Throughout the ages there has been a wealth of advice and wisdom given on an immense range of topics. However, there are no truer words of wisdom that have ever been spoken than: ‘Never trust a fart.’ Really, it’s good advice.

Like Forrest Gump’s famous box of chocolates quote, the same can be said of farts – ‘you just never know what you’re gonna get.’ I mean let’s face it, we’ve all tried to slip one out during church, a board meeting, weddings, parties, etc., ……but it’s just plain crazy business and really you’re just rolling the dice like a table in Vegas. Sometimes you win, but some times you crap out.

Classic case in point: Those endless board meetings in the conference room that go on forever can be a fertile ground zero for a most dreaded outcome. You stayed up late with the ‘brainstorming team’ the night before, crunching the numbers for tomorrow’s big meet. You pounded down some crab cakes and black beans, foreshadowed by the Venetian salad (with extra dressing of course), flushed it down with several beers, and washed it all away doing vodka shooters with the team just prior to ‘calling it a day’. The next morning you skip a solid breakfast and pound some double espresso Starbucks and choke off a greasy donut rushing your way to the meeting. Like the Greek god Poseidon, you just created The Perfect Storm and most of it’s been stewing all night – AND, after all these years…….you’re still too dumb to realize what you’ve done. Yeah, and some of us are offended the Bible likens us to the intelligence of sheep.

Fast forward to mid meeting. There’s a pause in the agenda as the other team members are running a number crunching session at the far end of the table. Some get up for coffee; some stay put and review their notes. You’ve been feeling the rumblings for over an hour. Again, you’re just dumb enough to conclude from the mental scan of your internal workings that it’s not yet time for a full #2, but rather just probably some gas. However, you’ve been to college, so you run your personal full system internal scan again. You’re ‘sold’ now. Its just gas. No reason to get up, and after all the exit door is at the far end of the room, and the meetings about to pick back up any sec. You lean slightly forward {giving the impression you’re reaching for that note pad in front of you}. A quick glance around with your eyes. Good, good, ….no one’s looking. Now, just a little test squeeze, …left leg seems tense, starting to shake a bit,…..back off just a hair…..all systems seem good, chair seat is good and cushy, should be a good sound barrier, ….squeezing the trigger a little harder now……..and,…..here…..we…..go….
BAM!!!! SPLOOT!!! Your eyes widen, your mind races to grasp the horror of the reality that just filled your pants. ‘My God!…not here, not now, …not in this suit, NOT in this room!!!!’ All units report in from your outpost nerves at the south pole hole confirm the moisture content. Mental memo translates to brain: ‘we have delivery!’

Here’s where the battle’s won or lost folks. You must act quickly! This is NOT something you can wait out, not in the remote. No matter how witty you are – you will NOT simply pass this ‘event’ off and hope that no one notices. Suddenly the once large conference room turns into a tight closet meeting with your closest 15 co-workers and bosses sitting duck, duck, goose style all around you. You may loose this battle for your corporate image, what you do next determines your future. Trouser Chili cannot be ignored! In fact, I dare say it WON’T be ignored. It wants to be noticed! It’s a party crasher, and demands attention. It’s the smelly, drunk guy that bursts into the wedding and vomits on the bride. It’s the fat, old, medicated Elvis that hisses and growls at the audience and forgets his lyrics. It loves the surprise, the screams and gagging from the crowd, …but more than all, it’s here to taint your image - forever. That dollop of Hormel planted square in your shorts must be contained, but you can’t let the others know of its evil presence, …..so here’s where you tested with fire! Are you steel, or are you paper?

Some idiots have the balls to tell everyone, “I just crapped my pants.” Some stand and testify; “My lord, I just pooted, and…and….”, then break down into a sobbing mess. The worst of the worst raise their hands, smile and blurt; “It’s OK!! I’m wearing Depends!!” These are the ones you see next Christmas jumping off the 15th street bridge. They made the wrong decision. They were under the false assumption that the room full of intelligent corporate members would be understanding, sympathetic, and perhaps even helpful. You’d be better off filming yourself poking a Grizzly with a short stick and posting it on YouTube. NOTE: you do NOT tell the group about the panty pudd’n, that is rule # 1. You will be talked about and ridiculed for decades to come. No one in the company will ever sit in that chair of yours again. But, let’s play the devil’s advocate, let’s say a few years have passed and Stewart Pritchard from accounting dives into the meeting late and grabs the first chair he can find. A few chuckles murmur around the room, and ole Stewart realizes something is up. The IT guy mentions: “You know Stew, that’s the chair Bob soiled himself in?” Like I said, a few years have passed….so what do you think will be ole Stew’s reaction? You think old number cruncher’s just going to stay planted? No. He’ll shoot out of the chair like he just sat dooky maker flat on a rusted tack.

Anyway, seconds have already ticked by. Your moments away from a career-ending event. No one wants old poopy pants in the next meeting. So what do you do? You don’t stand and shout: “Heavens!!! I left biscuits in the oven!!” No one cares. You don’t yell “fire” and hope everyone will run. Never works, and then your just labeled a fear monger.

Here’s what you do to get out of this yawning pit of employment and social image death. Act as if you’re reaching for a pencil and then knock your coffee all over you. Dowse yourself, your papers, sacrifice the Blackberry if you have to …..but get that coffee ALL over you. Baptize yourself in it! Make it a coffee Niagara. Sure, there will be some slight gasps, some passing chuckles, but sympathy will quickly set in. Like the Tijuana Wet Step you got brewing in your pants, the coffee is also brown and will help conceal / mask any leakage that has begun to occur. Another beautiful effect of the coffee shower is that people will scoot back away from you like you’re a leper. Good. Now you’ve just cleared some room and put some distance between your toxic ass and your co-workers. If the stars are aligned in your favor that day (which they’re probably not because you just had a hurricane in your britches) but the coffee toss may also clear you a direct path to the door. Immediately jump up and yell ‘damn it!!’ These are grown folk in the room, so a little profanity is understood. Quickly look at your watch then add: “I’m supposed to be closing the Danforth project in less than two hours!!” Boom! Now you have an instant pass to run for the house to change, with no dock in pay. Don’t worry about any of the group picking up on the scent of your fish market trash dumpster corn spitter as you fly by, they’ll just think someone broke wind in a panic when the coffee spilled. The smell will leave with you.

Trust me, you’re free! Your career, your future is still safe! The upside is that you’ll actually gain some respect from some of those in the meeting, knowing that you’re running home to change in order to still keep your schedule and not cancel a closing over a simple “coffee accident”. You just went from zero to hero. Think of it, moments ago you did the Jack Lalane Juicer Two Step in your suit, and now as you fly through red lights on your way home they’re saying things back in the boardroom like; “That’s why we hired Bob, he’s a real go getter! He doesn’t shit his pants at the slightest glitch in plans!”

You can't. If a Grizzly Bear attacks you, you're probably going to die, ...so get your affairs in order. You can try avoiding zoo's and heavily wooded areas, and this will increase your chances of not being attacked. But, honestly, bears can be anywhere, so you never know. You can forget knives, guns, pepper spray, loud noises, etc., ...these will only reinforce the bear's decision of attacking you in the first place. You can also ditch the hilarious notion of 'playing dead'. This never works. Dead people don't mutter or scream things like: "Ouch!! Damn that hurts!! Oh God, my leg, MY LEG!!!" Bears may not be brilliant, but do know they're experts as a killing machine. It's what they do! They know when something is dead or not. Actually, playing dead only pisses off the bear more, and your 'playing dead' will only serve to become a reality for you as you painfully drift into true dead mode. Besides, let's just say you are successful in your Oscar winning moment, and you fool the bear into thinking you're dead. He will only then shift directly out of the 'killing phase', into the 'eating phase', thus you're screwed there too. Bears always 'clean their plates.' Anyway, I've yet to meet the Tony Robbins, Personal Power person, mind over matter types who can keep up the 'playing dead' gig while they're being eaten. Lastly, the noise making suggestions are just plain lame when it comes to warding off bear attacks. Banging pots and pans, shaking bells, blowing whistles or whatever.....those are just a dinner bell to the Grizzly. He loves that crap! All you're doing is providing dinner music for the bear to enjoy his meal by, and offering a tempo for his chewing. So, there you are. Bon appetite, Teddy!

Fox News reports:

“Rolling Stone Keith Richards has changed his tune about inhaling his father, according to a report.
Richards told Blender magazine for its May issue that he did indeed snort a bit of his late father.
"I opened my dad's ashes and some of them blew out over the table, just because of the suction of the lid, you know what I mean?" Richards told the magazine.
"I looked at my dad's ashes down there and — what am I gonna do? Do I desecrate them with a dustbin and broom? So I wet me #!!@ finger and I shoved a little bit of Dad up me *##!!@* hooter," he said. "The rest of them I put round an oak tree, which is coming up a treat. And I'm sure he's still blessing me."
Richards told Blender that no cocaine was involved in the incident.
"I no longer do cocaine — I'm not allowed to since I broke my head open, otherwise I'd be right in, baby!" he told the magazine. "Nothing stops the old snorter!”

Ole Chopper here responds to this by adding;…………………uh, ………..ummmmm,……uh…., huh, well,…..uh….., ummm.......oh nevermind. Nothing. I’m speechless.

All this talk of a boycott for the Olympics in China is a bunch of BS!! Why wuss out like that??! I wouldn't give China the freak'n satisfaction of a boycott, they'd just declare their red asses overall winners of everything. Instead? Just go and kick the live'n CRAP out of them, in everything!! I mean beat 'em like a red-headed step-child! That's what we need to do. And with every award acceptance speech just shout out; "Free Tibet!!" Listen, kicking China's butt in every event will mean more than anything. Don't believe me? Well, travel back with me in your memory's eye to Berlin, 1936. Remember back then the ole Nazi party were already in control of Germany and Hitler boasted & claimed "zee master rrrRace" would take all track and field medals. Remember? Ole nut duster mustache Hitler wasn't bright enough to forecast the likes of Jesse Owens. He ran circles around the Krouts, took home all the gold, and ole Hitler literally stormed out of the stadium in a rage and fury! He was piss'n mad. Check out some of that old archived film footage, it's a royal hoot. Hitler's squirming in his seat and pounding his fists at points. If America had boycotted the 1936 Games he would've just said we're were scared. Instead, we showed up and opened a can of red, white and blue U.S. inspected, Grade A whupp Ass!! - AND, that's exactly what we need to do in China. Let the games begin, damn it!

Isn't hate speech a crime or something?

Imus was fired for saying what? "Nappy-headed hos"?

Rev. Wright tells his congregation to say "God Damn America" and calls it the "United States of White America" and that's okay?

Come on, America, WAKE UP! This is Obama's pastor, a (now former) campaign member, and a racist man who hates his country. Do you think Obama really feels any differently? If he and his pastor don't see eye to eye, then why does his wife say she's just managed to feel proud of her country for the first time in her life in the last month? Maybe he disagrees with her too.

Although, let's just be honest for minute and admit it, it's more likely the man who says his campaign isn't about race probably lines up with the people closest to him.

This Democratic primary is a joke. Hillary is likely a white-collar criminal herself, but she looks above board compared to this guy. Barrack Obama is an embarrassment to this country.

He was placed into the state legislature by a Chicago "fixer" who is now being indicted for fraud and corruption charges. He and Barrack bought property together, but I'm sure Barrack is clean. Barrack's wife has no pride in her country, but I'm sure Barrack does. Barrack's pastor is a racist who hates America, but I'm sure Barrack doesn't. Come one, Hollywood says he's the right guy and those quality individuals can't possibly be wrong. I'm betting Britney is voting for him, so you have to support him, there's just no other way.

Regarding Rev. Wright: Why do we willfully allow such hateful speech in our nation when we'll fire another (i.e. white) man for an inappropriate joke incorporating gansta rap ebonics?

It's pathetic, really, that so many dopes in this country have bought in to the "Audacity of Hope" gibberish. Even Jesse Jackson once asks where the substance was behind Barrack's message! Holy crap, America, pull your heads out of American Idol and think for two seconds! Think! This silliness has to stop or we are all going to really have trouble feeling proud of our country....

Got this aunt who’s like 80 something. Hadn’t seen her in a while (and there’s good reason for that) but since it’d been a long time I thought I’d drop by. The reasons I put off seeing her aren’t like some ‘Mommy Dearest’ horror story from my childhood, ...it’s more like you wouldn’t want to go see your uncle if he was the famous Ripley, as in ‘Ripley’s Believe It Or Not’. My aunt is truly a sweet person, but more like a Lucille Ball on meth. She’s not really on meth, but she’s just this overly bubbly personality, a cheek pincher, and she’ll jerk a tear on ya quicker than Jesse James is with his pistol. Any tender story (from her past or yours) will open the flood gates, then she’s right back to laughter again. All you can do is sit there, smile and blink rapidly. She’s a pack rat too, and this is the main point of the blog.

Her house is like a living Ripley’s museum. She’s got ancient crap of yours that even you didn’t know you had – OR ever cared about. But, it means something to her, God love her. She’s a garage sale junkie that never seems to sell shit, only collects it. She’s got over five couches in her living room. They don’t even fit right. They’re just rowed one right behind the other. Tables, lamps, gadgets, widgets, bowls, “arrangements” of some alien blend, candy from days of old and paintings that make a velvet Elvis one seem like true art (which of course it is). There’s drawers full of a million Bic pens…….LONG run out of ink, but yet they hang in there like Rocky going the full 15 rounds.

The two questions my entire family learned not to ask many moons ago about any object discovered in that tomb of a house of hers was: “What is this?” OR “Why do you still have ‘this’, why don’t you just throw it away?” Both queries elicit a response and reaction that takes longer to listen to than an explanation of various philosophical debates. The typical house floor plan is laid out in rooms, hallways, and dwelling areas. Her house is laid out in narrow paths stitching their way through corridors of stuff that only Fred Sandford would crave. They weave and meander through twists and turns of boxes, stacks of magazines, books, side tables, chairs…….and ‘oh, look …what’s this refrigerator doing in the living room?’ kind of trails. Personally I refer to them as the ‘trail of tears’ because each object along the yellow brick road brings forth a smiling tearful response of where that particular piece of shit came from, OR what piece of shit gave it to her.

Some good advice should you journey to Auntie’s Museum of Madness: don’t go to auntie’s house hungry. Her food sucks frog butt. It’s as old as one of those dusty books sitting in the foyer. Pieces of chocolate in a drawer (if unwrapped) have a white powdery coating to them indicating it was one of the first pieces of chocolate Mr. Hershey ever wrapped. Once, a long time ago, I was sitting in her kitchen listening to her rant about some tennis club she belonged to back in 19 whatever, and that she played doubles with some woman (yadda, yadda, yadda….add 35 minutes more of her yapping) and that’s why she has this flower vase sitting in a chair in front of the window. I didn’t get all of the story but I’m sure she mentioned that Eisenhower had something to do with it. Anyway, there was this piece of lasagna on a plate near the kitchen sink – and either I was delirious from her tale….or I could swear I saw it move. It didn’t crawl, mind you, just sort of wiggled a bit on it’s own. On another visit I was poking around in the kitchen (not out of hunger motives, but more like detective Colombo) and I opened the freezer. There was a carton of chocolate ice cream. When I opened it there was a darker, gooey, and slimy shell on the top indicating it had been in there at least since Nixon was in office. My aunt saw me looking at it. Dialouge:
Auntie: “Oh honey, ….you want some? You know you can sure have it, my darling precious nephew! Here, let me find you a bowl.”

Me: “Oh no, no. That’s OK. I don’t want any, but thank you.”

Auntie: “Oh pitty poo! Have some. It’s good.”

Me: “I’d rather not. It’s got this off color hardened slime goo age indicator on top of it.”

Auntie: “Why you’re silly. That’s just a 'flavor seal'.”

Me: “No it isn’t.”

Auntie: “It's just the ice cream’s hat. What’s underneath is fine!”

Me: “We shouldn’t disturb it.”

Auntie: “Nonsense. Here I’ll eat some.”

Me: “Please don’t.”

Auntie: “Why not?”

Me: “Because I don’t want to have to call 911, that's why.”

Auntie: “It’s perfectly fine.”

Me: “No, it’s perfectly cocooned. I don’t think it’s through molting yet.”

Auntie: “I don’t know where you come up with these ideas? The freezer is a certificate of freshness.”

Me: “Maybe, but this thing needs a death certificate. You should call the ice cream coroner.”

Auntie: “Well, …if you’re going to behave like that then you don’t deserve any.”

Me: “Thank God.”

Auntie: “Blasphemer!!”


Everybody should have a nutty aunt. Want mine? Lord love her.

I saw it....it's ALIVE....it's HUGE!!!

I don't care if that's been the biggest quoted line from the movie, .....that's also my review point and I'm sticking to it. AWESOME!!! (and I hate to use that word, ....but dude / and dudettes, ...it's so true...it's awesome.) VERY well done. Don't fall for all the crap about it being like The Bland Witch projects.....it's not!! This is done extremely well, and unlike the bland witch, this movie pays off in the end. Yeah, the handy cam is more than a little a shaky at times like some critics have pointed out, but it so works for this film.

This is everything you want a monster movie to be.....EVERYTHING!! There's no touchy-feely crap of "let's get to know the beast......or try to understand it" like the King Kong gong that's been banged so many times before......no sir, no way. Just more like a "let's get the HELL out of here and away from this damn thing!!!" It is a monster in the truest sense of the term! Just like when an injured and shaky Beth asks Rob in the film; "What is it??" Rob responds with the truest statement; "It's something very terrible, ...now come on let's go!"

If you're a monster movie fan and tired and bored with all the crap for the past two decades in creature features then you will LOVE this film. If you don't like monster flicks then you're going to hate it.

Plain and simple, no spoilers here.......go see it. It rocks!!

I called a vendor recently and inquired as to how the person was doing that I was speaking with on the phone. The answer I got back: “How am I doing? Busy, that’s how.” I didn’t dare utter another word, as I certainly didn’t want to complicate her day further, so I just hung up. When her boss called back later (trying to ‘butter me up’) we chit-chatted about the weather, our kids and talked about our favorite gum flavor before I ever so nicely told him that he and his services were “terminated.” Period. No questions. End of story.

While catching the tail end of the Regis & Kathy show the other day (as I watch only a few minutes of Regis, because watching too much of him can cause some type of cancer that I can't recall) but anyway he was chumming up the audience and ranting on about some poor customer service he had received. Nice to know ole Reej “the firecracker” feels the same way I do. He doesn’t tolerate it. Sure he’s peppy, upbeat and one happy rabid monkey, but even he gets his leash in a twist over surly customer service. He was in a roar about it too! Even his handlers couldn't calm him down with treats. I was in hurry and couldn't stay to finish the show but I think they had to taser him. Sorry I missed that. The last bit I saw he was on top of his stool throwing his own poop at Kathy. It was nutty.

My employees cringe when I’m in the office because they know I’m monitoring their every sentence and attitude when they’re on the phone with clients. They fear the IRS less than me. They know that I would ‘trim & cut’ ANY employee (no matter how long they’ve been with us) just as I would trim away and flush unruly and wily buttocks hair, and not give it a second thought – I’d even hum a happy tune while doing it. Gross analogy sure, but it’s dead on the money.

A simple key to your success: always let the client hear you smiling on the phone – even if you’ve lost a foot, hand or limb that day.

I know what you’re thinking, and I’m right there with ya! How could this have happened?!? I usually like to report good, funny or odd news, ….but not tragic crap like this, folks. When I was informed this morning that they were out of sawmill gravy, I didn’t know whether to take them seriously or not. I’m a gravy champ! I mean I put gravy on my butter. I’ve even been caught putting gravy on chewing gum. I’m a freak for it. A friend of mine, who’s a pudding lover, once commented that he could hear pudding. He loves pudding so much that it has a certain tone to him. You could hide a bowl of pudding in a room and he could detect it audibly. The same can be said of my relationship with gravy. It’s beautiful. So, regardless, when the bouncy and bubbly tart of a waitress informed me that they were out of gravy I didn’t know exactly how I was going to take the news. For one, the stupid waitress delivered the news like it was good news or something. She did the courtesy head tilt to one side for a moment and faked a momentary pouty face, like telling some kid she had just ran over his puppy. She had obviously OD’d on her Flinstones and Juicy Juice that morning, and I guess was overly pumped about being on her way to getting that 3rd star on her apron. Whatever, she was too damn peppy for me, like some third rate extra from The Best Little Whore House In Texas (the movie, not the play). She was also the kind that you just knew deep down she wished that Christmas were ALL year long. She had her holiday buttons on and bows in her hair, and all that cheerful crap painted on her nails, topped off with holly and silver bell earings and a Christmas Tree badge that would play seasonal tunes if touched (which she proudly demonstrated TWICE). BARF! When she walked she took quick little bouncy short steps and strided to the energized cadence of: “I’m so cute, I’m so cute, I’m so cute, I’m so cute”. Her gate was so jerky and heavily fueled that her ponytail swung back and forth like a cape buffalo’s tail swatting flies off its ass. She’s the type that is so snappy, so American and holiday sparkley that she has the reverse affect on you. Suddenly I’m feeling like a flaming liberal commie, a bitter Scrooge, and now apparently according to her report, a gravy-less retard. I was instantly pissed off. Still not sure that it wasn’t some cruel joke or true fact, but either way that it would play out - being utterly ticked off was my position of choice. Honestly, the way she was dressed and acted I would’ve been PO’d even if breakfast were on the house. Regardless, when she spouted proudly ‘we’re all out of gravy this morning’, I fired back with an immediate; “Bullshit!” I really didn’t mean to say that, and it honestly did just slip out…….however, being that I’m a gravy freak, A GRAVY FREAK, I cannot be held responsible for that outburst. Even a superior court judge would rule me mentally not capable of my actions at that moment. You could readily tell that Jingle Bells was searching through her stupid (and SMALL) memory bank back to orientation day at Cracker Barrel boot camp. Her ‘joyful’ eye twitched ever so slightly and you could just tell she was mentally thumbing through her ‘what to do if a customer acts this way’ section of the training manual. My eye twitched too, but more like Clint Eastwood’s when he’s about to go for his pistol. Gathering herself while pumping up her chipper persona, Merry Go Round thought for a moment, jerked her festive face slightly upward mustering all the positive customer service driven attitude she could gather and informed me that they had been extremely busy this morning and apparently the gravy gorillas had descended upon CB early in preparation for the busiest shopping day of the year. Truly, now I know why it’s called Black Friday…..because there’s no more freak’n gravy!!! I told her that surely there must be government and federal reserves on saw mill gravy – and if not then perhaps some at a state or local level, but that sarcasm fell flat with Polly Positive. Not wanting to relent on my dark sarcastic track, I inquired if Cracker Barrel had a gravy vault or a gravy back up closet or bunker, something in the form of ‘break glass only in the event of running out of gravy’? Then she did something that really set me off, while informing me that CB had no such contingency plan accented by her fake forced smile, she did a momentary glance around at her other tables as if I were boring her with my questions and keeping her from her sworn ‘keep the coffee cups full’ duty. She added a dose of that condescending head jerk back in my direction, the one with eyes closed like a slow drawn out blink and then opened them extra wide, eyebrows up to the max, lips tucked in, ready for whatever I shot next. I was on fire. I then inquired the obvious question if perhaps the cook could possibly make some more gravy and added that I’d be happy to wait. I would've had more luck asking a monkey to fart Mozart. It was at this point that Festive Francis’s true inner self came forward. She leaned forward, and in a whisper tone (as if just between me and her) uttered that she would go back to the kitchen and check. As soon as she said it I knew what that meant, ….in her mind I was playing checkers but she was playing chess. It was Cracker Barrel code for: ‘up yours turd bowl, I’m retreating back to the safety of my other cheerful and chipper tables and your grumpy gravy-less ass can just sit here unattended until you get in the spirit.’ I just knew there was a Ms. Grinch buried underneath all that mistletoe. I decided at that point I didn’t want any food brought to me from Candy Land Carla’s hands, Lord only knows what special ‘holiday cheer’ she might sprinkle on it. Thus, I put a penny under my glass of water and went one exit down I-40 to a neighboring Cracker B., where my prayers were answered. Not only did I get my gravy but also a hefty, and truly caring fully four star’d general mothering type waitress. As I sat there shoving gravy biscuits in my pie hole I poured out my horror story about the other gravy-less place and the Horrid Holiday Ringling Brother’s Reject who “waited” on me, I almost came to tears at several points of the recital. The big ole woman taking care of me just stood there and emotionally patted me with tons of “honey, honey, how terrible” comments and comfort words like a loving nurse in a mental ward. Sitting there, by the warmth of the fire, clogging my arteries, I was at last in hog heaven, fully gravy’d. Aaaaahhh! 'tis the season.

Well, I certainly never thought I would be typing this: but I’m behind former President Bill Clinton 100% on an issue and a recent statement he made. At a fundraiser for his wife Hillary on her campaign trail Bill was being heckled by some 9/11 conspiracy theorists in the audience when he got up to speak. The rabid retards shouted at him; “9/11 was an inside job!” – meaning that the U.S. government was not only behind the horror of 9/11 but also orchestrated the entire event. Bill stopped dead in his speech, turned towards the hecklers and responded; “An inside job??! …..how DARE you, …how DARE you??!!!” He later told them to “shut up” and let him speak.

I gotta hand it to ole 'slick' Willy, that was pretty slick boy, and his response was perfect. He put it better than anybody ever has regarding this whole mess! The U.S. government is not the traitor in all this, however, the conspiracy bunch TOTALLY is!! How dare you sink so low, and accuse this blessed nation of such an impossible act?! If you’re a conspiracy theorist on 9/11 then you…..ARE… the enemy, you hate this nation, and even Bill Clinton knows it. What does that tell ya?

Way to go Bill. You’ve got my full support on this issue. Eat that Rosie!

In support of SoE’s last article, CNN is a thoughtless, careless “news reporting” operation. They have to be one of THE most biased news agencies in the media market today. Like SoE accurately pointed out their puppet strings are pulled and yanked by the financial backing of the mighty Ted Turner. Big Ted uses his network to prep, push, pander and slander to whatever agenda he’s selling, and all under the guise of news reporting.

Last week after the Bill O’Reilly fiasco of purposed racial comments (pieced together via compliments of CNN’s editing room from excerpts of Bill’s radio show) they allowed a visiting commentator to slander Juan Williams repeatedly with NO opposition what so ever. Juan is of course a highly respected black pundit, author, as well as a syndicated columnist / reporter with NPR. Mr. Williams is a frequent guest on Fox News’ The O’Reilly Factor, and often hashes out current event segments with Bill. However, CNN allowed their guest to slander Mr. Williams several times by referring to him as; “…the happy Negro on Bill’s show”. This is absurd to say the least, especially coming from a network that promotes itself to be the most open minded of news reporting firms. Yeah, right. This outrageous outburst was intended to suggest that Mr. Williams is a limp wristed, token ‘you know what’, ying to Bill O’Reilly’s yang. Not one single anchor or reporter on CNN challenged the loser guest “expert” when he spouted this nonsense about Mr. Williams and was even allowed to repeat himself.

CNN promotes racial bigotry and enhances racial tensions, when they’re supposed to be fighting against it. Once again they’ve proved they’re a joke and an embarrassment to the ‘excellence in broadcasting’ creed and motto. I for one am more than glad that Fox News dominates them in the ratings.

CNN sucks tortuous tail.

CNN is finally bored with the war in Iraq, and with illegal immigration. So now they've seized on the tensions in Jena, La. like a skinny dog on a pork chop. I guess Ted wants to recreate the L.A. riots, or maybe a scene out of Chicago in the 60's. Why not? Once you've secured your eternal salvation with the God of liberal humanism (I know it, the paradox is beautiful) by purchasing a billion dollar indulgence from the United Nations, what's to stop you? All will be forgiven.

First, I want to address one thing: All the talking bobble-heads on CNN, and the (obviously unemployed) whining mob of people who have crashed in on Jena need to stop throwing around the phrase "hate crime". You apparently have no freaking clue what a hate crime is. Let me help you out with some references to news from the recent past. A hate crime is a physically small, young gay man being savagely beaten to death for being a homosexual. A hate crime is a black man being chained to the back of a truck and being drug to death down an old gravel road in Texas. A hate crime IS NOT three goofy high school dorks who tie nooses to a tree "where the white kids hang out". That is called a racist prank. That silly trio consisting of two scrawny mullets and a tubby little Bubba couldn't have backed that threat up against their school's flag core, much less against those big football players who tried to "break the taboo" by sitting under the tree.

In contrast, a group of black students kicking a white student unconscious until his ears bleed is very much on par with the hate crimes I mentioned before.

Now, don't get me wrong. There are some details I don't get, like naming a shoe as a deadly weapon in an attempted murder charge? But one thing I have only heard mentioned briefly (by a DA who has been interviewed a few times on CNN) is that several of the Jena 6 already have some scrapes with the law under their belts. Why not called them the "Jena Repeat Offenders"? Since we're already throwing labels around carelessly...

Second thing I want to address is the very outdated idea that race in America is black vs. white. This is old news, folks. Don't believe me? Go look at the U.S. census data. Black Americans are a declining demographic (less than 13% now). Hispanics are the largest minority, and (unlike black Americans) other minorities in the U.S. are also increasing. Race in America is more than two-dimensional, but the Sharptons of this country just don't get it. They don't want to. They'll be out of jobs as soon as word gets out.

More headlines focusing on the raging sectarian violence in Iraq this week, and a few of the stories mentioned that the people being targeted are a sect called the Yazidi. The roots of their beliefs pre-date Islam and Christianity, though it combines elements of both. Their doctrines involve worship of an archangel that is represented by a peacock. They teach that he was created from God's own light. They insist he is not a fallen angel, but it is interesting to note the many similarities that begin to emerge between this Angel of light and Lucifer. This point is not lost on Muslims, who claim the Yazidis worship Shaytan (Satan). In fact, the name Shaytan is one of the Yazidi names of this angel, though they insist this is a coincidence and that the etymology is unique.

So, what? What does this have to do with anything? Keep your Huggies on, I'm not done yet.

Recently, a 17 year-old Yazidi girl was caught with a Muslim boy. It turns out they claimed to be in love. Apparently this was a problem for the Yazidis, but not for the Mulsims. However, it is worth noting that it would have been a big problem for Muslims if this had been and Yazidi boy and Muslim girl. It looks like one of the beliefs they do share with Muslims is that honor killings are appropriate and justified in such a case. So, that is what they did.

They took young Du'a Khalil Aswad, and a loud and raging mob of men, maybe hundreds judging from the video, proceeded to stone her to death as she curled up on the ground and tried half-consciously to protect her bloody broken face from each blow. Then someone in the crowd produced a large concrete block, straddled her head with his legs, and he brought it down. Then (I pray) she was no longer concerned with protecting her face. However, the men continued to strike her with stones and kick her for several minutes. Their shouting was at a fever pitch, but some pious person in the crowd made sure to cover her exposed panties with a jacket every few minutes.

If you really need to see it to believe it, you can Google her name and the word video. There were many present who captured it on their cell phones.

Sickening. Heartbreaking. Perhaps purely evil. But again, so what?

When I found a site mentioning the stoning of Du'a, I was interested in understanding the connection to the bombings (which, if you haven't figured it out yet, were claimed to be a Muslim response to this honor killing), so I started searching and reading. I found a blog with a link to a video of it. Several comments were posted condemning Muslims (the viewers did not realize the Yazidi are not Muslim, though this practice is quite common in many Muslim communities, and has even spilled into Europe as immigrants carry the practice to their new homelands).

Then there were the all-too typical responses that reflect the insidious liberal stupidity that rules our culture. People making inane comparisons claiming Islam and Christianity are in a dead heat for the most violent and intolerant religion award. These people are invariably high-minded, intellectual neophytes that have no idea how badly orthodox Muslims would like to wipe them and their ideas right off the map. Pagans and Godless aetheists don't fare too well with Islamic communities & governments, historically speaking (see Wikipedia, search word: Dhimmi). In contrast, they can make stupid and untrue statements about Christianity with almost zero chance of reprisal. When a rare reprisal or attack occurs, it is roundly condemned by Christian leaders. That's because it is inconsistent with Christian beliefs. Muslims can't say that, for the most part. And those that adhere to a more peaceful brand of Islam are often afraid and silenced by their more conservative brethren.

These clueless people that run their mouths are the same types that would vote for Cindy Sheehan or that watched The View for Rosie. Their stupid knee-jerk comparisons of Islam and Christianity, blabbered on TV and in the news, are only even possible because of the government they live under -- a government with a Christian heritage whose founders had the foresight to protect it's citizens from a government-endorsed religion. They understood that government + religion = persecution. This same equation, however, is the VERY FOUNDATION of Islam. Its laws make provisions for Jews and Christians to live as 2nd class citizens with a measure of protection (this is the theory, at least). These liberal idiots, however, would be killed, forced to convert, or reduced to slavery under Islamic religious rule. But these same idiots invoke the misdeeds of the Christian Crusades not realizing that this aberration in the history of Christianity is in contrast to the preferred method of conquest among every Muslim dynasty. They have uninformed prejudices that have no basis in fact, yet they run their wreckless mouths and render their ignorant opinions with absolute moral authority. And instead of informing us and allowing us an opportunity to glimpse into the values and laws that drive much of the violence that we are witnessing in Iraq, the media instead choose to generalize each situation as just another example of how the US invasion has screwed the Iraqis by affording opportunities for "lawlessness".

Lawlessness, there's the ultimate irony. There have never been evil deeds perpetrated with more regard for custom, law and ideology.

Let me add one thing. {If you didn’t read my blog below, do so now…} I have to wear a suit to work. We’re talking: suit, dress shirt, tie and everything. It’s just not an option, if you were in my business, you’d understand. Nevertheless, the suit is the costume for the day. When dealing with “the Chimp” {a.k.a. ‘contractor’} one is usually called away from work daily and summoned to the “chimp crap site camp” {a.k.a. home building site} to verify minor details, or MAJOR details – all depending upon the Chimp’s attitude {a.k.a. “concerns”, or “how much money is left on the bank’s draw to do what I specified done.} This is also a chance for “the Chimp” to distract me or use his “Jedi ways” to seduce me in to doing what he wanted to do all along. Regardless, that is another story for another time, and can also be the diagnoses for my uncontrollable farting.

Back to the suit and tie business: The area of the country I live in, as described by one traveling meteorologist, is defined as a “rainforest that happens to endure a winter.” In the Summer it averages about a 120 degrees (including humidity) in the shade. Example: you take a shower, get clean, get dressed, step outside, and immediately need to repeat steps one and two. Regardless, regardless, I leave the office (a totally conditioned space) and head to the Equator at least twice in a day’s time to meet with the chimp, or one of the ape workers. Once there (never a visit under 1 hour) I’m a sweaty, pathetic mess and even my leather dress belt is soaked through with bodily disregard. Nice. I reassemble a sad and retarded “Dr. Leaky” (sp?) from the old National Geographic days.

My gripe is simple: imagine being sent on assignment to the jungle by your superiors, but told you had to wear a tuxedo the entire time. ‘Nuff said.

Though I love him (as commanded), ….SCREW the Chimp, and his mockery of me. The Chimp LOVES the rainforest, and is at ‘home’ there. Alas, I am NOT. May the Chimp realize he is naked and cold when winter arrives.

Amen.

Well, let me re-phrase that. If you find a house that you like exactly, and if you’re able to get the set of plans exactly, and say to the builder: “Build me a house exactly like ‘this one’, right down to the same set of dish towels…….and don’t change a thing,” well, then hey, GO for it. Knock yourself out. However, if you want to be somewhat original, have your own ideas, and you’re a bit creative, AND know exactly, precisely the way you want things to look from the cellar to the dome out of your own inspired vision for your new home…..then FORGET it!!! You’d have more fun giving a chimpanzee a loaded pistol, locking the two of you in a vault, and then attempting to dodge the bullets to the tune of his insipid chimp grin and high-pitched scream.

From past articles by ole Chopper here, you can tell that I chose the ‘Chimp and vault’ routine. Yeah, I’m the brave one (pronounced; “Not-So-Smart”). We’re in the 4th quarter of ‘the dance’, and I’m a bloody mess. Who knew Chimps were such marksmen?? I figured I could dodge the chimps aim with ease, …..I just didn’t figure on the ricochet of bullets from the vault walls. Yep, I’m a sharpie!

I can write down precisely what I want, draw it out, diagram it on the plans, physically go to the house and point out how ‘it’ should be through exhaustive verbal clues and interpretive dance…….even bring in experts to advise the contractor how to build it ONLY to have them build in a way they wanted to do in the first place. When I say; “why did you do it this way??!!!?? Why didn’t you do it like I showed you, or how I drew it out, and explained it?!?!?” The response you get in redneck slur is usually something like this; “Oh, ……huh?…..you mean, … you were like…. serious?”

That’s about all I can write folks. While reflecting on all that and typing it out just now I passed gas, burped, and sneezed at the same time. The memory of this past week sends my body into uncontrollable spasms. I thought I would die if I did all those bodily functions at once – or at least that’s what I was told as a child. I didn’t die at all. I passed out though, came two, realized what had just happened, then passed gas again.

Regardless, heed my warning: DO NOT BUILD A HOUSE!!!……..EVER!!! You would be far better off to take off from sanity for about 10 months, sit at home and slap yourself silly everyday. Stop. Repeat. Continue. Actually that’s a lie, …it’s not that easy. Try this instead: take off time from reality and for 10 months every day go and slap the crap out of a Police Officer or State Trooper. Move to different states if you have to, but keep it up for the full 10 month period…….then you’ll have a taste of what I’m talking about. No rest, constantly running here and there, fearful, sweaty, on the phone incessantly, worried, confused. It’s sinful. Period. Don’t do it!!!!! Live in a tent. Let the world be your home.

Exhausted, pooped, and don’t give a S@#!