Bruce Wilson - First Homophobe, then...Hitler?

I stayed out of the conversation when it first began about Bruce Wilson - and his ideas about turning gay people straight - being the voice of the opening prayer before the Presidential Inauguration. I vehemently disagree with the man on both a scientific and ideological basis on that topic, but ban him from the inauguration? Jesus himself reached out to misguided fools, why not Obama (hold the bus, Gus: I'm not saying Obama is Jesus or even holy)?

[I'm pretty curious where the outrage is over there being a prayer at all. What does God and Jesus have to do with the political process of swearing in a President? Why does the swearing in happen on a Bible? Tradition? Slavery was a tradition but Barack won't be shackled. Why not swear on your own heart?]

But now, in my opinion, Bruce Wilson has pushed the line of what I would consider questionable, misguided belief and turned it all the way around to negligible, hateful ignorance. He says that if American Christians could be as dedicated to God as the Hitler Youth were dedicated to Hitler that - wait, what? Really? Holy shit.

But don't take my word for it. Huff's got the video:



This is were we bring out the Bo Peep crook and pull that bastard off the stage. Now.

The Weather Outside, It's Frightful

It is pretty dang cold here in Cincinnati. My Weather Channel widget says 12 F, and wind chill is about -3 F.

Note to all news media:

I understand that things are a little dry news-wise until Obama's start next week, with about 1000 dead in Gaza and us still sending Americans to die in Iraq and Afghanistan, but please keep in mind that during Winter months it gets fucking cold. Surprise! It's mid January and it's fucking freezing. Shit! Just like last year and the year before that and, well, as far back as I can remember. Why? It's winter! And it won't go away until March - or May if you live in Cleveland.

So take the icicle out of your puckered asshole, take a breath, and stop making everyone so batshit crazy over something that's normal.

And don't even get me started on the OMG-it's-cold anti global warming asshats. Yeah, Drudge, I'm talkin' to you.

Flavors of Nigeria, Direct Response Email

Once, a while back, I tried to have some public fun with spam scams. Unfortunately, it was a fail as I was apparently too boisterously excited about getting more information and did not get a response back. The mouse did not keep moving so I could whack it again.

Since I don't have the time or energy to craft a response letter that is invigorated by the prospect of free money yet not too over-the-top, I've been going with a different tack.

Today I got this email:

Sir,

I am Dr. Garrett Kenneth, a member of independent committee of eminent person {icep} and I wish to notify you that You can be listed as Heir to the total sum of (Twelve million six hundred thousaund United states dollars) in the codicil and last testament of the deceased. I contacted you because you bear the surname identity and therefore can present you as the Heir to the inheritance funds.

I therefore reckoned that you could receive these funds as you are qualified by your name identity. All the legal papers will be processed in your acceptance. In your acceptance of this deal, we request that you kindly forward to me your letter of acceptance; your current telephone and fax numbers and a forwarding address to enable me file necessary documents at our high court probate division for the release of this sum of money.

Please indicate your interest immediately for us to proceed. I shall feed you with full details of this transaction and my particulars upon receipt of your reply towards this proposal.


I look forward to hearing from you.

Yours Faithfully,
Dr. Garrett Kenneth.

What a douche. "independent committee of eminent person {icep}"? Seriously? It shows me "Dr. Garrett Kenneth (kenneth@telefonica.net)" for the email, but reply-to is set at "drkennethgarrett@rediffmail.com" (feel free to spam the bastard), and rediffmail.com is an India email website.

Anyway, my past replies to these emails (Yes, I reply to every one) have been very simple and focused and along the lines of "May the pain you inflict be visited upon you tenfold." If nothing else, I'm looking at curse psychology and the quite suffering of someone with a conscience.

Today I was feeling a little randy and replied with:

I hope you are gang-raped by a pack of wild, syphilitic hyenas and slowly eaten alive when they are done.

And I think I've already put together my next one:

As Jesus once said: Go fuck yourself until you bleed to death.

Thoughts?

Sorry for the Gap

I've been working non-stop on my business over the last few days, redesigning the site, extending myself on social networks, and extending those social networks the way the need to be extended.

Which is why I've been a bit absent.

Not that that's a good excuse for you, my fair reader, but perhaps a reasonable explanation.

And for that, your patience, you get my man purse, also known as a "murse:"



Yeah, you love it.

Okay, maybe not that great. How about my fav?



Now that's love.

Jones' Big Ass Truck Rental & Storage

I was hoping so badly that this was real. Even the website is well done - by that I mean appropriate - for what it's supposed to be.

Alas, the site is hosted by Big Dog Eat Child, a sketch comedy troupe.

Keep it real Jones. Keep it real.

Night Owls Are More Creative

From Wired:

2 // Night owls are more creative.
Artists, writers, and coders typically fire on all cylinders by crashing near dawn and awakening at the crack of noon. In one study, "evening people" almost universally slam-dunked a standardized creativity test. Their early-bird brethren struggled for passing scores.

Things suddenly make much more sense, like when I learned that there is a distinctive difference between people who organize sequentially (think file cabinet) and spatially (think pile on my desk). I'm not sloppy, just spatial; I'm not lazy, I just have an innately different balance to my circadian rhythms due to my creative nature.

Vince from ShamWoW for Slap Chop - Yes!

Vince from ShamWoW is back, but this time he's selling us a Slap Chop that comes with a free Graty. After the video I go into a brief analysis of this commercial as though critiquing a director or artist. If the idea of that makes you kinda want to vomit, even if it's tongue-and-cheek, I would advise avoidance.



Overall, I like it. But I don't think it delivers like the first one did. ShamWoW had a raw, gritty edge, like Hammas tossed Vince into a bright studio, took of his blindfold, turned on the camera and said "Sell!" It was real. Slap Chop is a little too overproduced. The overdub on ShamWoW "this lasts 10 years" was endearing because of how obvious it was, but Slap Chop's got overdubs tossed in to try to be cute. I'd call this a textbook sophomore effort but with a touch of lost charm the way I lost my love of Dashboard Confessional when he got signed.

But I did say I liked it. It was still Vince, still his charm, even if the scripting is apparent this time around. He references himself with a slight mug to the camera how he "can't do this all day," but the best line by far is "You're gonna love my nuts." Just kind of catches you off guard.

Sophomoric, but enjoyable if you're a fan. Looking forward to more of his work.

Oh, and I almost forgot. I'm going to have to get one of those Slap Chops myself. I had the original tool from Pampered Chef, but put the plastic piece on the bottom of the dishwasher and now it works kind of retarded. Go Slap Chop!

Allergies, "Medicine," and Bullshit

Reminds me of how my sister describes clearing a dog's anal sacks.

When I was seven or eight years old, I recall my aunt and uncle got a cat. Romeo. It was a cutie, orange, and relatively personable. It was at that time (was I really never exposed to cats before that?) when I realized I was pretty allergic to cats. Sure, the visit would start out great and I'd have good times playing with my cousins, but then, an hour and a half into it, an intense itching would begin between my chin and my Adam's apple, an itch I still get and equate with "Awww shit. Here it comes." By hour three or four, we were about ready to go, the sneezing was uncontrollable, and my eyes were itching and puffy. I took the red Sudafed, a pill I still occasionally take, and spent the 40 minute ride home zoned out, head back, sinuses draining down my throat.

Fast forward to high school where my parents finally fold and we get a dog. Bailey, an adorable beagle/collie mix. I recall the trip home from the animal shelter I spent with my head back, sinuses draining down my throat. Soon after, we got two cats, Nala and Kala. I guess it was a little rough at first, but as anyone with allergies to animals who has animals can tell you, your body gets relatively used to your own.

College afforded me my first two kitties, Dorian and Godot (English nerd!), that I still have. I guess I was allergic to them too, but I spent a lot of time in college drunk, and when you stifle your immune system, you stifle your body's response to allergens.


Godot is the puffball.

With Mrs. Shambles, we have acquired Gracie, a brindle lab/boxer/pit that is part lap dog, part goat, and part gazelle.

A short time after I met Mrs. Shambles, she convinced me to set up an appointment with an allergist. Like the eye doctor saying "Okay, now read that line without squinting," Mrs. Shambles explained to me that I constantly sniffle. And it was true. So I set off to the allergist and came home with a test result that seemed to have a lot of answers: 39 out of 41 positive results, severely allergic to dogs, very allergic to cats.

So we started with the meds, which really just displaced an almost unconscious and chronic usage of Sudafed or Benadryl. At first it was Flonase and Allegra. Allegra didn't do shit for me, so we went to Zyrtec, then discovered Alavert. Floated on that for a couple years until I started waking up in the middle of the night unable to breathe. Nocturnal asthma or some crap like that is what they called it, so about a year and a half ago I had gotten to Flonase at lunch, Loratadine (gen. Alavert) at dinner, Singulair late evening, and a Proventil inhaler when necessary.

Yesterday, my allergist said she didn't like that my breathing was not optimal in winter. So you see all that shit I just listed? We're adding Symbacort twice daily on top of all that to see how it works if in 2 weeks we knock off Singulair.

In the last 24 hours I've taken 5 different medications related to breathing and allergies. And I think it's bullshit. Part of the bullshit is that NOT ONE of those medications - as is the case with the basis of the pharmaceutical industry - is fixing the problem. They are all there to manage different aspects of a lovely cocktail of symptoms. And I've been given two other options: Allergy shots which, after several thousand dollars, may do little more than douse my symptoms a bit, or living in a bubble-like environment and getting rid of my pets and vacuuming daily and pulling my fucking hair out when The Weather Channel puts the pollen count to yellow. I know those people. I'm not those people.

We can map the human genome, program goats to make spider silk, and reinvent Britney Spears' career, but we can't address the underlying mechanism of allergies? We're still in the "schools of thought" phase with this? The most ferocious part of my being is my immune system? WTF?!?

So until the science community decides to poop sock it and level up their understanding of how this basic mechanism works, I have decided to dig into the mind-body end of things. I am a big proponent of the power of the human mind and the control, if refined and practiced, that it has over the body. I can get rid of heartburn by placing a finger on my neck where my clavicles meet; I can clear a stuffy nose in 3 minutes of concentration. Why not allergies?

I'm also attacking the psychological end. Perhaps these issues are - at least partially - psychologically based. Mental blockages, lack of flow, eddies of stagnancy that need a good cleaning. I've found a great book to help me on my way. I'll let you know how it is and how I do on my journey. Because "medicine" is not curing me, 4-5 maintenance meds is no way to live, and while remaining inebriated may have its good points, it's not really productive for my business, marriage, or liver.

Maybe marijuana would work for allergies. There are some reports about its effectiveness on skin allergies. Time may come for an unofficial study...

Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job!

Yes, it is awesome.

And Behind the DCup We have...

I do enjoy the folks I follow, the folks in my Linktastica! and everyone in this community. Every once in a while there is a ripple in the pool in the yard of the blogosphere, and today (or this past Sunday), DCup, best known to me over at PoliTits, closed up all her shops and consolidated her undergarments and has dropped the pseudonym and can now be found over at That's Why just being herself.

Congrats, Lisa. I like your new space and am happy to see you even more comfortable than before. Linktastica! updated. Just for you.

Holy Batshit Coulter!

I have to give Harry Smith credit for his playful masochism in bringing Ann Coulter to the show, and immediately take it away from him for allowing this batshit crazy loon to pimp her whiny victim book.

Best line "You should have a cross." Watch it.


Watch CBS Videos Online

...and boo to me for posting it and spreading the virus. But it is funny.

Ricky's Wisdom Today - 1/6/2009

"I, without grasping, will pass beyond sorrow,
And I will attain nirvana," one says.
Whoever grasps like this
Has great grasping.

-Nagarjuna; Mulamadhyamaka-Karika

It's Been a Couple Days...

So it's been a couple days since I've been around. Part of it is the back and forth with the holidays and part of it is genuine apathy. I've been up and down about the layoff, fluctuating between not wanting to get off the couch and a "go get 'em" attitude (today's a little more "go"), and I've been getting all my ducks in a row for a massive contact push today because while the economy is stinking it seems everyone I would like to speak with had the last two weeks off.

Aside from growing the client list, it is good to have the house back. Empty, I mean. Love the family dearly, but the work day is sometimes the only time I get to myself. Which should really change this year.

No, this is not the time to go into resolutions for 2009. Some goals, some desires, maybe tomorrow.

The blog itself is not going to change much except to say that I'll have at least one post up daily - I know; I've been skipping more and more lately. I'm still sensing a minor remainder of political hangover, an apathy in its own right, and will be booting back up politically in the coming days, especially with the inauguration already being pushed to our lips like television's dripping teat.

Watched several movies over the holidays, so I've got some reviews coming up, some fantastic restaurants who deserve a write-up over on that business blog I -occasionally- write, more sex content, and the normal decrying of douchebaggery all 'round.

Happy New Year.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go get 'em.

Joke of the Day - Catholic Heart Attack

Sometimes unwanted emails from acquaintences aren't sanctimonious, pseudo-patriotic tripe.

A man suffered a serious heart attack and had an open heart bypass surgery. He awakened from the surgery to find himself in the care of nuns at a Catholic Hospital .

As he was recovering, a nun asked him questions regarding how he was going to pay for his treatment. She asked if he had health insurance.

He replied, in a raspy voice, "No health insurance."

The nun asked if he had money in the bank.

He replied, "No money in the bank."

The nun asked, "Do you have a relative who could help you?"

He said, "I only have a spinster sister, who is a nun."

The nun became agitated and announced loudly, "Nuns are not spinsters! Nuns are married to God.

The patient replied, "Then send the bill to my brother-in-law."

Guitar Hero Xmas

This Christmas was, as it always is, an endeavor. Two xmas eves, two xmas days, xmas on Saturday. Joy.

But I did receive, from my parents, Guitar Hero World Tour with a dual guitar setup: 2 Les Paul wireless guitars for my 360.

Tasty. Love it.

Questionable news is that because I'm functionally tied to the computer trying to build my business, Little Shambles has seriously become a rock star. She's unlocked like 20 songs on career mode on medium.

And I still can't hit 100% on easy on any song I've tried.

I guess I'll get good next week when I still don't have enough work to keep rolling and need some distraction other than worrying about the mortgage.

For those of you who haven't heard: I'm running a professional web development and web marketing company. And I'm awesome. Contact me. Reasonable pricing includes search engine friendly design. Best practices.

Yay xmas!

Miller's Gospel

1:1
And the Angels heralded me. And they herded me. And one named Camael came forward from the masses and ushered me through the door of the Kingdom, held the door open and slammed it shut behind me.

1:2
I looked back, then forward. The hall was dark and dank and smelled of frankincense, like Catholic church as a boy. At the end of the close hall, I followed a set of musty, stone stairs. Downward.
Downward?

1:3
At the end of the stairs, a small daemon pushed me forward towards another door. I pushed it open. I walked through. Candles lit the enormous chamber. As I turned around, the door behind me was slammed shut.

1:4
The chamber was wide. Open. I knew inherently that it was God's home. At the back of the chamber was a throne. It was empty. I wept.

1:5
"Why is God, my only hope of salvation, gone?" I cried.
The throne was empty.
Silence.
Then:
"Oh, I'm here."
"Huh? But where -"
"Why do you -"
"Why can't I see you?!" I shouted
Silence.
"Why do you need to think I would sit in a throne?"
"I didn't. I was brought here."
Silence.
"Listen to yourself," said the voice. "This is your place, not mine. Your idea, not mine. Your throne, not mine.
"Which is why I am not in it."

1:6
I wandered the room, wondered about the spectacle that was not a spectacle. Pillars of stone surrounded the throne and I wondered, for the first time, where reality was sitting as the throne itself disappeared, the pillars turning to dust.
The room disappeared.
I wept.

1:7
Again, the voice, in the darkness:
"There is no church. There is no steeple. There is no room. There is no God."
I paused at the last.
"What do you mean, 'There is no God?' I'm here. You're here. I'm speaking to you, I'm..."
"There are no words for me. God. Allah. El. Jehovah.
"All naming the nameless."

1:8
"But I have no reference," I shouted to the nothing.
"But you do," it said.
"You love.
"So you know.
"You don't need a throne and you don't need domination and you - and the world - don't need anything more than it desires or wants or can make due with.
"You already have everything.
"Make it good."

1:9
"But that isn't an answer," I shouted to the nothing.
"Then what is?"
And silence.

1:10
And it was done. And I realized it myself, sitting in front of a computer, typing words, and I hoped it was enough for me and prayed it was something for someone else.

Stream of What?

I just spent 4 hours driving from Cleveland to Cincinnati and as soon as I got back it was unload, unload, unload, and when we got that done it was unpack, unpack, unpack, and the cats seemed okay despite 5 days alone, so that was good, changed their box, but Mrs. Shambles is sick and I can't do anything directly to help her except perhaps some reiki but that's about energy not viruses and some pills and that's what I just gave her and I'm on the computer looking up unemployment benefits instead of sitting with her and watching tee vee, she's sniffling, and sneezing, and coughing but I keep on with the computer thinking that if I just keep going, keep moving, keep looking up information on the internets, then perhaps, just perhaps, everything will be clear, clear as the glass of our front window.

But the glass of our front window is smeared with dog slobber. And even with crystal clarity, all you see is "outside." And that is reality. And that can be scary. And maybe, just tonight, we'll pretend it's just blackness outside, turn on the tree, and make ourselves comfortable. Just comfortable. And then, maybe, we'll finally be back home.

Ann Coulter's Christian Failings

From the inane mind of the bigot Coulter comes a lovely Christmastime email entitled "My Triumph Over Kwanzaa!" It begins:

Is it just me, or does Kwanzaa seem to come earlier and earlier each year?

This year, I believe my triumph over this synthetic holiday is nearly complete. The only mentions of Kwanzaa I’ve seen are humorous ones. Most important, for the first time in eight years, President George Bush appears not to have issued "Kwanzaa greetings" to honor this phony non-Christian holiday that is younger than I am.

It is a fact that Kwanzaa was invented in 1966 by a black radical FBI stooge, Ron Karenga, aka Dr. Maulana Karenga. Karenga was a founder of United Slaves, a violent nationalist rival to the Black Panthers and a dupe of the FBI.

First, I'd like to set something into context for Ann:

It is a fact that Christmas was invented by the Catholic Church, a holiday to celebrate the birth of a man for whom proof of existence is entirely lacking except in ancient manuscripts that attribute him with otherworldly powers of creating matter out of nothing, raising the dead, and his own resurrection, as well as a following that eats flesh and drinks blood. This season, originally pagan nature celebrations and Roman holidays, was usurped by said Church in order to exert its power over all of Europe and, eventually, the world.

Sanctimonious pseudo-zealotry over supposed Christian ideals as a supplement and bolster to supposed American ideals with a basis in the derision of another person's belief and culture serves only to eliminate the validity of those Christian ideals. It is not sexy, intelligent, or work as any form of humor.

In other words, Ann Coulter has proven in three paragraphs that she is a Christian in name only.

Greta Van Susteren: Sucker

In one of my Yahoo groups, someone sent me this link to Fox News's Greta Van Susteren's blog. It is entitled "Did you know this?" and begins like this:

** LIFE IN THE 1500′S ***

The next time you are washing your hands and complain because the water temperature isn’t just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the 1500s:

Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and still smelled pretty good by June. However, they were starting to smell, so brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odor. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.

For those of you who have been visiting the internets for more than fifteen minutes, you might recognize this bit of misinformation, almost 10 years old now, that has been circulating through uninformed emails and blog posts.

To be clear: here is the Snopes page declaring this to be foolishness.

This tells me two things:

1. Greta Van Susteren is gullible and does not put much faith in even basic research.
2. If it wasn't for the remedial modicum of fact-checking and integrity that does exist in the bowels of Fox News, it would be an even more absurd network and viewing experience.

Hidden gem: check out Greta's blog comment by RU4REAL a little ways down. Seems retired teachers who are fans of Fox News are also susceptible to repeating emails.

Getting Laid Off

It couldn't happen to me - not right at Christmas - until it did.

It wasn't a surprise except that it lasted this long. The owner of the business had been running it into the ground for years. That's what happens when you continually fail to deliver and consistently late to meetings (him, of course, not me). People left and weren't replaced, including sales and - for now - they're going into hibernation mode.

The good news is that I run my own web design and marketing company and have a couple clients to lean on with that. So we're not dead, just bleeding. Yeah. Not drowning, but waving.

So if you enjoy this blog and know anyone looking to build or redesign or market their website, go ahead and click that profile and send me an email. Mrs. Shambles and I will appreciate it.