo0uGoUBnAbVdur-f7cT13ZKhY-XGQEdt_p7gtFt43fcqrZs9jOV0n8A5Bij8COko/s400/Photo+15.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The past year disappeared in a blur, vanishing quicker than chivalry on prom night and the shrimp at an all-u-can-eat buffet. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Sometimes we can get mired by the minutiae, distracted by the unnecessary drama, and lose perspective,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> lose sight of what's really important in life.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Don't.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">That is all.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Wishing you a year of Friends and Family, Love and Laughter, Health and Happiness.</span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>Happy New Year everyone!</b></span></span></div>
The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-69898669738210118912012-12-24T19:42:00.003-08:002012-12-24T19:42:34.334-08:00DAY 91: DEPENDABLE DRIFT'S<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRQHq0o0Bu1ggTdCPRPoM0IIhVwZ6Bd2ujVDXfFH3CwYumjXocsoR_O9MgJZT_3zYb-2pBTuP7H8jrqMjrCee4rzHWdeZFgYAUjW57jC8VTjMWbAtl6pEUfPIjyPPG4EbdOBSZQ1wWXFI/s1600/Photo+23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRQHq0o0Bu1ggTdCPRPoM0IIhVwZ6Bd2ujVDXfFH3CwYumjXocsoR_O9MgJZT_3zYb-2pBTuP7H8jrqMjrCee4rzHWdeZFgYAUjW57jC8VTjMWbAtl6pEUfPIjyPPG4EbdOBSZQ1wWXFI/s400/Photo+23.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY HOLIDAYS, SEASONS GREETINGS, BELATED HANUKKAH, COOL YULE, SWEET ASS KWANZAA, and FESTIVUS FOR THE REST OF US!</div>
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FROM ALL OF US HERE AT <i>"SHIRT OF THE DAY"</i> (me and my wife), WISHING YOU LONG DAYS AND PLEASANT NIGHTS! </div>
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BE AWESOME TO EACH OTHER, THAT WOULD JUST BE TITS.</div>
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The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-40518333840355165852012-12-18T18:13:00.002-08:002012-12-18T18:13:58.760-08:00DAY 90: REX KWON DO<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4IhUIsnrP3kmJoGmSlqtuBQukz2LkwBy3Nunr5v8moIKF1KkfuzKvltu9c9TUQ6gMPW7Yb6GYOwd5urdxvFJelsmNV7akc-Gs1BAGyK8BkaonhIWOzouoZCKHl6oKgTpPBVPAA-ab8Nk/s1600/Photo+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4IhUIsnrP3kmJoGmSlqtuBQukz2LkwBy3Nunr5v8moIKF1KkfuzKvltu9c9TUQ6gMPW7Yb6GYOwd5urdxvFJelsmNV7akc-Gs1BAGyK8BkaonhIWOzouoZCKHl6oKgTpPBVPAA-ab8Nk/s400/Photo+15.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Time has a way of slipping through my nimble and powerful fingers like the icing sugar I run my sweaty digits through in the bulk bins at the grocery store that you then sprinkle on your Christmas cookies. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This is a busy time of year that I like spend in a drunken stupor to better cope with my dysfunctional relatives, and I have been remiss in keeping up with my posts.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So please accept this pathetic token gesture that was hastily slapped together last minute but I can now confidently state that I have fulfilled my festive obligation of getting you...something, albeit completely devoid of thought or sentiment.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I give you a completely outdated pop culture reference in a baggy and misshapen cotton housing. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Take a look at what my wife is wearing, people. You think anybody wants a roundhouse kick to the face while she's wearing these bad boys? Forget about it.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Shapeless and irrelevant. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The shirt, not my wife.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Miscreants.</span></span>The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-65106495699105519842012-11-17T07:30:00.004-08:002012-11-17T07:30:53.084-08:00DAY 89: THE HULK<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnPOxUaq3ap8Se0RerPUBNFPqkH0_gHWUoiYPziFrfQSmtehddL9FZ1AluBMt5xbGEd2oiNniWyCel_5qNUvA3YxCJBPJcMzZwOTybVMn6C4PYvg6QoDBDCyMgy4TVuna0HO4IKTySRUE/s1600/Photo+73.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnPOxUaq3ap8Se0RerPUBNFPqkH0_gHWUoiYPziFrfQSmtehddL9FZ1AluBMt5xbGEd2oiNniWyCel_5qNUvA3YxCJBPJcMzZwOTybVMn6C4PYvg6QoDBDCyMgy4TVuna0HO4IKTySRUE/s400/Photo+73.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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(Transcript of a telephone conversation between my delicate flower of a wife and myself from earlier in the week)</div>
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<i>Ex-ter-min-ate!...</i><i>Ex-ter-min-ate!</i></div>
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<i>EX-TER-MIN-ATE!...</i><i>EX-TER-MIN-ATE!</i></div>
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<i>(that's my ringtone)</i></div>
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Me: (answering my phone) Thrill me.</div>
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Wife: Can you come get me?</div>
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Me: I can't, my wife should be home any second now to make me a turkey pot pie, it's too risky!</div>
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Wife: Ha ha, very droll. I think I locked my keys in my car.</div>
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Me: Are Lou Ferrigno?!</div>
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Wife: Wha...? Am I...? What did you just say?</div>
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Me: Are Lou Ferrigno?</div>
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Wife: Am I Lou Ferrigno?! Why am I Lou Ferrigno? You're Lou Ferrigno!! </div>
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Me: Answer me...Are Lou Ferrigno?</div>
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Wife: What are you talking about?! I think it's going to rain...</div>
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Me: It's our new thing.</div>
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Wife: What is? You understand that I'm locked out of my car, right?</div>
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Me: Whenever we were going to say "Are you for real?" instead now we say "Are Lou Ferrigno?"</div>
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Wife: (Long pause)....sigh...my coat is in the car...</div>
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Me: Say it.</div>
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Wife: Grrrr...."Are Lou Ferrigno?!"</div>
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Me: No, that's my part, I already said that. Say your part.</div>
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Wife: Fine! "I'm Lou Ferrigno!" Satisfied?! Now are you coming to get me or what?!!!!</div>
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Me: Noooo. Whenever I say "Are Lou Ferrigno?" the correct response is "You bet your Bill Bixby!"</div>
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Wife: I'm freezing, it's getting dark! This isn't funny.</div>
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Me: No it's not....It's frickin' awesome is what it is. I just thought of it now. Pretty cool, huh?</div>
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Wife: Fuck...it's starting to rain!</div>
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Me: Really? Are Lou Ferrigno?</div>
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Wife: Seriously! Hurry up!</div>
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Me: BZZZZT! Incorrect! What do you say?</div>
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Wife: A-ha! I say I just found my keys in my purse Ass Clown, and you are a dead man!</div>
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Me: Oh. I take it there will be no turkey pot pie to be had?</div>
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Wife: "Oh" is right Cock Monkey!</div>
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Me: Are you mad?</div>
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Wife: You bet your Motherfuckin' Bill Bixby!</div>
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The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-38501660665674125572012-10-28T15:32:00.003-07:002012-10-28T15:32:49.402-07:00DAY 88: HALLOWEEN 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGqzdGhQ4JGy8nc7z3G086d286W8okzguoeBQQuvRShyphenhyphenremf9uoahNVpwLscaBIHKYnJJ35lDmxhMlqE8uu8gdT9M-1fozQP-2tu4aCJe1Up7bC_vbPAzF19jcKX2-mYtfHWRQBDolHzc/s1600/Photo+47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGqzdGhQ4JGy8nc7z3G086d286W8okzguoeBQQuvRShyphenhyphenremf9uoahNVpwLscaBIHKYnJJ35lDmxhMlqE8uu8gdT9M-1fozQP-2tu4aCJe1Up7bC_vbPAzF19jcKX2-mYtfHWRQBDolHzc/s400/Photo+47.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Good evening boils and ghouls! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">That mythical time of year is once again upon us, a month long tribute to all things mysterious, spooky, and all together ooky, culminating in All Hallowtide. The Night of the Hunter. Dia De Los Muertos: The Day of the Dead. That feeling of creeping dread, the ominous foreboding, the ball tightening disquiet....I love every second of it!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">For those who know me, or have been following on here long enough to recognize my awesomeness, they know my ghastly glee is not grounded in the thinning of any veils or the solemn celebration of any Solstices. Unlike the capricious masses my affiliation with fear is not fleeting; for me everyday is Halloween. My excitement revolves around the fact that at this time of the year the rest of society embraces my world, accepts it and, albeit briefly, me.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">During the Season of the Witch exploitive consumerism ensures I am blissfully surrounded by imagery normally considered macabre 11 months of the year: gothic castles and gargoyles displaying darkly beautiful architecture and sculpture; Creatures of the Night, what sweet music they make, so rare and exotic; the Undead, representing immortality and the promise of a better day, their impending apocalypse favourable to a world of punch clocks, mortgages and Honey Boo Boo. Halloween Specials litter the coveted Friday Night slot, reminding us that The Addams' were probably the most loving and functional family, Chuck needed to kick Van Pelt's blue frocked ass, and Fat Albert was really fucking fat.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Not everyone shares my passion for hot sweaty terror, even during this awesome Autumn Equinox. Their own personal demons and aversion to a case of the Creeps prevents them from enjoying the rush of palpable palpitations and cloying fear. In my world these are the Odd and Unlucky, the Freaks.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">One such weirdo is my wife.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">A beacon of positivity, she is one possessed of such constant cheery disposition that she can not fathom the desire to be terrified, to embrace The Dark. It sickens me.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We were nearly not a We. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">There was almost no second date as the first was to go to the movies. More specifically a horror movie. On Devil's Night. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">At this point I didn't know she couldn't handle horror movies, that there was something wrong with her. Why she agreed to go I have no idea other than she must have been overcome by the sheer magnitude of my...awesomeness. What can I say, I'm a master wooer. I'm into wooing. I guess I woo.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I wasn't one of those cheeseball contrived lame-o's who thought taking a girl to a horror movie would make her crush her face into my heaving pectorals and cling tenaciously to my steel-like biceps as her terror mounted. No, my selection of the flick was more selfish than lecherous. I had decided that I was going to be Myself, not the Ideal First Date Version of myself, and well, that could only mean I'd end up upsetting her and never seeing her again, so I might as well pick a movie I wanted to see, and all the other people I could have seen it with I'd already upset.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">As it turns out it was my bluntness and complete honesty that won her over and made her swoon. And she got so freaked out during the movie that she crushed her face into my heaving pectorals and clung tenaciously to my steel-like biceps as her terror mounted, which was pretty sweet.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We left the safety of the darkened theater only to discover that a thick and baleful fog had rolled into town. You literally could not see two feet in front of you. Misshapen shadows drifted in and out of the viscous brume. When I queried in a hushed tone "What was that?!" my date and future bride slapped my arm that she had attached herself too thinking I was trying to scare her, but truth be told I swear I could hear things moving behind that murky veil, vile things, slithering...scurrying.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">We blindly fumbled through the lot in search of my car, which was parked in the farthest row away from the theater in a feeble attempt at exercise. Grey faces would suddenly lurch out of the even more grey miasma, only to disappear again just as quickly; sounds were thick and muted, unearthly and slightly unreal. Unseen Things would brush passed our shoulders, like a shark testing a potential tasty morsel. I was in my element and made a silent wish to the Elder Gods that this night would never end.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I eventually found my car by hitting the panic button on my keys.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The drive home was treacherous and slow, my headlights completely ineffectual. I didn't mind, in fact I was grinning from ear to lopsided ear as the beautiful woman beside me was clutching to my free hand and leaning as close to me as her seatbelt would allow. Suddenly she screamed in absolute terror, startling me from my doe-eyed revelry and making my earbulbs tremble. I slammed on the breaks and calmly enounced "Jesusfuckingchristwhatthefuckwoman!" as I am wont to do on occasions of unexpected shrill and piercing exclamations.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">She was wildly gesticulating towards the drivers side window, her mouth agape in a silent scream as though the bellow she had just loosed had stolen the last of her voice. Her fear was both intoxicating and contagious and I was hesitant to follow her gaze. I slowly admired her slender arm, appreciating the smoothness of the hollow of her elbow, noticing how the ultra fine and near invisible hairs on the appendage were standing on end, up to the supple wrist, and ending at the delicate and quivering finger that was wagging out my window. I didn't see anything at first as I was still drunk off the image of her perfect alabaster skin.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Wait...there...a darker patch in the swirling mist. Something <i>was</i> there.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Something big and lumbering. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And it was coming closer. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It appeared to be a tangle of fur and legs. Lots of legs. And there was a clicking and scraping of claws on the wet cement. I didn't move. Not because I was unable to or frozen with fear, but because I <i>wanted</i> to see what fresh hell this was scuttling towards me. I <i>needed</i> to see.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My heart raced with giddy excitement as I envisioned some great demon-spawned arachnid inching its way towards my open window, or perhaps it was some mutated bear, hideously deformed through years of feeding on wildlife tainted by mutagens caused by industrial pollution. Oh god please let it be a giant mutated bear! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The shadow slinked out of the obscuring fog and into full sight. My soulmate-in-waiting let out a sharp gasp. A grinning Christopher Robin-esque schoolboy in knee-high wellington boots and a blue and yellow Paddington bear rain-slicker emerged from the enveloping damp shroud. He was being lead by two standard poodles on rainbow striped leashes. The one on the left had a pink bow tied to its overly large and adorable head.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My date suddenly burst into tears. In between ragged sobs she said "Take me home. Now".</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I told you I'd upset her.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">To Be Continued...</span></div>
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<br />The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-81978233993479324562012-09-22T08:28:00.000-07:002012-10-13T10:55:29.069-07:00DAY 87: BSG-WTF?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I have always paid attention to the way people communicate, the language they use. I've found it to be an invaluable tool when manipulating those less awesome, and by those less awesome I mean everyone who is not me.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Language has always fascinated me. Just for fun I once translated an ancient Sumerian text I found in the Kandarian ruins containing bizarre burial rites, funerary incantations, and demon resurrection passages. It was never meant for the world of the living. But that's another tale from the riverbank.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Sure, I make the rare erroneous grammatical and semantical submissions myself from time to time, usually spawned by the lack of sleep that comes with being a dashing playboy, but today's developing, and more alarmingly, accepted, vernacular not only sticks in my craw, but has a firm grasp on my goat.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I recognize that every generation has its own slang, man, but the following are 10 of the many that are just like, totally bogus:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">1</span>. </span></span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><u>I HEART</u></i></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">: Just as obnoxious in the written word as spoken. One does not HEART something, you can't NOUN something You VERB it. If it was a </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">picture</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> of the s</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">ymbol </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">of a heart, and it was before the letters N & Y would you say "I HEART"? If the answer is yes, "I Jam My Thumb Deep Into Your Eye Socket You". </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">2. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><u>Ro-But</u></i></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">: In reference to the electro-mechanical machine of humanoid appearance that I may or may not be building in my basement to assist me in the servo-crushing of my enemies and the ultimate goal of world domination. BOT...RO-BOT. There is no 'U', no 'uh', no 'but'. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">3. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><u>Shedule</u></i></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">: If you don't recognize this word its because it doesn't exist. Its <i>Schedule</i>, pronounced 'skedule', just like it says in the dictionary you pretentious tweed wearing douche. With the drunken exception of schnapps, and schottische (a forgotten drunken Scottish polka, but who can understand those sweaty socks anyway), words starting with SCH are pronounced as a hard SK. The sheeming shitzophrenic shooner captain was on shedule. Sheesh, don't they teach you anything in them thar fancy shools?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">4. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><u>For realz</u></i></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">: The urbanization of the letter 'S'. This was long overdue. I can't tell you how long I've tripped over that cumbersome sss sound, or become tongue tied trying to pluralize a word. The groundbreaking shift to the letter Z in place of S is Nobel worthy. Ya boyz!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">5. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><u>Punkin</u></i></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">: Similar to # 4, the replacement of consonants to formulate completely unnecessary new words still recognizable to their simple origins makes you sound like a web-toed inbred. Examples include the double D in place of T's, such as Buddons instead of Buttons, Middens in lieu of Mittens; Birfday; Punkin...really? Punkin? Fuck you. Why switch out letters as you see fit, dropping others all together? Oh, because you were TRYING to sound like a mentally deficient 5 year old girl with a cold and a hair-lip. If you really want to sound like you have recently broken your nose, just keep it up Popeye.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">6. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><u>OMG</u></i></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">: Ah text-speak, how I loathe thee. At least I understood its </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">original</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> purpose. Words and sentences were abbreviated so one could keep up with the instant conversations being held via chatrooms or texting as the typing took time; what short hand was to dictation. But to have that necessity adopted into verbal communications is just fucking asinine. To hear someone actually say "Oh. Em. Gee", instead of "Oh my god" makes me want to hit something, like the face of the person saying </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"Oh. Em. Gee".</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> What time are you saving? 3 syllables are 3 syllables. Seriously, WTF (note: in this form it takes longer to say than What The Frak)?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">7. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><u>EPIC FAIL</u></i></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">: I could write a diatribe the length of the narrative poem Beowulf on how this catch-phrase makes my blood boil, but I will keep it to the point. This saying is used both descriptively and grammatically incorrectly. EPIC is something impressive, majestic, vast, something of unusually great size or extent. The Grand Canyon is EPIC. Coming out of an ollie into a Darkside Grind with your gay-assed skateboard is not EPIC. Nutting yourself on the railing when said Darkside Grind goes awry, or simply tripping up the stairs after one too many brown bottle pops is not A FAIL. It is a FAIL<i>URE</i>. And pretty freakin' funny because your pain makes me happy.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">8. <b><i><u>Miracle</u></i></b>: While we are on the topic of misused words it's only fair that I educate you primitive screwheads on the perversion of the word <i>Miracle</i> when used in relation to <i>Childbirth</i>. This is completely diametric to the definition of a miracle. A miracle is something that surpasses or is contrary to the laws of nature and is attributed to a supernatural or unexplained cause</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Something rare, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">an anomaly, maybe even </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">thaumaturgic. There is absolutely nothing miraculous about childbirth. It is completely natural and commonplace. Approximately 500,000 babies are born every day. It has been occurring for literally millions of years, hardly a rarity. It's the one thing we were designed to do! After breathing, eating, tweeting, and copulating, its the most common and regular occurrence on the planet. If anything, its banal, boring, bourgeois. Stop trying to make it into something more than it is, which is mundane. Sorry ladies.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">9. <b><i><u>Axe</u></i>: </b>As in "Let me axe you a question". ASK. "Let me <i><u>ASK</u></i> you a question". 3 letters, 1 syllable! How difficult could this possibly be?! Holy living fuck you have to be some special kind of stupid to not be able to wrap your puny brain and tongue around this simple word. This used to be my number 1 linguistic peeve. Until very recently, when it was usurped by the disturbing prevalence of...</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">10. <b><i><u>I know, right?</u></i>: </b>No, no you obviously don't know, otherwise you would not be framing this as a question of uncertainty seeking validation. No sir, you do not know. Not at all.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">These are just a few of the many examples that are like totally grody to the max, like bag yer face fer sure. The removal of these from our current lexicon would be like totally tubular. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Bitchin', IKR?</span></div>
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The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7091531012805881937.post-62899298519592420792012-09-08T10:12:00.001-07:002012-09-08T12:49:50.105-07:00DAY 86: WORLD'S FINEST<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQiwMVQync6BCOz9Ax_DTqvVb32gnJqcZTPYhtAysRMkguFWy8X2PnOlDrn_wXQPQKsiFp-2T5VbOi5aEGw21FIi82yMcpzOaKkaUa0NmmdxcF3gnAFQ2zjwd4eniwRqhM8RkmILgGDQU/s1600/Photo+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQiwMVQync6BCOz9Ax_DTqvVb32gnJqcZTPYhtAysRMkguFWy8X2PnOlDrn_wXQPQKsiFp-2T5VbOi5aEGw21FIi82yMcpzOaKkaUa0NmmdxcF3gnAFQ2zjwd4eniwRqhM8RkmILgGDQU/s400/Photo+16.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am truly a blessed man.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">My wife and I are a perfect match for each other. Like two awesome superpowers of awesomeness. Partners. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I know I am not an easy person to live with. I am riddled with neurosis and peccadilloes of specificity, not to mention my remarkable ability to limit our social circle through my ever-present and increasing powers of Bluntness and Misanthropy. But she is incredibly patient and understanding. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">She gets me. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I could go on and on ad nauseam about how beautiful and kind she is and about how ridiculously suited we are for each other, but I think the following exchange from earlier today as we observed The Highway Dance of the Self-Absorbed Assholes is a pretty good snapshot of why she's awesome, why I love her, why I married her, and why we belong together:</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Wife: (Out of the blue) You're right. People suck! Everybody's an idiot! No one knows how drive, they're all douchebags!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Me: You had me at "You're right".</span><br />
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The Wearerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01473749929264065309noreply@blogger.com0