Too Long For Twitter: Extended Edition

This post is just a collection of thoughts that exceed twitter’s character limit.

I am sick and tired of conservatives who don’t realize that the Republicans are, by and large, using their pro-life stance to get their votes.  As far as I can tell, Roe v. Wade is still the law of the land and they haven’t done a thing about it.  They tried to outlaw the the third trimester abortions, but a judge shut that down and they gave up.  Don’t ever vote for someone solely because of one issue, especially if it’s a social issue.

Yesterday, I was discussing the life of Saint Augustine with my study group.  Nothing intellectual really, just an overview of his life.  When it was mentioned that he left his mistress of 15 years to become a monk, the women were wondering why he didn’t just marry her.  I stated that she wasn’t a virgin (and I was mostly serious).  Of course these modern women got all high and mighty and vented irrational nonsense about equality.  Look, that’s just how it is for most men.  We want to fornicate with you, but we’d prefer to marry you only if you were a virgin.  Yes, the fact that Augustine had been sleeping with her means he was probably the one who deflowered her, but that’s largely irrelevant.  There’s nothing special about a wedding night when you’ve been there and done that.

I am sick and tired of hearing about how we have to intervene in Libya and the rest of the Middle East.  No, we have to intervene in Barack Obama’s banning of oil drilling so he doesn’t blow out his back when he bows down to the King of Saudi Arabia.  It’s really for his own good.

And seriously, just because we’re the world’s only superpower, that doesn’t mean we get to go around bombing the crap out of everything we don’t like.  We need to be more like the silent badass.  You know, the guy in the corner who is minding his own business  until some idiot starts talking smack and knocking over his drinks.  Usually that movie scene ends with the asshole getting shot, stabbed, or badly beaten.  In the case of the United States, we’ll just nuke one of their major cities.

Besides, as long as we don’t have the will to use nuclear weapons (and we don’t), then there is no point to engage in war anyway.  As long as the enemy realizes that we won’t use any means necessary, then they know they can win.   I’m not saying we should nuke every hostile nation, but I doubt there would be many hostile nations if they knew we would drop that bomb on them if they looked at us funny.  They would be simply known as begrudgingly agreeable nations.

And please, don’t worry about the Chinese.  First of all, the Chinese government is totalitarian and therefore is prone to lying.  I’m sure all the economic statistics we get on them come from their government.  Second, if they really want to be a world superpower and pursue their own aggressive foreign policy, let them.  They’ll just end up owing use money because of all the debt they’ll need to maintain their military.

I filed my taxes last week.  I ended up owing money due to my wife’s jobs not withholding income tax.  It’s OK, I saw that problem last year and just simply set aside money for it.  To be honest, I’d rather owe the government tax money than have them owe me a refund.  The ideal situation would be no income tax at all, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon, despite a Republican controlled House.

I’ve never understood the reason for having friends.  Most of the friends I had growing up were either mal-adjusted abusers or idiots.  I’m sure my co-dependent personality had something to do with it, but I can’t conceive of wasting my time with anyone else.  I barely have enough time to spend with my wife as it is.

I don’t think I’m going to retire.  It’s not because of the fact that Social Security is broke, as I’d already expected that whole system to fail before I came to that decision.  No, I don’t think I will retire because I don’t have a compelling reason to have basically nothing to do each and every day.  I’ve taken vacations and usually I have a couple of days to do nothing when I take time off and I’m bored with myself by the end of it.  I can’t imagine doing that every day for the rest of my life.  At least when I’m working, I’m keeping busy and not thinking about how pointless my life is.  Some weekends I get like that.  Heck, I get like that some evenings when I’m alone.  Why would I do that day after day, especially when I’d probably be too old to masturbate anyway (but probably too old too care)?

Everyone I have any sort of deep discussion with seems to think I’m a smart guy.  I’m not.  I just have common sense.  You know, that thing that 12 years of government school takes away from you?  Somehow, I kept mine intact, probably because I’ve been the sort of person who hates collectivized activities like pep rallies and team sports.

To be honest, I never could get into football all that much.  I know that every man in America stakes their manhood on it, but I couldn’t care less.  I’ll watch the Superbowl, and I do like the Steelers, but only because I was born in Pittsburgh.  It’s in the nurturing I suppose.  Other than that, I’d rather not watch some ex-football star turned commentator talk about crap that everyone could figure out on their own.  Except if its Terry Bradshaw.  Did anyone else notice he lent his old shoulder pads to Fergie for the Superbowl halftime show this year?

What is with the modern music these days?  Whatever happened to heavy metal?  Seriously, we’re going to see the millennial generation turn out to be a bunch of beta males with no leader.  And the women will be browbeating their husbands over stupid shit that doesn’t matter.

Speaking of wussies, my youngest brother gave me this line about how you never hit a woman.  I retorted that you never hit a woman, unless she hits you.  He wondered how a woman could hit a man.  I guess he’s never been around a woman on PMS before.  I don’t blame him really, he grew up in a household of all men, except my mother of course, and she was actually quite the picture of self-discipline.  But still, is there anything more stupid than to assume that a woman won’t strike you?  My wife knows that I will not hesitate to strike back and, yes, I would go to jail for it.  Better that than being the constant victim of domestic abuse from a princess.

And on that note, I think I’m said all I need to say for now.  I promise I’ll try and get motivated to do some real blogging soon.

Searching Blogger

I actually found this quite helpful. Sometimes you just want a simple way to search Google's Blogger. At the link below, you'll find ways to search Blogger specifically, such as finding other blogspot.com bloggers by their interests, or by geographical region; that could be useful if you'd like to know if there are bloggers near you that share your passion for prunes and the resulting intestinal distress, for example, or you could just use it to find other Rand Paul head-stomping fans whose blogs you can follow.

One that I really like is finding a Blogger blogger (did ya like that? I've always wanted to slip that in somewhere) by their profile name. That's especially useful when you want to find that blog by "Dave" but can't remember the name of it, and then realize that just Googling the word "Dave" won't help you. I also use it when the rat fink named Dave stops following SE, then I take my revenge and find "Dave's" blog and stop following him. That doesn't work if I wasn't also following Dave, of course, but if I was kind enough to follow the loser back, it feels so gooood to stop!



How to search Blogger.com

 

What Stinks?

There's something rotten downstairs in the building where I work. It started to smell a couple of days ago. I was coming down on my break, when the odor assaulted me, knocking me back on the stairs and causing me to drop the chicken burrito I was carrying (and I really wanted that chicken burrito, real, real bad).

The building has three floors, and we sit on top. As you enter the glass doors to the lobby, you have an elevator in front of you, and to the right side, a stairway leading to the third floor where I work. On the left side of the elevator is a second stairway that leads down to the bottom floor. The floor that you enter from the parking lot is the second. It is that floor that seems to be where the stink is coming from. At first, I though it was some kind of plant or flower. There is a plant service that comes by to maintain the appearance of various vegetation inside the building, but I couldn't see any of their usual activity, or notice any changes. I finally dismissed it as a fluke and went outside for my usual fresh air (which I really needed this time).

Meanwhile the head of our department took a couple of days off this last week, giving himself yet another four day weekend, this just after it was announced that there would be no more granting of "time off without pay" for the peons. We only get two weeks of paid vacation a year, but it used to be that if someone wanted to take a few extra days, they could get that approved, they just wouldn't get paid for the additional days off. Not anymore. Yet when I inquired of the senior agent in charge of the floor where our two department managers were, I was told that they'd "gone home for the day". When the head's away, the managers will play, I guess. Nate told me "Hey, I guess that's the way it is when you're a manager. I can't wait until I'm a manager, cause then I'm going to take off whenever the hell I feel like, too"

Or you could win the lottery, I reminded him. This brought to our attention the fact that we hadn't wasted our money on a weekly lottery pool in weeks. So Nate sent an email and there are nine of us chipping in a dollar to buy our financial freedom fantasy twice a week.

"Hey, if we win," said Nate, "what are they gonna do when we all quit! They'll be begging us to stay until they can hire replacements." That would be a nice dream come true as well, but in this economy, the company can find others to take our jobs pretty easily, and probably at a lower wage.

There is talk like that around the office all the time; talk about working fewer days or fewer hours each day, of having more time off, etc. No one likes coming to work, and the proof is in how many take any opportunity to get the hell away from the place for even a short while. Of course, any means of making a living wouldn't be pleasant all the time, and would require some pure leisure in the form of vacations, large or small. But the drudgery is particularly acute when you're just a wage slave and can be fired at will, without even the minimal protection of a labor union. The stress of the job is extended into the stress of worrying when or if you'll be fired or "laid off". As workers in the statist capitalist system of exploitation, we have no real stake or ownership in our livelihood, which is a basic human right.

The conversation then turned to that strange smell. Some speculated that it was marijuana (didn't smell like it to me, but then I've never inhaled), but someone else pointed out there was a new tenant downstairs. One of the offices below us had been vacated recently, and some sort of "natural healing" place had moved in. Maybe it was them causing the smell with herbal concoctions or something.

As we went home for the night and descended the stairs, I could smell that rottenness in the air again, only it had changed. No longer did it resemble a plant or flower fragrance. I couldn't put my finger on what it smelled like. Then Nate sniffed and said "Smells like poop". Damn, he was right! What the hell was it? I'm still not sure, but whatever it was, it wasn't the only thing that was shitty about the place where we work.

The Periodic Table of Nonsense

Looks like you're gonna have to click this one to make it bigger.

via

Quotes

Every once in a while, I come across a quote that I like. They usually don't end up here at the blog, though. For some reason, I don't find a way to work them into posts. What might be neat is to have some related quote above every post, the way you sometimes see novelists placing a quote before each chapter of their books. Or, like I'm doing here and as I've a feeling would be The Commentator's method, I'll just create a post specifically for these random quotes that are not really post worthy (or are they?).

"Hatred is idiotic, crazy, low-grade gorilla thinkin'!" - Joe Palooka

Now, you make be asking yourself, who the hell is Joe Palooka? Here's a picture:

Yes, old Joe is from the comic strips, which were once a big thing in this country, as in, "I love reading the funnies", which was a daily newspaper ritual in millions of American homes, and got even better on Sundays, because now the comics were bigger and in color! Here's more of Joe (who I really should save for my future comic strip series that will be debuting soon here at Skeptical Eye):

Now, doesn't that make you feel better about your inordinate love of cheese?



Since the title of this posts is "Quotes", I'll throw in another one:

"Our society is run by insane people for insane objectives. I think we're being run by maniacs for maniacal ends, and I think I'm liable to be put away as insane for expressing that. That's what's insane about it." - John Lennon

Nothing more to add to that Lennon quote.

Novel News: Pips Leave Popular Fiction for Literary Fame

Pipsqueak McCracken, author of 41 romance and western novels, announced today that she/he (it's a husband and wife writing partnership, but she wears the pants) would no longer churn out hack crap, but from now on to expect only one book every five or six years, just like real novelists produce (this will be down from their current pace of nearly ten books a year).

Said Pip, "We don't believe we've been writing purely for money for so long. Yes, it paid the bills, but now we want a small, almost nonexistent readership. Real literature is where it's at."

Answering question at a news conference on the Island of Genre, the couple, known for their popular novels filled with sex and violence and short chapters, also said that they would stop doing research for their books, stating that only hack writers of what they called "Walmart Fiction" do that kind of thing. "If you have to do research, you're not writing literature," they said.

Their first book under their new contract with Snooty Press, tentatively titled Spoken Works and Broken Lies and said to be about their marriage, will be available in about three years, if everything goes according to plan.

I'm still here you... (The Adventures of DM, International Psychotic of Mystery)

...freaking monkeys!


Yes, the monkeys are freaking, they're freaking real bad, they're so freaked out they can't even land.


Yes, the monkeys are freaking, they're freaking real bad, they're so freaked out they won't ever land.


You thought you'd seen the last of me, that crazy real freaking guy they called SE. Well now you know, you know it real bad, that SE dude is better than rad!

SE comes back to blog at SE, well ain't that ironic or something of a tonic.

Oh yeah! That SE is back, he's really got the knack, but don't let it throw you or make you out of whack!


SE is pure, an atheist through and through, while that Nick dude seems cool, but is really quite the fool!

So tell DM that Nicky is his friend, but when SE's in the house, he'll treat Mabus like a mouse!

Oh yeah, that SE is back, now make the most of it and tell him all your facts!

Editorial note by Nikkolas Jakson:

When it came to my attention that SE was going to post the above, I requested to first put it before "DM", since he is mentioned by SE. For some reason it has leaked out that I'm an agnostic, as if that were some sort of weak, uncommitted atheist. Well, I'll have it be known here and now that I am totally committed to a firm and uncompromising agnosticism! I KNOW the agnostic position is the correct one (having performed sex using it almost exclusively over all other positions these last few years).

So I'll be damned if I'll let someone mark me as some kind of namby-pamby.

In any event, after reviewing SE's post, DM had this to say:

My INTERPRETATION of the FREAKING MONKEYS????!!!!

SE and Nikkolas "Babbling" Jakkson are FREAKING idiots with the brains of MONKEYS!!!

The rest of DM's response was something about a "Royal Flush", a rubber ducky and "boobies", but I didn't think it relevant so I edited all that out.


Now, can't we all just get along?

Science, Art and the Free Market vs. the Nation-State

via

Massive Fireworks Experiment

Which Dinosaur Are You?

T. Rex or Raptor? (hoodie, that is).

Would You Like to Thank Someone?

It seems like believers are always thanking God for just about everything. I even hear it at work: "I'm just so thankful, praise you, Jesus!". Is this just some natural human need to be grateful to someone or something for being alive? Because people are thanking God for the mostly unmiraculous; it doesn't take anything out of the ordinary to create the response. The everyday, the mundane (even finding a close parking spot at the mall), is good enough to cause some people to shout out thank yous to a deity.

Does this describe you? If not, why don't you thank God more often (if you believe in God, that is)? Do you wait for something worth thanking "him" for? Or are you more like one of my old landladies, Miss Silva, who once berated her tenants for things like saying grace. "I've got no need," she would say, "to mumble over my food. God knows you're thankful, and if he don't he ain't God, and there's no need to say anything to him."

Miss Silva spent most of her time watering her yard and watching her "stories" (soap operas) on her battered old television set. She seemed happy enough with her life, and she didn't want for money, so why didn't we ever hear "Praise Jesus" coming out of her mouth?

If you're don't believe, do you ever feel like thanking someone? Do atheists feel the same urge to shout the equivalent of "Praise Jesus!" to someone or something?

How about you? Are you thankful right now for Skeptical Eye? Are you grateful to Nikkolas Jakson for bringing this extraordinary blog to you on a daily basis? Shouldn't you be on your knees right this minute pouring your heart out in gratitude?

I have a suggestion. If you are an atheist or agnostic, why don't you direct all that suppressed worship and praise to me, and not just about this blog, but about everything. Go on, it's okay. Just say "Thank you, Nikkolas, praise you Nikkolas, Dear Nikkolas, you've given me so much!"

Now, don't you feel better?

Vision of the Coming Revolution

Did Jack Chick team up with Glenn Beck on this one?

The Poor Revolutionist

Points of View

Optimist: "The glass is half-full."

Pessimist: "The glass is half-empty."

Realist: "Yep. That's a glass alright."

Idealist: "One day, cold-fusion from a glass of water will provide unlimited energy and end war."

Capitalist: "If I bottled this and gave it a New Agey sounding name, I could make a fortune."

Communist: "This drink belongs to every single one of us in equal measure."

Conspiracist: "The government is fluoridating the water for mind-control purposes."

Sexist: "This glass isn't gonna refill itself, honeybun..."

Nihilist: "The glass does not exist, and neither do I."

Opportunist: "There's a funny t-shirt in here somewhere."

She Looked Mighty Happy Holding That Pizza Box!

As I came home last night, I almost ran into a fat woman. Now, it wasn't the first time, but I haven't recently had the experience while in my car. I'm always running in to fat women because, let's face it, they're hard to avoid, especially at Walmart (where I shop a lot) where they seem to make up the bulk of both employees and customers.

Anyway, there I was, going quite slow down the dark street, a street lined with apartment buildings, when what crosses in front of me is a large woman carrying a bottle of soda in one hand and an enormous pizza box in the other. She was obviously heading for home, moving as fast as she could under the circumstances. I surmised that she had just been to the combination liquor store and pizza take-out place across the street (it sits all by itself with no other retail establishments nearby, giving it a monopoly on the business of any apartment dwellers in the neighborhood who can't wait for a drink or a pizza).

She had a big smile on her face, I didn't wonder why. Pizza!

I've been craving a pizza myself these last few weeks, but I've not dared to get one. I don't want to get any fatter, you see. I keep hoping Ralph Kramden's no-cal pizza comes out, but no luck there yet. And that's really the pizza I need, because unless I've got a lot of other people sharing a pizza with me, I'll eat the whole damn thing myself. This is something I'm not able to do with any other food. I mean, a family size lasagna would be impossible for me to consume in a single sitting, but a large pizza with lots of toppings, no problem. I finish one slice and then go for another, and after that it's "just one more slice" until the pizza is gone. I've even been tempted to stop by Little Caesars for a Hot 'N Ready $5 pepperoni to take with me at the start of a road trip as a snack instead of stopping for a drive-thru burger. I imagine myself putting the box on the passenger seat next to me and grabbing slice after slice while I drive. It would actually be easier than trying to eat a hamburger while driving.

The thing about pizza is, it doesn't have to be that good for you to enjoy it. Even crappy pizza can taste pretty good. I even like frozen pizza, as bad as some of it is. And, unlike many other foods (a burger) that you can't eat cold, pizza is even great that way. I love going out to the refrigerator in the morning and finding a plate of cold pizza. Breakfast is served!

And on the subject of bad pizza, Domino's, as we all know, recently introduced their new and better pizza. But I never thought their old pizza was that awful. I used to buy the three mediums for $15, and they were okay, unless you got the thin crust, which did kind of taste like cardboard. Even then, it was edible.



Funny thing is, if their pizza was so horrible, why did it take 25 years or so for them to change it? Below is a 1986 Domino's commercial.

Quality comes first! Skillfully prepared ingredients! Taste the quality!





I've been on the wagon for a while now, and proud of myself, but I'm worried. Every time I pass a pizza place lately, I get the urge to go inside, and it's getting stronger as the days go by. If I do fall off the wagon, just push your way through the towering stacks of pizza boxes when you come see me. And don't worry; they might look dangerous, but they're only cardboard.

I'm Back

From Golden Corral, that is.

I tried for the ribs, but to be honest with you, I hate standing in long lines for food, especially when there is only one server for the fantastic, very popular, limitless ribs feast station.

I ended up getting a lot of other stuff instead, including pulled pork, meatloaf, some kind of chicken and rice thing, an extra large baked chicken leg, green beans, steamed broccoli and cauliflower, mashed potatoes and gravy, pot roast, corn bread, a roll, something I thought was labeled sweet potato surprise (which surprised me by being closer to scalloped potatoes), cooked spinach and ham (the juice of which ran all over my plate and soaked into my other food), and macaroni and cheese. That was just the first two plates.

Then, even though I knew I shouldn't, the dessert counter beckoned. For some reason, the dessert area always looks like a hoard of ravenous hogs has been at it, with food strewn everywhere and the various pies, cakes, puddings and tarts unappetizingly mauled into an unidentifiable mess.

Still, I attempt to salvage what I could from the remains, and walked back to our table with a plate of carrot cake, white vanilla cake, a chocolate tart, fudge balls rolled in peanuts, soft serve chocolate ice cream, and several chocolate cup cakes. I had Halloweens as a kid that were less lucrative.


By the time it was all over I promised myself (again) that I would never eat at a smorgasbord, buffet style restaurant again.

But for now, I've broken out the giant commercial-sized bucket of antacid tablets and am prepared for a long, long night.

Gone To Golden Corral...be back later

I said I was gone, why did you feel the need to read the post? It's rib night, baby!

Human Leather?

Human leather wallet: $14,000

Human leather belt: $15,750

Human leather shoes: $27,000

Human leather is made from real full thickness human skin. Just like animal leather products, produced from lesser animals, our raw human skin is transformed into the finest grade human leather by using a traditional tanning process. However, human leather is the finest grain leather that is obtainable.

It is free from defects and has the smallest grain size which makes it the smoothest, softest leather on Earth.

http://www.humanleather.co.uk/


h/t A Broken Nihilist

The Secret to Weight Loss

The "Okay, it starts now!" Diet. It doesn't work.


I didn't sign up for a recent weight loss challenge/contest, and now I know why. Oh, don't worry, I'll lose the blubber. In my mind it's already melted away. I'm using The Secret to achieve my goal, and one day soon, I'm going to wake up and be thin again!

In the meantime, I'm eating salads between visits to McDonalds (for some reason, I never order a salad at McDonalds) and other fast food giants. One of those who did decide to participate in the contest seems to me to be struggling, though he proclaims loudly that he will win. Though yesterday he said he seriously wished he had a chocolate donut at that moment, and that night said he was stopping off for a pizza, I really admire his positive attitude. Oh, and he keeps a copy of The Secret at his desk.

So no one is too disappointed at finding this unhelpful and no secret at all, here's a link that might be useful on your journey back into your old pants: Diet Tricks That Really Work

If Saltines Were Freedom Crackers

Okay, so that whole "freedom fries" thing didn't fly (fry?) but somehow I like the name "freedom crackers". I was feeling a bit upset in the stomach as I left work yesterday, then I remembered my faithful package of old fashioned soda crackers (they originated in St. Louis and date to 1876, the U.S. centennial year). A more all-American (and patriotic) cracker you will not find (so again, "freedom crackers" they should be called).

I opened my stack of crackers and began eating them on the way home (though it is now illegal to talk on a cell phone while driving, it is still permitted by our ruling overlords to munch on crackers and even take your eyes off the road when you're reaching for one-but don't answer that phone, even with the speaker on!). My stomach felt better right away, but I didn't stop consuming the little baked squares upon achieving gastrointestinal relief; I continued to stuff my face, enjoying the pure cracker satisfaction and hunger-ending effect they had on me.

Then I had a thought. It went like this: Cracker-In-The-Box, McCrackers, Cracker King, Crackys, Kentucky Fried Crackers. I began to imagine a world where saltines were a brand new invention, and people added them to their orders in the fast food drive-thru lane. Maybe some people would only order crackers to eat on the way home, like they do with french fries now.

If crackers weren't available in boxes at every grocery store, would you pay more for them at your local Cracker King take-out? Would you crave them as you do those greasy fried potatoes?

Would you even start taking them to work?

I Commend You, Sincerely

"Many men know how to flatter, few men know how to praise."-Greek proverb

I don't throw out compliments indiscriminately. Do you? Some people seem to think it's a great idea, either to get ahead themselves (ladder-climbing at work by kissing boss ass-oh, it smells so bad!) or to offer encouragement to some poor loser who doesn't deserve it, just to make them feel good about themselves.

But there is so much of that kind of insincerity out there (go to any store or call any customer service number and you'll be awash in the phony happy-talk that the wage slaves have been programed to ejaculate on cue) already. The latest thing at my job, presented by our manager at a recent meeting, was that we should say "It's my pleasure" to the customers. Well, it's not my pleasure at all, it's my damn job and I hate it, but my only other choice is to die on the street, so I keep going into work.

I don't know about you, but to me, having someone say anything nice to me is meaningless unless they really mean it. I'm also not interested in trying to advance myself by spewing compliments to people I can't stand. Selfish gain is not my goal, though it is probably yours, you sick, obsequious game-player.

I'm impressed only by the sincere compliment. To be commended by someone who truly sees real merit in you or something you've done, well, that's the kind of commendation you can take to the bank.