Horrifying Odds/Shocking Statistics

I was reading an article online with the local classic rock station on and the radio jock starting talking about odds of things happening.  I wasn't paying much attention, but he mentioned the odds of winning the lottery, then went on with other long odds of things happening to you.  It wasn't until the last bit of information he mentioned that my ears perked up.

I did not remember all the numbers, but I went to see the odds of playing the lottery. From Wonderopolis:

In a lottery in which you pick 6 numbers from a possible pool of 49 numbers, your chances of winning the jackpot (correctly choosing all 6 numbers drawn) are 1 in 13,983,816. That's 1 shot in almost 14 million.

If you were to buy one lottery ticket each week in such a scenario, you could expect to win once every 269,000 years.

That's pretty good odds compared to the Mega Millions jackpot. According to Wikipedia the odds of hitting a jackpot on that game are 302,575,350 to 1.

Of course, if you want a little better odds than that, then you can play Powerball, which according to Wiki has odds of "only" 1 in 292,201,338 of winning the big prize.

I don't remember all the categories - just the last couple - the radio jock brought up, but northjersey.com claims that you have a much better chance of being killed by a vending machine 112 million to one - than winning either the Powerball or Mega Millions.  They also say it's a much better bet that an asteroid will hit the Earth, 1-75,000.  Also, the article says the odds of finding a four-leaf clover are 1-10,000 and being hit by lightning 1 in 15,300.

I wonder what the odds are of being hit by lightning AND an asteroid while looking for a four-leaf clover?

Never mind.

Anyway, the radio jock went on with some odds I found distressing and unlike the other millions to one odds, I remembered these.  He said the odds of a man cheating on his wife were 1 in 5.  That upset me for some reason, even though I knew that was pretty accurate.  I'm just proud that when I was married, I was one of the four faithful guys.

The other stat that bothered me was in the same category, namely that 1 in 7.5 women cheated on their husbands.  I'm certain that my ex was one of those 6.5 faithful women.

Which brings me to something about that last stat;  just exactly how does one cheat with .5 of a person, half a woman? Would that be the top half?  Just guessing, but I'd say it would have to be the bottom half to really fall under the definition of cheating, but that's just my twisted mind.  Whats even more twisted is the thought of the woman being half a woman vertically...split right down the middle 

I guess that could be the case, more than the top/bottom scenarios.  After all, the odds of a woman having conjoined twins is 1-200,000....and if they had been separated, and a man cheated with one of the twins, that technically would be the point 5 of a woman, right?

I guess if a guy cheated with BOTH of the still-joined twins, that would skew the statistics, right?  Would you count that as one or TWO of that 7.5 figure?

What's really horrifying is me thinking about stuff like this.  Trust me, the odds of me doing THAT is pretty much a sure thing.

Don't Get Yourself in a Pickle!

A "bump" from Nov. '08.  No one commented, so perhaps no one or not many saw it. Unlike many of my stories, this is a true one.

Besides, I needed a post for today and just couldn't get enthused enough to work one up.

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“There are three kinds of men. The one that learns by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest of them have to pee on the electric fence for themselves.”
- Will Rogers

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It was a Senior Work Day, and we boys were working on a Saturday, making some money for our class trip after graduation. We castrated pigs that morning, then after lunch we were instructed to move some irrigation pipe. Someone noticed an electric fence on a nearby pasture and the question was raised:

"Say, you ever pee on an electric fence?" Out of the six of us, four admitted they had and another boy and I were the only ones to admit to have not having had the experience.

"Do it!" the four urged me and the other guy. I shook my head, having been around electric fences before and not liking how the shock went through me where I had made contact with the fence after not seeing it and then accidentally walking into it. The shock was bad enough on my thighs, the thought of having "it" shocked wasn't appealing to me, not at all.

The taunts went on, but I didn't care because those words didn't hurt nearly as much as electricity. Maybe I was the only one who had been awake in eighth grade science when we learned about electricity and in particular how salt water can be a circuit and conduct current. For one experiment, we used a pickle to complete a circuit; it glowed inside and crackled like an old pool hall beer sign.



Nope, no need for me to electrify MY little dill.

The other guy was challenged by the sneers from the rest and with a show of bravado, marched over to the fence, unzipped and after a few moments of potty blush, began to urinate on the charged wire.

While others claimed to have seen a spark, I must have been in the wrong position, but I did see the guy's knees buckle, then straighten up to launch him into the air and land backwards into a muddy ditch.

It took him a while to recover, then he became angry at our laughter and turned his rage upon me.

"Your turn!" he commanded.

With tears in my eyes from laughing so hard, I declined again. "MY momma didn't raise no fool." I told him, which made him even angrier.

"You're the only one who hasn't done it!" he said. "We'll make you!" he went on, looking around at the other boys for allies.

One by one, the others shook their heads, saying they really HADN'T ever peed on a fence, just wanted to see if someone would do it.

This set the guy off and in a profanity-laden tirade, accused them of being liars.

"Better that than a dumbass." was the reply.

Long Time

Wow, just noticed how long it had been since my last post.  In my defense, I was offline for the better part of the last five days because my modem was fried by a nearby lightning strike.   I was relieved it was just the modem and not my computer and especially since my 'puter and several peripherals are on the same circuit.

Wussy AT&T modem, anyway.

Anyway...it's not as though I really do much with this pathetic excuse for a blog nor that I have loads of visitors to keep entertained.  It's always only been a "hobby", something to do to amuse myself.  It's really just an ersatz means of being creative, typing out some stupid words or embedding a video and pressing "Send" and having it post and then looking at it and saying to myself "Wow, I created something."

I'm sure it's something a trained ape could do.

I don't get all that many unique visitors and the last time I checked, this blog was ranked something like 12,456,738th in the world, so....

All that said, if anyone has been disappointed by my lack of posts, I promise I'll try to do better.  For those of you who have been disappointed by a lack of any creative content....well, keep checking in because I might accidentally post something worth reading.

Not that I ever have, but there's always hope, huh?

The Summer of ' 69

A "bump" of this post from August of '08 because today is the anniversary of the first day of Woodstock.

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I remember that summer very well; I had made my first real money at my first real job (and the first thing I bought was The Ventures Golden Greats album) and I was due to start high school that fall.

It was in August of that year that most of the class took a trip to Lake Foss in Oklahoma. Several of us boys rode in the back of a long cattle trailer with most of the equipment, the camp stoves, skis, tents, etc. and we joked and laughed and smoked cigarettes all the way there.

Not being much of a skier, I would go off hiking or fishing while everyone else was out on the water. I came from a skiing family, but never cared for the water sport. (one of the reasons might have been the "water skiers enema" I suffered the first time I hit the lake surface and skidded along on my bottom for 20 yards.)

I've also never been able to sleep in a strange place, at least not the first night. It was nearly the middle of the night when everyone else but myself finally fell asleep. Earlier that evening, a couple of the parents who had come along as chaperones had told us "There's some buses full of hippies in a camp down the way...stay away from 'em!"

Not being able to sleep and like most other teenagers when told not to do something, I ventured near the brightly-painted buses like a moth drawn to a flame. As I drew closer, I could hear singing, some musical instruments being played. I quietly walked up to the swing-out door and knocked softly upon the frame. The music immediately stopped, as did the production of the sickly-sweet aromatic smoke that I had smelled.

"Who's there?" challenged a voice. "Uh...just heard ya playin' music...." I stammered. A figure in the darkness came close "It's just a kid." said a soft, sweet feminine voice. Before I knew it, hands were gently pulling me inside. Oh Lord, I thought...what had I got myself into?

"Sit down." came the softly-spoken command from the female who had brought me into the bus. As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I could see a shapely young woman of around 20 yrs. old, long hair and a flowing dress that clung to her figure which was now deliciously crowded against me on the bus seat. A few questions were sent my way from the dark recesses of the bus, what was I doing there, where was I from, did we have any extra "munchies". After mumbling out my replies, the music started back up and so did the odd smelling smoke.

The musical instruments consisted of many I had never seen; an African "harp", some homemade woodwinds, various weird drums and other odd percussion instruments and the music was unlike any other I had ever heard. It was unstructured, with no obvious theme and seemed to end by some unspoken consensus on the part of the musicians...or when the glowing coal that seemed to float around the bus came to them.

My eyes finally adjusted to the point where I could make out a bit more about the occupants of the bus; most were young men, in their early 20's or late teens, but there were a few girls there, most importantly the one sitting beside me, nudging my body with hers as she swayed in time to the music.

As the smoke swirled around my head, so did the thoughts inside my head; by that time, I couldn't have told you my name or where I was from, but I knew that I was in love with this hippy goddess. She smelled like no other girl I had ever been close to, a combination of sweat and flowers, no perfume but something completely natural, a musky scent I later wish I could have bottled and sold for a million dollars an ounce.

I believe this was my first experience with pheromones and contact highs. I'll never forget it.

"Did you say you had some cookies?" breathed my seat mate's voice in my ear, the sensation being unlike any other I had ever experienced. "I'm hungry." Her words were as lovely as her face and body, words of some newly discovered rare substance that entered my brain like musical notes formed of Jell-O and wrapped in velvet. She laid her head on my shoulder, her hand upon my knee. My heart literally stopped because it was now up in my throat. Her breath was as hot as molten lava on my neck, her eyelashes fluttering on my cheek creating a sensation that I thought must be like being caressed by a thousand beautiful butterflies.

"Mmmm...be right back." I said and jumped up to go get the fair maiden her cookies. I didn't know if we had any in our camping supplies, but I was prepared to go rob a grocery store, kill a Keebler elf for her, strangle him with my bare hands if need be.

I ran as fast as I could go back to our campsite and rummaged through our supplies in the back of the horse trailer. "Whaddyadoin'?" came a sleepy murmur from the front of the trailer where a couple of the guys were sleeping. Ignoring them, I grabbed every sweet thing I could find, I was wanting to get back as quickly as I could, reclaim my king's perch along side my queen, bring her the plundered booty as homage.

With an armful of cookies and Twinkies and honeybuns, I made my light-headed way through the hot and humid Oklahoma night back to the darkened bus, every step filled with urgency. As I drew near the bus, the smell of that smoke was stronger than before. I climbed the steps with the goodies, searching through the darkness for my goddess. Grabbing, anxious hands relieved me of the sweets, but I paid no notice, still looking for the young woman, the only woman in the world, the one destined for me.

"Astrid split." came a voice from the corner of the bus. "She said to tell you she was over there." and I could make out the shape of a hand in the dim moonlight gesturing to a nearby VW van covered in peace signs and orange and red flowers. Not understanding what was meant, I sank to the nearest seat in abject disappointment, nearly sitting on someone who, in a crinkle of cellophane wrappers and grunts of annoyance, moved over so I could sit down. Even without looking, I could tell this certainly wasn't my hippy goddess as the smell was atrocious, greasy hair and unwashed body, a horrible odor that even the strange smelling smoke couldn't mask.

"If you ain't goin', then I am." said my new seat mate through a mouthful of Twinkies. He stood up, brushed by me as I pressed myself up against the seat, hoping that none of that miasma would migrate to me. Being a stranger, I was afraid to open my mouth in protest plus I was also breathing through it instead of my nose, trying to avoid the awful stench. I watched in horror as he strode off through the cloudy night towards my goddess's vehicle, opened the door without introduction knock or greeting and climbed in.

I hadn't the heart to stay after that, even though I found the hippies to be interesting subjects to watch, just like animals in the zoo. They might have well been extinct dodos or passenger pigeons because there certainly were no species like them where I came from!

As I was leaving, I asked one where they were headed. "We're meeting up with some friends from Kansas here and going on in a caravan to a big concert in New York state. " I was barely paying attention, instead watching my beloved's smaller bus starting to rock on its suspension. I didn't know about the facts of life, was ignorant just like most other teens of my age in that day and time, but I certainly knew that VW van was full of the birds 'n bees at that particular moment.

My heart, once in my throat, once stopped by the touch of her hand, was now on the ground, being eaten by the wild dogs of jealousy.

In my own personal history, I suppose this could've been a milestone: my first experience with hippies, my first experience with pot and my first experience with lust. I wasn't so impressed with the hippies; they stank, were greedy beggars and I didn't even realize I had even HAD an experience with illegal drugs until many years later. The lust, though... -sigh- That night, the hour or two that seemed like a microsecond at the time...or perhaps it was an eternity...that night I went from Lust to Jealousy and then came my first profound sense of Loss, at least a loss of a highly desired experience dreamed about by 99.99% of all straight 14 yr. old boys.

A few weeks later, when the television news was full of the gathering of tens of thousands of young people in a NY farmer's field, was when I realized that the hippies were headed to Woodstock. The TV footage showed countless young men, all with greasy-looking long hair, unwashed, twins of all those aboard that bus that night. There were also images of young women, also with dirty hair festooned with flowers, also unwashed, but none were my Astrid. (or it might have been "Agnes", sounds sounded differently to me that night)

With age sometimes comes wisdom, and some small measure of wisdom has even sunk into my own thick skull. I might have missed out on one of the defining moments of a young man's life, at least having the moment with my hippy goddess, but I probably also missed out on the joys of massive doses of penicillin.

(and having to explain to my mother just WHY I needed the antibiotics)

D-Day, the 6th of June

Note:  A "bump" from 2008.

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All day today the History Channel had several programs (three, I think, repeated) on D-Day. It's one of the most important days of the 20th century and arguably the most important of the war. It's a wonder the death toll wasn't much higher, almost a "perfect storm" towards success.

Churchill had all hospitals emptied because he feared the worst and according to one program, told his wife before she went to bed that night that "when you wake up, 20,000 men may have died while you slept."

There was Ike's decision to postpone the invasion for one day and immediately after the landings, the weather turned impossible again, absolutely no chance of postponing it again.

There was something like 5000 bombers that dropped their bombs well inland, killing nothing but cows and scaring only French farmers out of their warm beds.

There was Rommel, taking off for his wife's birthday because he thought there was no way the allies would attack in such weather and low tides.

Hitler was asleep and no one else could give the order to move the Panzers forward.

The paratroopers were dropped all over the place, far from the intended drop zones....so many things that could've led to defeat.

The only thing I can attribute the ultimate victory to is the Hand of God.

I have a cartoon strip saved, but cannot find it to scan and post. I don't even remember what the normally funny and light-hearted strip was, but it was in '94, the 50th anniversary. A boy was asking his mother why the butcher looked so sad today and she told him he remembered his buddies who died that day 50 years ago and how he had to wade through their blood to get to the beach. To be honest, it made me tear up then and still does at this moment, thinking about all of those brave young men.

Do you remember then-President Clinton on Omaha Beach during the ceremony that year? That was when he was walking along the beach and when he saw the cameras on him, he quickly kneeled down in the sand and made a cross with some rocks. Whatever little respect I had left for him disappeared in that moment because I knew why he was doing it, not out of respect for the fallen, but merely for a photo-op.

I feel guilty bringing him up in a thread devoted to REAL heroes, God Bless them all.

God Bless US all.

3 Words

I was just about to click the link to delete all the junk in my spam folder earlier and saw this:

I know the subject line is intended to get poor, lonely and ugly slobs (like me) to open the mail and click on the links to find out the secret, the 3 words that will convince a woman to sleep with them, but even though I AM poor, lonely and an ugly slob, I'm not that stupid.

At least not most of the time.

Still, it got me to wondering;  are there really "3 words" to get her into the mood?  I sat here and thought about it, wondering how I could turn this into something funny.  Could the three words be:

"Yes, I'm rich." or
"That's my Ferrari." or
"Have another drink."

Since I've never had a lot of money or didn't care to pick up women at bars or parties, those never were options for me.  Not that I'm any sort of expert, but I think there are other 3-words that are better to use in certain situations, such as:

"Hold my hand." or
"You look lovely." or the ultimate 3 words:
"I love you."

Of course, all those 3-words are to be used for women I care about and that's the first requirement - caring about them- before I want them to want me.

End of story.

Ameslan

Ameslan \ AM-uh-slan, AM-slan \ noun

1. American Sign Language.

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HANDSPEAK.COM says the word is an old one and obsolete since the 1960's. I've been around since before the 60's but wasn't familiar with it.

I've been acquainted with a lot of people who are hard of hearing and my own hearing isn't all that good, but my experiences with deaf folks are few.  I grew up with a nearly deaf girl whose mom was a teacher in elementary school and sometimes when Mary was acting up, her mother would scold her with sign language.   The thing I remember most about Mary was when her hearing aid would malfunction or the battery would be nearly drained, it made a horrible, high-pitched sound and I was always amazed that she couldn't hear it. 

My nieces learned a little bit to sign some Christmas carols for their church, but I don't know if they learned enough to communicate with deaf folks.  (I guess wishing them a Merry Christmas wouldn't really count as truly communicating)

I do have a dear online friend who is deaf but other than in chat rooms and email, I've never been around her.  She says she used to use ASL when she was younger, but doesn't know it now as she did then and generally just reads lips to understand what people are saying.  She watches a lot of TV and uses closed captioning - so do I, but it's not because I can't hear them, I simply can't understand what they're saying.  Just last night I was watching True Detective and went online to read a transcript of the show to find out what some bits of dialogue were.  

A long time ago, a friend and I were doing the "either/or" conversational game. (The choices offered are a dilemma, with neither option being desirable,  such as "Would you rather be executed by the electric chair or hanging?") The question was posed "Would you rather be blind or deaf?" I said deaf, because I think the world would be a hard place in which to exist if one couldn't see, but my friend said he'd rather be blind,  because he could learn to read Braille, but he didn't think he could live without music.  I still would choose deaf, but I still wouldn't argue with my friend's choice.

Childish Names

You Like Names That Are Forgotten and Quirky

You prefer a name that's offbeat, but not made up. You like old names that are interesting sounding... You're the type to name someone after a historical figure or fictional character. You like a name that has a story behind it... hopefully spanning many generations. Some female names you might like: Annabel, Clementine, Evangeline, Genevieve, Isadora, Lorelei, and Ophelia. Some male names you might like: Cornelius, Dexter, Ferdinand, Gilbert, Jude, Rafael, and Ulysses.

What Kind of Names Do You Like?

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Not so sure I'd agree with the results of this quiz exactly, and I've never had children, but I do think I'd prefer (or would have preferred) an old-fashioned name instead of something trendy. I always thought that, if I ever did have a daughter (and got to name her) I'd like to name her Bonnie Irene, after my two grandmothers.  That's fairly old fashioned, wouldn't you say? Then, along with the first letter of her last name, I could give her the nickname "BIDdy". Her mother, whoever that might have been, probably wouldn't have gone for that, but...what the heck, huh?

I like the female names in the results, but I'm not fond of any of the male names.  Cornelius reminds me of one of the primates in the movie "Planet of the Apes", Dexter brings to mind the serial killer in the series of the same name, Ferdinand makes me think of a pig...or Magellan.  Gilbert is one half of the comic opera writing duo, Jude makes me want to say "Hey!", Rafael was a painter or saint and Ulysses could be either an epic hero or a Union general. 

No, thanks.  I'd just as soon name him "Sue".

I try to not post too many quizzes, at least not more than one per "page" of the blog, but I had noticed the last one had slipped off into the archives and figured I could post another one. (in lieu of any actual significant content, as is the usual case with this blog)  Earlier tonight I had received my weekly newsletter from StrangeCosmos.com and read this article:

Why Do Celebrities Give Their Kids Strange Names?

Sage Moonblood, Moxie Crimefighter, Pilot Inspektor and Moon Unit: Are these proper nouns from a bad sci-fi novel? Perhaps. They are definitely the names of the children of Sylvester Stallone, Penn Jillette, Jason Lee, and Frank Zappa, respectively.

Indeed, when it comes to celebrity baby names, it gets weirder than Apple (the daughter of Gwyneth Paltrow and Coldplay frontman Chris Martin). Just yesterday, Mariah Carey announced that she and husband Nick Cannon have named their newborn twin son and daughter Moroccan and Monroe after the top floor of her apartment building and Marilyn Monroe, respectively. Why, oh why?

According to name expert Laura Wattenberg, the author of the name guide "The Baby Name Wizard" (Broadway, 2005) and founder of babynamewizard.com, unusual baby names are likely to emerge among populations of creative people.

Read the rest of the article.

Everything's Going Swimmingly

This is one of the 1625 videos (at the time of this post) from the YouTube channel of Mary Thomassen. Most are of the same nature; Ms. Thomassen swimming underwater, doing headstands and flips, holding her breath, etc. Others are of her lying in her yard or on the beach, usually with her dog included in the video.  To be fair, I have only viewed a few dozen of the vids; others might have her opining on politics or global climate change...but I doubt it. (and didn't care to look through them all to see)

I subscribed to the channel for a while, but in my quest to cull the unnecessary distractions from my online life, I've decided to un-subscribe.  I think she's attractive and she has a sexy, appealing figure, but... I'm not sure why I subscribed in the first place.  I found her videos fascinating for a short while, and no, it wasn't her bikini-clad body or how there were often near- "wardrobe malfunctions", but it was my own curiosity as to just WHY she made the videos.

I could be wrong, a distinct possibility, but I think it's a need for attention.  I don't want to insult the woman, but what else could it be?  I was also curious as to the attraction for her subscribers - and judging from the comments, they're mostly male. Her videos aren't pornographic, just slightly risqué. It's hard for me to understand why they're so popular; you can find porn ANYWHERE on the 'net (well, not on YouTube, although you CAN find more revealing videos than these), so I can't chalk her popularity up to simple prurient interest. What I'm trying to say if people watch them just to get sexually aroused, then there are many more avenues for that sort of thing.

Like I said, a mystery to me.

Thanks to YouTube's "recommended videos", I found that she's not the only one with these sorts of videos.   Oh well, I guess it's a fetish like many others.  Goodness knows I've found out there are quite a few fetish folks with frequent hits on THIS blog, such as the ones for Gay Irish Dwarfs and My Sister's Feet.

So, bye-bye Mary.  Keep on swimmin', but don't hold your breath waiting on me to understand your motivation.

Execution Day

It's been in the news lately: Texas to Execute #500 as though it was some sort of crazy fire sale where only the first 500 customers will be given a toaster oven with purchase. Number 500 happens to be a woman, which I'm sure is driving up the media interest along with the "milestone" total.

From the article linked to above: Texas has carried out nearly 40 percent of the more than 1,300 executions in U.S. since the Supreme Court allowed capital punishment to resume in 1976. The state's standing stems from its size as the nation's second most populous state as well as its tradition of tough justice for killers.

I'm not particularly a pro-death penalty advocate, but I'm neither anti-DP, either. I wish for a time when we could value human life more than we do now; if that were the case, then there wouldn't be nearly the need for capital punishment. Until that time however, I would hope that the death penalty would be used almost exactly as how I would want abortions to happen: rarely and only with a good reason.

Jackpots, Stocks & Socks

There's a lottery frenzy going on right now;  the Mega Millions jackpot is $170 million and the Powerball is up to $350 million.  I bought a QP (quick pick) ticket for each earlier this evening.  I don't expect to win either, but it sure would be nice.

I sometimes visit a lottery forum and *sometimes* enjoy reading the comments.  I was surprised at the level of contention over how people should invest their money or even spend it.  I did enjoy one obviously young man's recent post with pics of all the things he would buy;  a few sports cars and a house that looked larger than many hotels I've seen.  It had a game room with a dozen arcade games, pinball machines, 2-lane bowling alley, a huge gym, a man cave with a gigantic video screen and bar.  There were so many photos of things he would buy it took a minute or so to load even w/ my fairly fast connection.   Some castigated him over his conspicuous consumption dreams but others laughed and said more power to him. (my thoughts)

Other people said they'd live in swanky places such as Beverly Hills or Malibu while others said they wouldn't want to live in those type places.  I agree with the latter.  Some said they would want to have multiple houses and live in Hawaii or Florida during the winter and in the north in summer. (Me? I'd be worrying about the one house while living in the other)  One woman wants to live in Paris, something I would never, ever do.  I don't really have any desire to visit France except for the Normandy D-Day beaches.

The investment advice varies greatly, too.  "Buy gold and silver!" declare some.  "Diamonds!" say others.   Some say they'd play the stock market. (and I expect the stock market *might* play THEM) A few take the survivalist route,  say they'd buy a place in the mountains with plenty of guns, freeze dried foods, etc.  I guess that's OK, but it certainly wouldn't be enjoying your new-found wealth, at least not to me.  (as I've mentioned before) 

One guy distrusted the stock market and other investments so much he said he'd just as soon stuff it all into a mattress.  That's a little TOO cautious for me, but I have always thought I might make a pillow full of cash.  I don't know if that would make me sleep easy or not sleep at all worrying about it, but....

Some of the best arguments are over taking the lump sum or the annuity.  When purchasing my lottery tickets, I always opt for the lump sum for several reasons.  One, the highest tax bracket just increased this year from 35% to 39.6%.  Taxes very seldom go down.  Secondly, the annuity would give you a guaranteed income for its length (26 yrs on Mega Millions, 30 on Powerball) but I'm getting to the age where I most likely wouldn't see the last checks and even if I did, I might not have the mental facilities to endorse them. 

Maybe a good investment would be a nice retirement home and pay the employees very well and also stipulate that, on the day after I died, they were all fired.  I imagine I'd get some great care.

As I said, I doubt I'll ever win the lottery,but if I do,  I plan to give all my winnings away. 

Yes, all of it;  to charity, friends and family, but also to current land owners, building contractors, auto dealerships, airlines, resorts, cruise ships, restaurants, clothing stores, etc.  Of course, I'll have to give the govt. 39.6% plus what they'll take after I die, plus taxes on my earnings from investments.(that mattress idea looks better all the time)

I don't think I could ever be obscenely extravagant, but who knows?  I once read Justin Timberlake wears brand new underwear every day.  I never found out what he did with the old ones, but he could probably make a pretty good amt. by selling them on Ebay.   I might do something like that, only with socks, although I doubt anyone would want my "old" socks, even with only one wearing.  I guess I could donate them to charity. (after washing, of course)  OTOH, I could probably hire someone to come in and sort and match them, that would be the main reason I'd wear a new pair every day.  I really hate having to try to match up nearly identical white socks.

We're Having a Gay Old Time!

Updated original post from April '06. The links to the "Love God's Way" website seem to be invalid, now, sorry.

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This blog has been getting quite a few hits on the "A Rather Queer Email" post I made a week or so ago, coming in from Google searches (we're #2!! If you can't be Hertz, might as well be Avis!), most likely from their having received the same email as I did.

I was thinking about writing a post on Phelps, that despicable Kansas preacher and his "God Hates Fags" website. It's beyond comprehension how someone can call themself a Christian, yet be so full of hate.

(as I said, I find him despicable for that, but I have trouble controlling my own hatred of him when I hear of him and his congregation picketing the funerals of our fallen soldiers. I believe I couldn't turn the other cheek if he attempted to do it here. Just a warning in advance, Phelps, you sunuvabitch)

Looking for some information about his so-called "church", all the while wondering if I even want to subject my readers to something so horrible, I stumbled across what seems to be another domain he owns or is at least associated with his.

It was a page within the website, one that listed the "Bands to Watch Out For", that had me literally laughing out loud. It's a long, long list of gay bands (and sometimes with a comment in parenthesis) and includes Twisted Sister, The Grateful Dead (drugs too!), Marilyn Manson (dark gay), The Doors, Queen, Phish, The Butchies (lizbians) (Huh? "lizbians"???), The Killers, Judas Priest, The Village People (duh--oops, that's MY comment, sorry), Kansas, The Indigo Girls, Boy George (duh again!), Nirvana, Nickleback, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Wilson Phillips, Motorhead, DMX, kd lang (duh one more time) and quite a few more.

Elton John, apparently, is so gay he's listed twice.

Clay Aiken is listed, but that's not fair, because he adamantly denies it.

-snicker-

Britney Spears is listed because: (kissed Madonna) Madonna is listed, but nothing afterwards in parenthesis, because I reckon she's kissed everybody.

Ted Nugent is listed because...well, I'm not sure. He's been married twice and has fathered five children. "Cat Scratch Fever" seems to be about anything BUT gay sex. They also have (loincloth) after his name which puzzles me.

I guess that means Tarzan was gay, too. He WAS quite a swinger, come to think of it. He did seem to pay more attention to Cheetah than he did Jane. Always rollin' 'round with crocodiles, and spent a little too much time caressing elephant's trunks, too.

Frank Sinatra is on the list. Wow. I guess if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.

Cole Porter is listed. It's not been proven he was gay, not that I know of, only innuendo. I guess the website thinks he gave himself away in his music with "Anything Goes", "What is This Thing Called Love?", "You've Got That Thing" and "Blow, Gabriel, Blow".

George Michael is listed, which comes as no big surprise. What DID come as a surprise was having (Texan) after his name. I guess Michael's accent is "Across-the-Pond East Texan".

There's another page, Safe Bands. More surprises there, mainly that Pat Boone and Amy Grant aren't listed. One surprise is that Cheap Trick is listed as safe. I like Cheap Trick, but never thought of them as "safe". Wonder what Phelps would think if I went up to him and said "I want you to want ME."

Not a long list on that page, though. Blondie is listed, but it's all right with the website that "she" (Debby Harry, lead singer) says anytime you're horny just to "Call Me".

The funniest listing was Cyndi Lauper. It's A-OK for girls who just wanna have fun, as long as it's not with other girls.

OR, by themselves. Again, that's OK because while the Bible mentions Onan, it says nothing about "she bopping".

---

I'm bumping this one up, because I just found the post again when searching for an unrelated one and wanted to update it. I found out something a few weeks after posting this and forgot to update it then: The gay/safe band posts were not made by a Phelps-type homophobic but rather by a gay guy who was using satire to poke fun at the "God Hates Fags" website and group. I'm pretty thick sometimes most of the time all of the time and didn't catch that. I guess I'm one of those idjits that needs a winking smiley to know when it's said in jest.

Fat Joe

A long time ago I worked for a local drilling contractor; it was a small company and at the time had only six rigs and I did stints on three of them. For a few weeks I worked on the smallest rig they had, a triple like the rest, but with the smallest sub-structure and in fact, it was the "junkiest" rig of the six.

At the urging of a guy I had worked with before, I went to work for his cousin, Joe. Now Joe was a big man...not a large man in size, but he was FAT. I've worked with guys who weren't in the best of shape, with guys who had beer bellies, but a truly fat guy is hard to find on drilling rigs due to the physical nature of the job.

Joe was the exception, both in size and "the physical nature". He never did much, instead preferring to point at what he wanted done. Sure, a driller is a step up from a floor or derrick hand, but they're still expected to get their hands dirty now 'n then. I think Joe had gloves that lasted years, never needing washing.

Joe was so fat, we called him "Joebba the Hutt"

To top all that off, Joe wasn't a fun guy like many fat guys are; basically, he was a despicable S.O.B. without much of a sense of humor, nor much good sense. For a work vehicle, he drove an old orange Dodge pickup with tires showing a dangerous amount of cord (and I've always said the drive killed more roughnecks than ever did the drillers) and that P.O.S. truck was lucky to hit on 6-7 of the 8 cylinders. I don't think the heater worked, but if it did, it wouldn't have mattered because there were holes in the floorboards big enough to throw a hardhat through.

(that's no exaggeration; I lost a good lunch box when it vibrated out the largest hole, the one on my side of the cab. Joe, being the despicable S.O.B. as I previously said, wouldn't even stop to go back and get it. I probably would've insisted, but I expect it didn't survive the fall and besides that, I was probably somewhat addled from the exhaust fumes coming up through the holes)

It was in the middle of the coldest winter in years when I worked for Fat Joe and normally, when there wasn't much to do, the hands would congregate in the top doghouse to get warm. Since Joe very seldom left it, we dressed as warmly as we could and stayed away...otherwise ol' Fat Joe would grunt and point to something he thought we should be doing that we really SHOULDN'T be doing during sub-zero weather, like painting or scrubbing the derrick.

I was down in the mud house, huddled around a propane torch with the rest of the hands when we heard a whistle; it was Joe at the top of the back steps, waving. His cousin started up the steps but Joe shook his head (and several rolls of neck fat shaking in tandem, his triple-chin wiggling like Jell-O) and pointed towards Yours Truly.

Oh crap, I thought, and headed up the stairs. As soon as I got to the top, Joe said "Get me a clean bucket." I figured I was going to be set to scrubbing something during that frigid night, just great.

I looked, but couldn't find a clean bucket, so I opened up a new bucket of pipe dope (a graphite-based lubricant for the drillstem) and scraped what was left of a nearly empty bucket into it. I then had to get some diesel and wash out the dregs, then used soapy water to finish cleaning it. I put some more soap in it, filled with water in anticipation of having to wash whatever it was Fat Joe wanted washing. I figured he might very well have me wash his truck, that's what kind of S.O.B. he was.

I lugged the bucket into the doghouse, set it down and backed up to the stove for a bit of warmth, hoping he was only going to have me clean up the floor or better yet, wipe down the doghouse. At least I'd be warm while I scrubbed.

I barely had time to get out of the way of the sudsy deluge as he kicked over the bucket in the general direction of the door. Astounded, I couldn't help but just look at him, wondering if he'd gone crazy.

"You gonna stay in here?" he asked. I shook my head, not understanding. "You gonna stay in here while I take a ****?" he elaborated.

Oh gag. I shook my head in disgust and left. I made my way back down to the mud house where I told the guys what had just taken place. They told me he did that to all the new hands and that I would be required to go dump it.

I stared at them in disbelief. "You're kiddin', right?" I asked. "The fat bas***d is too lazy to go out to the outhouse at the edge of the location....and he expects US to dump....???" I couldn't even finish, I was so flabbergasted. "Yep." said his cousin. "I'm glad yer here or else I'D have to keep doin' it." he said.

"Well, I ain't doin' it." I informed my smirking crewmates. "Oh, I bet you will if you wanna keep your job." the derrick hand told me.

"I wouldn't have a job where I had to do something like that." I maintained, looking in their faces for traces of "the big tease". "You're BS'in' me, aintchoo?" I went on.

About that time we heard another whistle and there was Fat Joe again, waving for me to come back up to the rig floor. With growing trepidation , I started up the steps, following Joe as he waddled back into the warmth of the doghouse. "Dump this out." he informed me, pushing the bucket towards me with his foot.

"You're kiddin', right?" I had to ask. New guys get pranks pulled on them all the time. "Nope." said Joe, sucking in his huge gut, puffing out his chest, trying to intimidate me. "Thass yer job."

"You can stick that bucket and what's in it back up where it came from." I told him with a cold rage I'd never felt before. "You lazy fat ****, you can dump your own ****."

"I'll run yer ass off." he told me. "Fine." I retorted. "I've been fired by better men than you, that's for sure."

"You'll have to walk home." he told me. "Nope," I replied, taking a step towards him. "You brought me out here, you're gonna take me home." and advanced towards him with clenched fists.

I guess Fat Joe had never had the threat of violence directed to him before. "I can fire you if I want." he said with much less assurance in his voice than he did when he directed me to dispose of his bodily waste.

"Yep, you can." I told him, taking off my glasses so they wouldn't get broken in the fight. "I can also get rid of THAT" kicking the bucket with my foot "by making you eat it. "

Fat Joe frantically glanced around, looking for something to put between him and me for protection. The only thing that would have saved him was that bucket.

"You can fire me." I said through my clenched jaw, looking at Fat Joe through a haze of red. "But I'm ridin' home with you and as soon as you let me off I'm jerkin' yer fat ass outta that truck, THEN I'm going to go see ******* (the owner of the drilling company). Handlin' yer crap ain't part of the job description."

I said more, but nothing that's fit to repeat in this blog. I did absolutely nothing the rest of the night and dressed into my street clothes an hour before relief got there, packing my stuff then sitting in the truck until time to go home. I was going to make sure that fat S.O.B was going to give me a ride back to town. He couldn't throw me out, but he COULD file charges against me for kickin' his fat butt.

To make this long, distasteful story short, his cousin had to go dump the bucket. I wasn't fired, because I was quitting. Fat Joe probably lost some sleep that day, rustling up another hand, or I expect, being the lazy puke that he was, he had his cousin find him someone.

His cousin was killed a few years later; he fell asleep while driving home from the rig. The derrick hand was knifed to death when he made a drunken pass at a lesbian's girlfriend. I don't know what happened to Fat Joe but the next time I worked for the company he was no longer employed there.

I expect he asked someone else to dump the bucket, someone who hadn't the kind and gentle nature I possess.

Freemasonry and the Church

My friends and regular readers know I seldom get too serious here. There are zillions of other forums in which to do that and I'd rather not offend anyone who disagrees with me on something, at least not here. I always wanted this to be a fun and funny site, informative and entertaining and if you were here during this last year, you'll know I like to poke fun at politicians, no matter what party to which they belong.

Still, sometimes I have to speak out. I frequent a Texas woman's liberal blog and have been doing so since before the primaries. I was looking for some reason, ANY reason to vote for Hillary Clinton, whom I believed would be running against McCain. (to be honest, I didn't find one and since she didn't win her party's nomination, the choice became clearer. Not totally clear, but I did not want to vote for Obama.)

That said, a post in this other blog made me so angry I could spit. This man was railing on about all the popular conspiracy stuff that's been going around....the CFR, the Biderberg Group, Skull and Bones and all that jazz. It was when he brought up Freemasonry and vomited forth how they were a satanic group and bent on taking over as so to kick off The New World Order. It wasn't even that so much that bothered me, but how he was lying about the Masons. It was when I read a few of his earlier posts and found out he was Catholic that I decided to "tear him a new one".

I think I succeeded and managed to give the Church a black eye while at it. They deserve it.

Pot, meet kettle.

Here's my reply:

---

I've been on the net for about ten years now and have seen hundreds of posts condemning Freemasonry. Without exception, the hatred comes from Catholics, rabid, foam-at-the-mouth evangelicals or conspiracy theorists/nutjobs.

It's one thing to be ignorant, but to be willfully and woefully so is a sin.

“But I tell you that every careless word that people speak, they shall give an accounting for it in the day of judgment. For by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned.”

Matthew 12:36-37

I am not a Mason, but my father was and my nephew is, as well as are many of my good friends and not a single one is a satanist. I find your accusation to be highly offensive, but I'll chalk that up to years of Catholic brainwashing.

Your statements about Freemasonry show your ignorance. To learn more about the organization, please do a 'net search on it, but please be honest in your quest for knowledge, not rely solely on anti-Masonic sites. I would suggest Freemasonry for starters. Wiki, while sometimes not the best source for factual information, will elaborate more on why the Catholic Church is so opposed to it.

You will find that Freemasonry is NOT a religious organization but rather a fraternal one. Freemasonry is dedicated to brotherhood, good works and wisdom. It's nothing short of egregious to insist otherwise...but that's to be expected of ignorant bliss.

I've read all sorts of posts about Masonic rituals and that they're proof of satanic activity. I've tried to keep an open mind about that, but it dawned on me that the same condemnation also might very well apply to my h.s. FFA Parliamentary Procedure competition group.

Or the Opus Dei, for that matter.

There are several requirements to being accepted as a Mason, but the first one is that one must believe in God. (pretty much the same as another satanic cult, the Boy Scouts.)

Neither Bush was a Mason; Bill Clinton was in Demolay, a Masonic youth organization. I have a suspicion why Clinton didn't pursue a membership in the lodge but I'll keep that to myself on this, a pro-Clinton site.

Here's a list of Presidents who were Masons: George Washington,James Monroe, Andrew Jackson, James Polk, James Buchanan, Andrew Johnson,James Garfield, William McKinley, Theodore Roosevelt, Howard Taft,Warren Harding, Franklin Roosevelt, Harry Truman and Gerald Ford.

McKinley became a Mason after observing the exchanges of kindness between Northern and Southern troops during the War of Secession. (wasn't a "civil war", BTW. Look it up)

Truman said being a Grandmaster of his Masonic Lodge meant more to him than being President because the position had been given to him by his brothers. He did not seek it.

A few more "satanists" from history: Paul Revere, John Hancock, Ben. Franklin. I could go on, but I'm trying my best to keep this as short as possible.

In all my research, I've never seen a reputable source for linking Freemasonry to the CFR, Bilderberg, Skull and Bones ... and the reference to the Bohemian Grove nearly made me cramp up from laughing so hard. (worshiping an "idol", a huge OWL? Yet again, that could also apply to my FFA adviser since his place was "here by the owl". )

(and to think my pop was a member of the Illuminati. Sheesh, know a guy for 50 years and not have him try to recruit me, his one and only son, over to the Dark Side...why, it boggles the mind)

This is the sort of thing, being a Ron Paul supporter, that I've grown used to, though. The only reason I didn't dismiss your posts out-of-hand is that you didn't include that you were a 9-11 "truther", the CIA killed JFK and THE FACT that NASA faked the moon landings.

Good Grief.

Your statement that the Masons financed both Hitler and Stalin would be ludicrous if it weren't so pathetically false. If you bother to read, you'll find that Masons were persecuted by BOTH the Nazis and the Communists.

Let's not forget the ol' Qur’an kisser himself, John Paul II. He apologized for some of the wrongs the Catholic Church had done in the past, but if he'd done the Mea Culpa on EVERYTHING the church has done, he'd have needed to have lived for another hundred years.

While visiting a mosque in Damascus he said "The plan of salvation also includes those who acknowledge the Creator, in the first place amongst whom are the Muslims; these profess to hold the faith of Abraham, and together with us they adore the one, merciful God, mankind's judge on the last day."

Hmmm....not a word about coming to God through Jesus, I noticed. Just sucking up to those who want to kill anyone who isn't a Muslim, that's all.

How 'bout this gem of wisdom:

"Membership in the Militia means complete dedication to the Kingdom of God and to the salvation of souls through Mary Immaculate."

Nothing about Christ...again. Remember Christ's words? One would think a Pope would ..."NONE may come to the father except through me"

Through Christ, that's all. Not through the BVM, not the Pope, not Padre Pio. Sounds a little satanic to me....just sayin', that's all.

Granted, ol' JP2 did much to mend the schism between Jews and Catholics...then after he kicked the bucket (or was euthanized, as many believe) the Church picks a former Hitler Youth to be God's sole rep. here on Earth.

Take that, you jooz!

Then there's the recent case of Richard Williamson, the Bishop who denied the Holocaust ever happened. Just another example of rampant antisemitism in the Church.

The Catholic Church is the most critical of Israel than any other non-Muslim entity. They can't seem to get past the "Jews killed Jesus!" mindset.

Back to WWII: You might want to do a search on the percentage of Nazis who were Catholics. I've read figures that claim 80% of German soldiers were Catholics.

Gott mit uns, eh?

Ever hear of the Reichskonkordat? Pretty revealing, that. The Concordat effectively legitimized Hitler and the Nazi government to the eyes of Catholicism, Christianity, and the world. Can't blame 'em for having a sense of self-preservation, of course, but on the other hand it smacks of craven cowardice. (actually, it WAS craven cowardice, no doubt about it)

For a little light reading, you might try "Hitler's Pope" by John Cornwell. If you are too intellectually lazy for that, then do a search on "brown priests", "Vatican ratlines" and the ties between the Church and Hitler, Horthy, Franco, Petain, Mussolini, Pavelic, Hudal and Tiso.

(when you get done with those, lemme know. I got enough to keep you busy reading until the next election...or confession, whichever comes first)

The Church being evil (yes, I said EVIL) certainly didn't begin in the last century; for hundreds of years it burned witches at the stake, tortured "heretics" to death. The Catholic Church murdered Copernicus and imprisoned Galileo for daring to suggest that the earth revolves around the sun.

Study history and see how the Church trod on the heels of the Conquistadors as they wiped out entire populations in order to steal their gold. (the Church may have said "sorry 'bout that" but I noticed they didn't return their loot.)

The Church condoned and participated in slavery because the Bible said it was the thing to do. Must be OK to pick 'n choose what one wants to believe out of The Book.

Dig a little deeper into history and you'll find out how the Catholics meddled in Vietnam and dragged the US into that particular war. Read how the Church sided with Gen. Pinochet in Chile and murdered tens of thousands of Communists.

So much for the "sanctity of life" thing, huh? No abortions, not even if the life of the mother is at stake and Sister Jean Pratin kept herself in the limelight by opposing the executions of the worst sort of human scum.

The evil continues today: Do some research and find out how the Church insists that condoms help to SPREAD AIDS. Not enough Catholics in Africa, don't guess. Still, one would think that they'd care about S. America....

Tell me something: why was it that something like 50% of voting Catholics were hypocrites this last election? Need a source? What Happened to the Catholic Vote? Yep, thanks to the Catholics, we have Obama.

(and please note the source. I wouldn't want to be accused of going to some anti-Catholic site to get the information)

I know this essay and rebuttal has probably made some folk's eyes glaze over and I'm truly sorry I couldn't condense it down any farther, but I did the best I could and in doing so, left out a thousand other Catholic transgressions throughout the centuries.

Getting information on Freemasonry from a Catholic is akin to getting drug counseling from a crackhead.

What I find amusing is the same fundamentalists who side with the Catholic Church on Freemasonry consider the Church to be "The Whore of Babylon". They might have something there, though.

So, you tell me, which is more evil? An organization that shuffles pedophile priests from parish to parish in order to save itself embarrassment and lawsuits for its rapist God's Representatives.... or one that helps little crippled children walk again?

If you're truly a Christian, the answer is obvious.

"Swim the Tiber"? I'd rather go to Hell.

Same difference.

Work vs. Prison

I used to be involved in the soon-to-be defunct MSN Groups and a few years ago I saw a post in the main help group Community Feedback ( often referred to as Communist Feedbag) telling this joke.

IN PRISON.......
You spend the majority of your time in an 8x10 cell.
AT WORK.......
You spend most of your time in a 6x8 cubicle.

IN PRISON.......
You get three meals a day.
AT WORK........
You get a break for 1 meal and you have to pay for it.

IN PRISON.......
You get time off for good behavior.
AT WORK........
You get rewarded for good behavior with more work.

IN PRISON.......
A guard locks and unlocks all the doors for you.
AT WORK........
You must carry around a security card and
unlock and open all the doors yourself.

IN PRISON........
You can watch TV and play games.
AT WORK.........
You get fired for watching TV and playing games.

IN PRISON.......
You get your own toilet.
AT WORK........
You have to share.

IN PRISON.......
They allow your family and friends to visit.
AT WORK........
You cannot even speak to your family and friends.

IN PRISON.......
All expenses are paid by taxpayers with no work required.
AT WORK........
You get to pay all the expenses to go to work and then
they deduct taxes from you salary to pay for prisoners.

IN PRISON.......
You spend most of your life looking through bars from
inside wanting to get out.
AT WORK........
You spend most of your time wanting
to get out and go inside bars.

IN PRISON......
There are wardens who are often sadistic.
AT WORK.......
They are called supervisors.

IN PRISON.......
You have unlimited time to read e-mail jokes.
AT WORK........
You get fired if you get caught.

I suppose the joke could've been funny if it wasn't so full of misconceptions and out-and-out lies. I had to rebut and eventually got banned. The poster said she was a nurse and also claimed she was a Christian.

Here's my first reply:

---

You might have a bit bigger space with your jail cell, but odds are you have to share it with at least one other person, sometimes even three others. Dorm type wards are of course larger, but try sharing your space with fifty other people, most of whom are murderers, rapists, etc.

You are not confined to your cubicle, either. You can get up and go to the bathroom, get a cup of coffee most any time you want at most jobs. You can even leave (tell them you're sick, quit, etc.) your cubicle if you like.

If you think it's sexual harrassment by someone telling you they think you smell nice, try being Bubba's girlfriend while you're sharing a cell with him.

There's no central air in most prisons, either...only in a few sections and they're never the places where the prisoners eat, sleep or congregate. In summer, the prisons are stifling hot with no air circulation, and bone numbing cold during winter. You don't get 800-count linen sheets, either, nor a nice comforter or quilt.

Prison is NEVER quiet. During the day there are a hundred radios and boomboxes playing a hundred different songs. People are yelling, screaming and the smells from the many men housed there is a miasma of stale sweat and other body excretions, plus the stench of despair and fear. At night it's not much better, with people arguing from cell to cell and the screams and cries from disturbed men's nightmares must be something such as will be found in Hell.

In prison, you don't always get three meals a day, unless you consider a sandwich a full meal. Breakfast is generally powdered eggs and a couple slices of toast and a styrofoam cup of bad, lukewarm coffee. You MIGHT get some sort of mystery meat. The food is NEVER good, even on Thanksgiving or Christmas when most institutions make a token effort at providing a decent meal.

You also have to worry about bugs in your food, or some guy who has taken a dislike to you spitting in your mashed potatoes (ALWAYS cheap "instant") or putting something else, such as broken glass, in your food.

If you are in solitary, or lockdown, sometimes you are served "the brick" which is a disgusting slumgullion of food shaped like a brick. It contains mostly starches and vegetable protein.

Inmates don't always get time off for good behavior; depending upon their crime, previous record and conduct in prison, they may have to serve their full sentence.

At least at work you don't have to submit to body searches at most every door and sometimes pulled aside for a cavity search. I'd prefer the security card and opening my own doors, thanks.

At work you mostly don't have to worry about the blind spots behind doors or stairwells where you can get stabbed or raped, either.

Most prisons, at least Texas prisons, don't allow individual television sets. You have to watch TV in a common room, and the majority rules. So, you can either watch what everyone else wants to watch, or not at all.

Games consist of card games and chess and checkers when the prison allows them. No Nintendo or Yahoo website games in prison.

Do you consider yourself to be a tolerant person? Not racially biased, i.e. "I've got LOTS of black (or whatever) friends!" you say? Well, in prison you will learn NOT to be. You'll join a gang and get some protection, or be alone, and be ganged up on by ALL.

Got a neat little butterfly tattoo on your ankle? Well, if you're a man in prison, and have to join a gang, such as the Aryan Nation, they'll insist you get marked where you show the entire population your loyalty. It will be done in some crude method, with inks made from any number of non-hygenic substances.

If you're lucky enough to have a single occupant cell you get your own toilet. Otherwise you share with your cellmates. There are no walls around the toilet, either, and no matter where you are in the cell, you're only a very few feet away from the toilet....and the person USING the toilet. Just get THAT picture in your head for a minute, huh?

Some prisoners don't like to use their toilets, as they're used as "coolers" to keep their sodas at something less than the ambient temperature.

After eight hours at work you can go home to your family and friends, unless of course you are forced to work a few more hours of overtime. Also, many prisons do not allow contact visits. How would you like to spend the years watching your children grow up and not even be able to hug or touch them, separated by a half inch of dirty Plexiglass?

Many inmates don't WANT their family to visit because it's always hard to have them for an hour, then have to wait a month or two before they see them again.

Most prisons allow a weekly phone call, but it has to be collect, and there's a time limit on your call as there are hundreds of other inmates standing in line behind you waiting to use the phone. Your calls are monitored, too. The necessary brevity of the call is probably a good thing, as the charges can be several dollars per minute.

"All expenses paid." That's not true; some states requre the prisoners to make restitution and the only way to do that is by working within the prison system. Also, any "extra" or "special" privileges can only be garnered by accepting work details. Many inmates volunteer for work details if for nothing else than to get some fresh air and sunshine. Some states "pay" their inmates for working, but minimum wage does not apply to them; sometimes the pay is only a few cents per hour.

How would you like to make a dollar or two a day for chopping cotton in the hot muggy Louisiana fields? I've never seen anyone standing over someone's cubicle with a loaded shotgun, ready to shoot to kill if you step out of your assigned area

It probably takes the taxes of ten people to pay for the cost of one person incarcerated. Many prisoners are in prison because of non-violent crimes, and while they are inside, their families suffer because the person is not able to contribute to their welfare...and many inmate's families are ON welfare.

Communities compete for the right to have a prison built in their town because of the money it will bring in, plus the jobs, but it's very rarely mentioned that their cost in social services goes up correspondingly because often the inmate's family will move to the nearest town to be closer to their loved one.

I know several people who are in prison because they went to bars, then drove while intoxicated. "Wanting to get out and go to bars" is really a motivator, isn't it? What a stupid joke.

This isn't the 1930's, and there are no sadistic wardens. True, there might be some sadistic guards, but at least the vetting process weeds most of those defective people out.

I do not let anyone, be they boss or not, to mistreat me. If I cannot get satisfaction via official channels, I either quit the job or go face-to-face w/ my supervisor.

Some prisons offer work training, and even fewer of those offer computer repair, etc. The computers are usually WAY out of date, and they DO NOT have internet access. Maybe in a minimum security prison, but only under strict supervision.

So, while I think that people who commit crimes mostly deserve what they got coming, I don't think it's good to joke about their "cushy life" in jail. Get busted in Maricopa County Arizona, and the sheriff there will house you in stifling tents set up in the blazing desert sun with dozens of other criminals and serve you sandwiches made with stale bread...and what you think is green lettuce between the slices of bread is either very old meat or spoiled cheese.

This just hit me wrong, and I'm sorry if you think it's funny, but I still don't.

---

After posting that, several people replied in a negative fashion, saying they deserve it, lots of people would love those "bricks", etc and so forth, ad nauseum. Here is my reply to them:

---

First of all, I'm not a bleeding heart liberal. I am a Christian, however, and perhaps that gives me a viewpoint that some of you do not possess.

I have a sense of humor, but it does not lend itself to pulling wings off of flies. Comparing an office job to being in prison is akin to comparing "abuses" at Gitmo to real torture.

Sure, there may be some people left in the Gulf region who might like that "brick", but people in prison don't have billions in aid and thousands of people coming to their rescue. That was a ludicrous point you made.

When it's the poor, the disadvantaged, the minorities that make up the majority of the ones who get convicted and sent to prison, then I suppose it's fair game to make fun of them. On the other hand, some people laugh at those with handicaps, such as those with clubfeet or those that stammer. No one says you have to be politically correct, but it's always people with no sensitivity at all who make jokes belittling those on a lesser social standing. It's simply another form of bigotry, that's all.

"Don't do the crime if you can't do the time." Who said that? Well, it became popular from the old tv show Baretta starring Robert Blake whom, if you will recall, recently was judged not guilty for a crime he most likely committed. If he'd been poor he'd be sitting in San Quentin right now.

Let me throw another old adage right back at you: "There but for the grace of God go I." (If you're an atheist you can substitute "luck" for "grace of God" and still understand what it means.) One can be convicted of crimes other than rape, robbery, drugs or murder, you know. People get sent to jail all the time for income tax evasion, lying to grand juries or for shooting intruders in their homes. There are journalists in jail right now for refusing to give up their sources.

When one person gets probation for a crime committed, and another gets ten years in the slammer for a similar crime, it's not hard to feel some sympathy for those incarcerated due to justice unequally applied. Not hard for "some of us" that is.

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Ooops, I was a little too compassionate for them and was accused of being in prison, having been in prison, my momma was probably in prison (and those folks were not banned as I was) No rebuttal to my own, just ad hominen attacks.

Here's what got me the ax after I was told by the poster she was just going to ignore me from now on:

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Ignore me if you like; your ilk usually does and ignores the truth while doing so.

No, never been in jail or prison, sorry. I'm wondering if you're telling the truth about your own work experience now as everyone I know who has worked in a prison has had their preconceptions altered. You also don't fit the image of someone who is a Christian, either. You sure don't practice it, not according to what you write.

The Bible says this in Matthew:

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his throne in heavenly glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

Then the King will say to those on his right, "Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me."

Then the righteous will answer him, "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?"

The King will reply, I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me."

Here's a prison joke you might like "How many guards does it take to push an inmate down the stairs?" Ans: "None, he fell." You might resemble resent that joke.

I just BET your patients got "good care." Compassion is supposed to be the keystone of both Christianity and Nursing (not to mention ANY decent person, no matter their beliefs), but maybe you weren't there the days they taught that in church and in school?

Never committed a crime? Well, good for you! I've always been leery of those who spoke most loudly of their "honor" though.

I never said criminals didn't deserve being in prison, only pointed out the idiocy of comparing prison with working in a cubicle.

Now that I'm done trading insults with you, you may go back to pulling wings off of flies.

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I am SO glad MSN is doing away with their Groups. Maybe some of these people will just simply get off the 'net and never return.

XYZ!

Was sitting here earlier and heard on the TV that the MegaMillions jackpot was over 200 million. I play the lottery some, not always, but try to buy a ticket when the jackpot is enormous as it is now.

So, I jumped in my truck and drove the short distance to the nearest liquor store that sells lotto tickets; while I was there, I saw a couple of people I know and had a conversation with the clerks about some new products.

(one of which is a cream-based "shooter" packaged in a sperm-looking bottle. Sheesh)

As I was standing there talking, a young woman came in and bought some things. She was pretty, but a little bit overweight and having a few extra pounds might be the reason her fly zipper on her jeans was wide open!

Now, that's happened to nearly every guy I know and it's always accompanied by laughter and shouts of "Hey, yer barn door's open!" and "XYZ!" (examine your zipper!)

The problem was this: Is it appropriate to say the same thing to a girl? I was torn between laughing out loud and mentioning to her in a low voice that she "had a problem". I didn't want to humiliate her any more than necessary, but she really needed to be told...she really did...but I didn't have the courage to say anything.

Why did she really need to be told?

Well, for the main thing, she wasn't wearing any underwear.

Preacher Smith

The Rev. M.B. Smith

PAMPA - The Rev. M.B. Smith, 88, died Saturday, June 14, 2003.

The Rev. Smith was born to Nelson and Ora Sivells Smith on Dec. 28, 1914, in Richland Springs. He attended Richland Springs Schools and graduated from Howard Payne College in 1936. Bro. Smith taught school and coached in several central Texas schools before entering the gospel ministry in 1942.

Following pastorates in Agua Dulce, Calallen and Marble Falls. He married Laura Bentley on Nov. 27, 1936, in Richland Springs. Bro. Smith moved his family to the Texas Panhandle, where he pastored First Baptist Church of Wheeler, Highland Baptist Church of Pampa, Alanreed Baptist Church and College Baptist Church of Big Spring.

For many years, Bro. Smith was interim pastor for many Baptist churches and supplied in Baptist churches in the Pampa area, as well as teaching science at Pampa High School and Clarendon College Pampa Center. According to Bro. Smith's records, he performed 1,191 funerals, 858 weddings and 421 baptisms, most of them during his years in Pampa.

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I stumbled across this obituary while looking for another. I knew the man had passed away but decided I'd like to do a post about him.

Bro. Smith was a football official back when I played the sport in junior high. Over a two year period, we had only a dozen games, but I bet he officiated more than half of them.

"Preacher Smith" was what we called him ... behind his back/in the huddle/after the game. What I remember most about him was his booming voice, it having the aural texture of gravel on a bumpy, hot tarred road. That, and with his worn, craggy face and commanding personality, he looked what I thought God probably looked like. He was a good official, always fair in his calls.

Being a minister, I suppose he couldn't help but preach to us. "Help him up." he'd tell a boy after a tackle. "Here now!" he'd growl and grab your jersey, pull you close to him. "Don't be hittin' late." You didn't, not again. One warning was enough.

He was always impatient for the ball so he could spot it for the next play and would efficiently pry the players off of a pile-up in search of the pigskin. (the referees were paid by the game, not by the hour) He was a big man, tall, and had no trouble untangling the sweaty, fleshy knot of budding testosterone.

At the time, with my juvenile wit, he seemed to me to be a mixture of the stature of Herman Munster and the kind-hearted wit of Andy Devine (no insult intended), good-natured while we boys were playing a clean game, but a towering stern God with glasses when we'd make him angry.

During one of those pile-ups, I had wrested the ball away from the kid who had it, yelling "Ball, Ball!" as though I had recovered a fumble. I don't think Preacher Smith had seen me steal the ball in the tangle of arms, legs and torsos, but a stare at me and seeing - I guess - the guilty look on my face, he silently took the ball from me, ignoring any change of possession, sadly shaking his head at me in rebuke for my attempt to cheat.

Verily, I say, it is written, woe unto the poor boy who was heard blurt out a cuss word. The dreaded "F-word" slipped out from someone after a hard tackle and he stopped the game and threatened to end the contest if he heard more swearing. He preached to us for a good five minutes, complained to both coaches and kept up his criticism of we foul-mouthed heathens throughout the rest of the game.

I ran into his son shortly after the funeral and I told him my memories of his father, the son laughing when I told the part about cursing and getting an official time-out sermon. "Yep, that was dad!"

Ol' Preacher Smith. RIP

Vince, The Pack & Mrs. Olsen

I'm sure looking forward to the Packers/Cowboys game tonight. I hope the Pokes can beat 'em, and I think they will. (probably jinxed 'em, right there)

I thought it another one of those insignificant - but cool - coincidences that a day or so ago there was a Vince Lombardi quote on the Quote of the Day feed in the right-hand column. Lombardi was the coach of the Green Bay Packers and is considered to be one of the best football coaches of all time.

I had a coach for the first couple of years in h.s.; he hadn't been out of the Army for very long, had a wife and a young girl. He was fresh off his first coaching job, having some success, so his gung-ho atttitude was still fierce...but I think my home town drained him of a lot of it in the short time he was there.

Anyway...he was fond of Lombardi quotes and had them plastered all over the locker room, a few nicely printed out and framed in his office. There were a few I thought silly, such as

"A school without football is in danger of deteriorating into a medieval study hall."

What a crock. So self-serving...of course if your life is football, you'll defend it even with nonsensical "facts".

There were, however, a few that I've remembered all my life and thought them profound then and still do:

"Fatigue makes cowards of us all."

And "Luck is where preparation meets opportunity."

During my sophomore year I injured my knee and was out of practice for a game and a week's practice. My mom bought me Jerry Kramer's book, Instant Replay to read while I was recuperating. I admired Kramer; we played the same position, both of us were pulling guards, but I'll go to my death thinking he beat the snap on the winning touchdown in The Ice Bowl.

(4:27 on the video, it's certainly debatable, I'll admit)



My pop and this coach became good buddies, but that sure didn't curry me any favor with the coach. If anything, he seemed to go harder on me, almost more than I could bear. One time when I was at my breaking point, ready to quit the team crying, he told me "Mike, I wouldn't be so hard on you if I didn't think you had good potential." Looking at it from that perspective, I could see that he didn't spend nearly as much time (especially yelling time) with most of the other boys as he did with me. I think he realized that I was one of those guys who needed to be pushed, but also appreciated. I think most people are like that, actually.

I remember a time when we were playing basketball in Booker; I rode with my folks and we were early by quite a bit, even for my sister's game which came before mine. We rode around the tiny town for a while, then Dad saw the coach and got him to get in the car with us; we drove a couple of blocks away from the school to a burned-out house. Dad pointed at it and with a snicker told him:

"That's where last year's coach lived."

And now for my Green Bay Packers joke:

Mrs. Ollie Olsen, a Scandinavian immigrant to the U.S. was drawing attention because of her size, 6'8", 345 lbs. Reporters were interviewing her, asking her questions such as "Gee, Mrs. Olsen, how'd you get so big?"

"Ah, from eating dot gud Svedish cheese." she replied with a good-natured smile.

Another reporter yelled out: "You're big enough to play for the Green Bay Packers, Mrs. Olsen!"

Turning serious, she grimly replied:

"Nein, I play wid nobody's packer but Ollie's."

plaintive

Today's Word of the Day (feed in right-hand column)

plaintive \PLAYN-tiv\, adjective:
Expressive of sorrow or melancholy; mournful; sad.

I was thinking of this very word just the other day, wondering when the sandhill cranes and geese will be heading back South. It shouldn't be much longer.

For the most part, I enjoy this time of year...football season, the kids are back in school and not playing in the streets (don't mind 'em playing, just don't wanna run over one of 'em), it's much cooler, but when the birds start migrating, the geese spreading across the sky in a ragged "V" formation, the cranes continuously honking at each other, it makes me a little sad.

That might be some sort of "genetic memory", a harbinger of bad weather to come, one of nature's warnings that our ancient ancestors used to mark the seasons. I feel the exact opposite when I hear the migration as it heads North for the summer; it makes me happy that winter is over, that spring has sprung and the flowers will soon be blooming.

I don't know if cranes and geese are showing emotion with their squawks and honks as they fly far overhead. I would like to think so, that they're joyous at being able to winter in warmer climes. Still, the sound is "plaintive" to me.

I really don't like winter, it makes me sad.

You Rock, Kid!

Kid Rock staying silent over US election

Kid Rock has claimed that celebrities should keep quiet about their political beliefs.

The musician claimed that it would be "irresponsible" for him to publicly back either Barack Obama or John McCain as they fight to become the next US president.

Rock spoke out after stars like Scarlett Johansson and George Clooney voiced their support for Obama's campaign. Sheryl Crow, Christina Aguilera and Ben Affleck have also been vocal about their preferences.

"I think celebrity endorsements hurt politicians," Rock admitted. "As soon as somebody comes out for a politician, especially in Hollywood, when they all go, 'I'm voting for this guy!' - I go, 'That's not who I'm voting for!'

"I truly believe that people like myself, who are in a position of entertainers in the limelight, should keep their mouth shut on politics because at the end of the day, I'm good at writing songs and singing.

"What I'm not educated in is the field of political science. And so for me to be sharing my views and influencing people of who I think they should be voting for - I think would be very irresponsible on my part."

Rock has been a hit worldwide in recent weeks with his latest track 'All Summer Long'.

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While I'm not a fan of Kid Rock's (although his duet with Bob Seger "Real Mean Bottle" is great), and while I might have to differ that he's "good at writing songs and singing", I'll have to say I admire him for his views on this subject.

I've railed for years about this very thing, namely that celebs have this built-in soapbox that allows them to influence their fans towards a particular candidate or issue. I'm a firm believer in free speech but I resent the bias they get to have along with their fame, and that it allows them to have an audience that us regular folks could never hope for.

(I can think of at least a hundred people I know, ordinary folks, conservatives and liberals, that have much more common sense than do these entertainers)

A few years ago when the Dixie Chicks said on a London concert stage that they were "ashamed Bush is from Texas" I didn't mind that they had an opinion, only that they chose that particular venue in which to state it. If they'd had the audacity to say the same thing in...oh, Lubbock...then THAT would truly be the "courage of one's convictions".

"Shut up and sing." has been the fan's mantra towards these entertainers lately, so I'm not the only one who feels that way; the fantastic actor Robert Duvall, when asked how he felt about a particular candidate, said actors should just shut up, period.

We don't need jet-setting celebs telling us how to save the world when they're the last ones to practice what they preach. Sheryl Crow made the asinine - no pun intended - statement that we could help stop global warming by using only one square of toilet paper.

We need at least TWO sheets, Ms. Crow: one to do the job, the other to cram in your mouth. Love your music, babe, but c'mon....

I can separate the entertainer from their politics, as long as they don't abuse their fame to tell me something they know very little about.

Anyway, here's Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow singing "Picture".

(the picture I get from people using only one square of TP...)