Favorite Bible Quotes-or Is your GOD evil too?

I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things (Isaiah 45.7).

The Lord hath made all things for Himself: yea, even the wicked for the day of evil (Proverbs 16.4)

PART II

Easy answers to hard questions:

Q. Do you believe in GOD?
A. NO

Q. Do you believe in Fate?
A. NO

Q. Do you believe in KARMA?
A. Um...No.

Q. Where you a bit hesitant there?
A. No.

I am pretty sure that everybody does not get what they deserve.
I mean Jennifer Anniston is famous, rich, and pretty , but her husband left her. Britney Spears' husband ( the first one) got jack squat for a payday. And I guess thousands of children were misbehaving in Asia and God was watching...

Q. Are you going to Hell?
A. Are we there yet? I've gotta pee pee.

What would a computer have to do to deserve legal or moral personhood?

AT SOME POINT IN THE NOT-TOO-DISTANT FUTURE, we might actually face a sentient, intelligent machine who demands, or who many come to believe deserves, some form of legal protection. The plausibility of this occurrence is an extremely touchy subject in the artificial intelligence field, particularly since overoptimism and speculation about the future has often embarrassed the movement in the past.

Given sufficient advances in neuroscience regarding the architecture of the brain and the learning algorithms that generate human intelligence, the Strong A.I. theory holds that programs could be replicated in software and run in a computer. Raymond Kurzweil is one of Strong A.I.'s leading proponents and one of the inventors of print-recognition and speech-recognition software. Extrapolating from the last few decades' enormous growth in computer processing speed, and projecting advances in chip and transistor technology, he estimated recently that by 2019, a $1,000 personal computer "will match the processing power of the human brain—about 20 million billion calculations per second."


The machines will convince us that they are conscious, that they have their own agenda worthy of our respect. They will embody human qualities. This is important because humans have strong anthropomorphizing impulses, and tapping into them can trigger powerful emotions that reach deep into our evolutionary hardwiring. They will claim to be human. And we'll believe them.


Lawyers in America have been willing to short change human personhood before , by extending rights to non-entities such as corporations. According to Wendell Wallach, co-author of the forthcoming book Robot Morality, corporations that own computers and robots might seek to encourage a belief in their autonomy in order to escape liability for their actions.

LAST YEAR, AT A MOCK TRIAL HELD DURING THE BIENNIAL CONVENTION of the International Bar Association in San Francisco, Martine Rothblatt argued that especially tough case. Now we must worry that a group of attorneys will prepare the path to be used by the next dominant species:the artificially intelligent machine.

The human species is doomed to extinction , all beings at the top of the food chain have come and gone. Ours will be no different.Unfortunately we will also be the first species to have created their successor and their destroyer.

Thinking carefully about what separates the human from the nonhuman, those to whom we grant moral and legal personhood and those to which we do not will help us to understand, value, and preserve those qualities that we deem ours exclusively.

At this current point in history , worries regarding the protection of our species may seem unnecessary, but if we wait for the future it will be too late.

Worms, cornbread and that fuckiface Dennis Miller.

I was sifting through packets of instant gravy today. It reminded me of the time my ex proved to me that Jiffy Brand Corn Bread, given a few days in a warm cupboard ,could magically turn from the sweet bread of life into worm meal.

Yucky. The little fuckers had wings , and masticated body parts. I swear to god I thought it was just pepper. I insisted that Mexicans just weren't used to packaged goods. But she got out the Encyclopedia Brown Microscope and goddamn if it wasn't true. It's almost enuff to make you think that Science could be done by Non-English speaking peoples if they tried.

Speaking of people who should not be doing science, I was watching the TV show Dennis - -"I'm sorrry, did I just turn into a Muslim hating right winged Republican asshat? " Miller.

Dennis gets random people to show up and be part of his "varsity." It's kinda like the dog pound only with more annoying guests.

This week it was his pal former Nickelodeon game show host Marc Summers who get caught discussing the improbability of Global Warming.

Fuck yeah! Marc Summers can't leave his house without checking the locks 16 times has solved the whole Global Warming Crisis for us.

The VIOLENCE of Class Consciousness

The question needs to be asked not if, but how much violence is required for class consciousness to change our economic system. For all the radical sound of this anti-moralist position , [you might even say misanthropic] it is based on some of the least controversial Marxist claims of society.

In the course of history , normal people have deep moral differences that were not due to unreason and ignorance. Similarly, in the present day, there are conflicting standards of the good that cannot be resolved through rational persuasion. [Richard W. Miller]

Various needs of the cast majority are in such a conflict with those of the minority [power holders] that an ultimate standard of equality would have intolerable costs. [Miller]

Traditional political-economic practices are evaluated as if they were (or should be) purely efficient free market operations, ignoring what everyone knows to be the actual dynamics of corporate political-economic behavior. [Dollars and Sense]

Strategies for effective change of the {political and economic system} will require , obstruction and violence that are incompatible with concrete concerns for an equal concern for all involved {in evaluating economics-political practices}. [Miller]

The Prophet of pessimism.

A friend of mine and I were having a conversation a while back about God and the meaning of life. He kept asking me "why life was worth living, " particularly since I am an Atheist.

We were both having difficulty coming up with a reason for going on. My friend unable to shed his adolescent desire to conquer the world through his genius, was just discovering the futility of trying.

I have preached the merits of mediocrity [and how we are all doomed to it anyway] to any who will listen. And while I have never been systematic about my attempts it has always been my desire to do so.

Luckily, prefabricated for our purposes is the wit and wisdom of Schop.
On the futility of trying:

" ...if we compare the ... restless, serious and laborious efforts of men with what they can get from them, in fact what they can ever get, the disproportion becomes apparent. Thus what are a short postponement of death , a small alleviation of need and want, a deferment of pain, a momentary satisfaction of desire, with the frequent and certain victory of death over them all?

Schopenhauer finds our commitment to life quite ironic.

"man loves above everything else an existence which is full of want, misery, trouble , pain, anxiety, and then again boredom, and which, were it considered objectively he would of necessity abhor."

I am afraid Schopenhauer has not given much help in quelling our descent into suicide.

Science Blog - Blacks, poor more likely to donate than receive transplant organs

Science Blog - Blacks, poor more likely to donate than receive transplant organs:

"Blacks and poor individuals are more likely to be donors while whites and wealthier individuals are more likely to be recipients of many types of transplant organs, according to a new study in the November 2004 issue of the American Journal of Medicine. "

What we need is a new politics of class. Liberals abandoned class anaylsis and have paid the price.

Humans need to be able to lie.

They are getting very close to perfecting lie detectors.

I contend that preventing people from lying, in the long run, will do more damage than lying itself does to society.

In the future I wonder how much of our inside lives will be left to us. The coming totalitarianism will be complete. It will also be just what we asked for.

John Stuart Mill: "Whatever crushes individuality is despotism, by whatever name it may be called and whether it professes to be enforcing the will of God or the injunctions of men."

Thomas Jefferson once said a "The spirit of resistance to government is so valuable on certain occasions, that I wish it to be always kept alive. It will often be exercised when wrong, but better so than not to be exercised atall. I like a little rebellion now and then. It is like a storm in the atmosphere."

Big government and Big Business are quickly moving to stifle any dissent or rebellion. Our movements will be tracked, or purchasing habits monitored, our communications intercepted.

The crime of thought will come to pass. Science will enable us to peer into the unfathomable. Our souls will be X-rayed. The next wave of Eugenics is forthcoming. This eugenical exercise will have more against the propensities for being anti-social or refusing to to purchase DVD's from Best Buy. We may not execute or sterilize , but we will deny services.

An aside:

Best buy is on the way to doing this. Why do you think they collect data on your purchase habits? Walmart wants radio receivers built into all products they carry , soon you will be broadcasting to retailers all your private data.

The government wants a black box in your car and gps signals on public roads. Marketers study the brain patterns that indicate why you want to buy things. Say goodbye to privacy when science perfects it's models for looking into the recesses of your mind.

Birthday Boy Blog

Yesterday was my birthday. I am fucking old. I am 34 in real life. 30 on Match.com and any other personal ad sites. And I am 19 on my.space or whenever I hit on the teenagers.

It's my birthday and on my birthday I try and find and use as many free things as I can that are given out by Corporate America. I used my free movie pass from Harkins to see the worst film ever...National Treasure. I walked out half way through it.

Certainly there has never been a more unintentionally ironic title than... "National Treasure" ..it's certainly no treasure. I could not even sit through the whole movie and it was free. I then bought myself a Volvo 740 from the year of my graduation (1989) and a baseball hat.

My friends took me out to a couple of bars and got me drunk.

Some of my friends think it's really funny to ask fat chicks to come up and give me a kiss on the cheek [they never fail to do so either.] Funny quote after the kiss.

Fat Girl: "I will be right back."
She then returns with a piece of cake , instead of her plump friend for a threesome.

Friend: Where did she get the cake from?
Me: Umm, she's a fat girl they always have cake on them.

We spent the rest of the night leaving fake calls on Gary "baba boey's" voicemails all night.

Stem Cell Research Paying Off

Science Blog has been posting every few days about the growing power and effectiveness of stem-cell treatments and research. See here:

And here:

I say it's about time we hijack every woman's pregnancy, abort the little fetus and get to work curing baldness.

Is art Worthless?

Across the writings of the Frankfurt School there is a consistent sense that art has partially 'held out' against the advance of disenchantment and rationalization in modernity which has subjected the rest of our world to the utilitarian, dominating logic of instrumental reason.

In so far as it is autonomous, art is a refuge where something is preserved from the spirit of Enlightenment.

[as Kant's vision of it: "the idea of a free, human social life in which men organize themselves ...in the conscious solidarity of the whole."]

"Even in the most sublimated work of art Adorno insists, "there is a hidden 'it should be otherwise'". The truth that art speaks is the untruth of the status quo, it is the antithesis of that which is the case.'"

Art breaks the spell of actuality and enables us to see that things could be different. This longing for a better world, 'une promesse du bonheur,' is linked by Horkheimer with the residually theological in the aesthetic. Adorno agrees that works of art point to a practice from which they abstain:"the creation of a just life. In this they also resemble the purposelessness of childish play."

It is important however to note here that, despite this favourable account of the political power of the aesthetic, its utopian elements are, particularly for Adorno, only ever negative. There can be no positive account of this utopia, or how it should be attained, let alone the recognition of anything as the positive advent of these utopian realities.

The question then becomes, can the pursuit of such ends be justified if the purposes of such ends are primarily negative. Is art then a failure? Have we lost the productive and creative abilities of those citizens who lives incorporate an artistic vision or milieu?

Take my life, but please don't sexually abuse me.

The The Japan Times Online "Deaikei Sites" otherwise known as Japanese internet escort sites.

"Sex crimes of this nature have generally been associated with deaikei sites," Shukan Bunshun hears from a journalist. "But lately the deaikei sites are being more closely regulated" -- forcing sexual prowlers to look elsewhere for vulnerable victims. And who is more vulnerable than a would-be suicide afraid to die alone?"

Yui wanted to die. She had slashed her wrist, had hanged herself -- but to no avail. At her wits' end, she checked into a Web suicide site. On the site's bulletin board she posted a message. "Would anyone," she inquired "like to join a despairing high-school girl in death?"

Yui, unemployed and in her 20s, encountered a woman who agreed to die with her on one of the Deaikei Sites. They arranged to meet at Tokyo Station, but when Yui arrived she was accosted instead by three young men.

"It was horrible . . . humiliating . . . "

Far more humiliating and horrible than trolling for a suicide buddy on the Japenses version of Craigslists for the suicidal, but luckily there is a happy ending of sorts.

Soon after her brush with a serial rapist, Yui killed herself with another man she met from the Deaikei Sites.

You've got to dig a goal oriented chick like that.

N.H. couple charged with trying to sacrifice children

BostonHerald.com - Local/ Regional News: N.H. couple charged with trying to sacrifice children:

"The church staff told us she wanted to sacrifice the middle child by 3 o'clock.''

Detectives later found out the couple ultimately planned to sacrifice all three children and already had gone to a Farmington church with that intent but had been unable to get in.

Churches should really rethink that whole open door policy it seems.

Easy answers to tough questions, or the further adventures of O. and K.

"I am gonna rip you a new one."

Snarled O. looking outward to her audience.

The audience comprised a set of rabid bacon consumers who had long ago abandoned any precept of continuing with carbs in their diets.

"Because, I just don't think you get it." O. added. Maybe O. was right. Maybe K. just didn't get it. K. certainly thought he was getting it.

K. followed O.'s gaze out to her audience. His stare picked through the remains of an earlier society. People who gathered around the television set. Cuddling up next to it's fuzzy glow in some PreCambrian reenactment from our ancestors receiving the mysteries of life by the great shaman.

Just a generation ago you watched television this way. When Cronkite told you how it was that's just the way it was.

O. had this kind of control too. She knew it, and when K. looked into the whites of O.'s eyes, he knew... she knew it. The task before K. then was going to be a difficult sell.

There was an audible gasp after O.'s last statement. A collective holding in of the breath from O.'s prefabricated jury. No greater crime could be committed in the land of Miss O. than to be accused of "not getting it."

"I'm not sure I deserve it." K. tried to explain. "Fame derived from documenting my masturbatory technique for posterity by submitting a video focusing particularly on a happy endings, doesn't normally have the gravitas for a Warholian 15 minutes. Even in our internet- Lindsay Lohan pantiless, pantied, then pantiless world we inhabit today.

Nevertheless, K.'s exibition Painful Masturbation did exactly that. It garnered him an unbelievable amount of notoriety. Perhaps, it was K's honest and vulnerable portrayal of his orgasm which found resonance in the flat, focus marketed expanse of the media.

"I can't explain why everything happens in the world. For instance I have no idea why Jim Carrey's face is slowly turning into the face of my Uncle Otis."

That metamorphosis had been bothering K. for quite sometime, but there was no denying that the transformation was taking place. It was creepy, but doubly so for K.'s cousins who were big fans of Carey's work.

Will the large Pumpkin Heads stop staring at me from across the way?

Some people seem to think that the world behaves like a Stanley Kubriack film, where everything you see on the screen has a purpose. Maybe black cats do walk backwards, but maybe you wern't supposed to see that,...and no matter which pill you take...you'll never wake up.

So maybe Parker Posey's portrayal of a Frankenstein hunting journalist isn't a betrayal of her indy film roots, as her recent turn in the made for TV movie from USA networks would suggest.

The movie, Frankenstein, also features the actor who portrayed the creepy roommate who moves in and replaces Joey in Chandler's apartment for a few wacky episodes on the Friends Show.

Aside from all that, I have a suggestion for the earnest lady who appears in the ads toughting "a better internet" from America Online. The actress likes to jump up on board room desks where she expouses her ideas for the internet conclomerate like spam blockers and 24 hour customer service. My one bit of advice for her is, go get your child a better hat, I take child abuse to be a serious problem , even when it's off of the the internet.

Finally, if I knew how to add photos to this blog , I would show you those damn pumpkin heads. I shit you not.

Wil Wheaton is an ASSHAT!!

Wil Wheaton is an asshat. Wil Wheaton does not like Saturday Night Live. Wil Wheaton thinks Ash Simpson sucks, and probably lip syncs. Wil Wheaton think SNL hasn't been funny since it stopped being countercullture. Wil thinks SNL is "just another predictable, corporate, unimaginative stop on the flavor of the month's publicity tour."

Way to go Wil, B-I-N-G-fucking-o. I'd say. That's great annaylsis, 'Mr. I left a huge corporate tv syndicated program so I could go on to big movies' (oh wait nobody wants me in big movies, guess I will make a blog about what a counter-nerd I am.)

Shut up, Wil Wheaton, go sell a few autographs at a nerdcropilis show full of trekkie geeks.

Dignity does not come cheap.

Dignity never comes cheap. You admit you had been under that assumption for quite some time, but dignity manifested in the form of cheaply made French automobiles often affords one that illusion.

French made automobiles have a magical ability to transport you back to a realm of happiness unknown since the playful years of childhood. At the very least dignity for you will not come to you in the form of a 400 dollar Buick with transmission trouble.

You'll have to come to terms with what little dignity you can find walking back to McDonald's at 4:00 am to prevent Ronald 'The McDonald' from towing your vehicle off his parking lot, your thoughts turn naturally to the difficult logistics required of your situation.

You hope that the transmission fluid has settled back into the transaxles, so that your recent purchase will now glide back into reverse and traverse the three quarters of a mile distance back home. Otherwise your feelings of worth will be worth less than those carried by the homeless guy rummaging through your apartment's garbage cans.

It's only a matter of time before the car gets towed anyway. You just hope the apartment manager fails to notice the missing tags and license plate not attached to the 3300 hundred pound behemoth of American-Know-How.

When you finally make it back to the parking lot you are clap, clapp, clapping. Clapping like a three year old, who has just been told that cookies are for dinner and cake is for dessert. A three year old who still believes in Santa, never mind that the fat, jolly, old elf with his smarmy fucking Norwegian smile won't be sharing his cookies, won't be sharing his milk.

Never mind the 10 inch butcher's knife protruding from Santa's sack that he's been saving for Daddy. Never mind Santa chopping into Daddy's neck and storing daddy's blood in stockings designed especially for all the bad boys like your brother Sammy. Mean old Sammy who likes to hold your face under the mudd till you're just about to breathe.

"Don't worry" Santa says. "I take care of fuckers like him. I cut off their balls and then I serve them raw to little girls like you. I call them cherry bombers. Now just swallow it down with one big gulp like a good girl, till it pops out your ass and grows a bush in that filth you forget to wipe away each morning."

A bush your Uncle Billy would sure like to stick his fingers into. Unlike stickin' it to your Aunty Ann, who hasn't had his attention since you were born. Auntie Ann's been too busy to notice. Too busy arguing with Oprah, too busy fingering her crotch with her newest toy. Toys you won't be get for some time. Toys you wouldn't wanna be caught dead playing with.

The walk back has made you feel so lightheaded, dizzy. And the stifling bark of Effexor is pulsing in your head. You can feel the neurotransmitters ping ponging back and forth in your skull. You can taste the bile in the back of your throat and you can barely swallow. You can feel the vomit bulging in your neck, ready to explode. To burst forth with a comedic force. Showering the memory of old Santa in a prism hue of pink and chunky.

You can do all that while staring at the plate of missing cookies you were promised for dinner. You can look up at Santa with your child eyes with such innocence Uncle Billy feels ashamed. You can then glance side ways down the hall into the bedroom that Momma once shared with Poppa. You can almost feel the heat from his released blood spilling out into space.

The laws of thermodynamics then take over, and you can rest assured that whatever warmth Poppa once gave to you, he is now sharing with the whole universe. A cold universe, made only a smidgen warmer by the lactose intolerant carcass that now rests at just the particular angle needed to provide the backside view of your father's ass.

An ass covered with ingrown hairs protruding forward with a vulgar urbanity, spewing forth carbuncles of puss that wait to be popped like Britney Spears vulva in a Florida trailer park restroom floor. A floor covered in the grime of white trash piss and stink, the piss and stink of men who don't care where they piss, or what they piss on.

"Stop staring at your father's arse you little whore."

Who knew a Norwegian Saint would speak in a British accent, and a lower Cadsden one at that?

Send me my T-shirt Bitch

The Rabbit has yet to send me my T-shirt. I am quite upset about this. I went to all the trouble of e-mailing her. I spoke of my involvement with the "get out and vote" site at www.native-poll-ooza.com and everything. Maybe Rabbit prefers to continue the White Man's game of destruction against American Indians? I guess she does not like 1/4 Cherokees. Then again, does anybody like one quarter Cherokee white guys? We are probably the least understood humans on the planet.

Google me bathos. And carving fuck you in my 5 o'clock shadow.

God bless google and it's search engine. Despite possessing an apparent empty page rating, if you google "bathos" this humble blog pops up second on that list of queries from God's favorite search engine.

I am sure it has nothing to do with the google ads I once placed on this blog, in what can only be described as a rather pathetic attempt at making money.

I wonder how many times do I have to mention google to get my page rank higher than Lando Calrissian hopped up on roofies and dangling perilously close to the edge of SKY city?

Other than musing mindlessly over the status of my blog and rechecking my blogstats every three minutes, my only other plans this week involve not shaving so as to grow out my beard and then carve the letters FUCK YOU on my face.

If anyone asks me about it, I'm just gonna be like... "what, that's just how my hair grows out. I've got some natural bald spots, whats a boy to do?"

Or maybe I could just be like... " Damn, I wonder how that happened? Must have missed a spot. Maybe.."Oh that bitch!"

My apology for the Spam Mail you have been getting.

I'm really sorry, but I had to make some money somehow. In just one week I collected a cool $9.20 from inboxdollars.com.

And frankly if just some of you bastards I signed up through email would join the club, I would be rolling in the dough. Can you say $5 bucks a head?

You wouldn't need to buy me any more beer when we go out, or take me for those "don't worry breakfast is on me" trips. By the way, who says the 99 cent value menu at McDonald's counts as Karma in this life or any other?

And I just know I am getting that FREE Dell computer the pop up ads keep insisting is on the way. I just fill out one more survey, add your e-mail here, get your friends to vote for Bush, send us a DNA sample, and how do you feel about a microchip implant?

Who needs to worry about infections from Trojan Horses and hacking toolbars when you've got me knocking at the door? I feel bad, but what can I say? I still haven't won the lottery and spam mail pays money, big money. Money I need if I am ever gonna reach my goal of riding in the air conditioned comfort that defines French built automobiles.

$350 dollars short of dignity.

My walkman's battery dies out without much of a warning. One minute your jamming to UFO's newest CD and the next second your thrust into the afternoon sounds of traffic and city life.

Now I've got to decide, "are you gonna get on the bus and go to the 99 cent store for more batteries. It's not like you couldn't also use a muffin pan and some Jiffy Mix. "

This set of mental calculations acquires a sudden urgency, as the Route 72 bus pulls up to the rest stop that I have used as a respite from the fall's unnaturally toasty temps.

"Let's see I do have 6 more rechargeable batteries at home."

Though only the two currently housed in my Emerson Research portable cd player (with wireless signal transmitter) seem to be functioning properly.

"I wonder if the 99 cent store sells rechargeable batteries or just those cheap knock offs of Eveready. Damn Bunny. Those knock offs will only last long enough to get me home anyways. And do I really need a muffin pan? "

The point becomes moot as I am brought back to live action. My ride lunges forward without me. A blast of heat and diesel smoke chocking my lungs. "If I just had the three hundred fifty bucks to buy that nifty little Renault Alliance advertised from the craiglists."

Now that my decision has been made for me, I guess I can walk home now.

$350 dollars short of dignity.

Pedro and Mini me's Mini me (edited)

What's the deal with Pedro Martinez ?

Lately Pedro has been hanging out with a midget. A man by the name of Nelson de la Rosa.

A few New York Yankee stars and their pals have lapsed into a locker room mentallity regarding the rumors that have surrounded the Boston Red Sox baseball player and his 28 inch high friend.

The controversy first started when Pedro began taking Nelson to baseball games and was seen spending a great deal of time with him. Rumors spread about Nelson's height, his effect as a magical good luck charm at baseball games, and his abnormally large penis. I know most of you will think I have turned into Howard Stern with my fixation on midgets, but frankly I think I have a great deal more to say than any old shock jock on the subject.

I only bring up Nelson's large penis and minature sized body as a segue to my latest breakthrough discovery which I discuss in my unpublished novel The Midget Manifesto (forthcoming).

I believe that Pedro and the Mini Man's Mini Man may be the world's first couple engaged openly in a new category of sex . In the Manifesto I detail the MIDGET category in contrast to the more familiar expressions of love found in homo, hetero,and k-9 sex. If Pedro is indeed having sex with this male midget (and I believe he must be) he is not engaging in any kind of gay sex, just midget sex.

When viewed from within this new paradigm the addition of midget sex as a category of sex should be seen as beneficial and add to the acceptance and understanding to all of the little peoples of the world.

So to all those Yankee fans who are spreading gossip of Pedro's mental decline or his supposed homosexuality, shame on you for throwing around such antiquated concepts and prejudice. Isn't it about time that we learn to accept the love between a boy and his midget?

Rabbit Blog

I hear that the RABBIT is single again god I am in love:

Tell Me To Look On The Bright Side And Feast Upon a Light Lunch of Knuckle Sandwiches. In American Culture, False Cheer Is The Norm So We'll All Keep Gobbling Down Combo Fajita Platters And Shopping At Sizzlin' Summer Sales. No One Wants Us At Home, In Our Five-Year-Old Fashions, Crying Into Our Homemade Soup. But Sadness Is A Big Part of Happiness, Damn It! Hey, Grab Me A Beer While You're Up.

Visit her here at www.rabbitblog.com

Strippers,hookers, and fun!

I lost my ID the other day, so someone is parading around town as the big time loser that I am.

Decided to leave the house for a change, so of course the first bar I went into carded me despite my obvious age.

Eventually I did end up in a bar that would serve me. The Bikini Lounge.

At The Bikini Lounge the women don't get naked, but they do give $5 table dances. I met and fell in love for life with, Jasmine. Jasmine eventually gave her number out to my friend because as he said "I engaged her in conversation."

Good news though, I was promised that I could have sex with her on their wedding night.

You would think that would be enough fun for a night, but my friend felt the need to cruise down hooker alley.

One of our favorite games it to shout out "Hooka" to the hookers. Many look at us as if they had just come to the realization that they are indeed hookers with our help. Maybe we are making a difference. I think we may have saved that girl's life, though I think we actually hurt her feelings.

Now while cruising hooka alley we also came upon a couple of "sisters" who appeared to be drinking 40's from a bag, and having a good time. We stopped by, and one of them wanted to jump in with us. We were not sure if she was a hooker, but we let her in the front seat anyways (that's right I was forced to the backseat.)

In our attempts to engage her in conversation.."So what's your name?" All we could get out of her was " Oh, My god!" She must have repeated this like 36 times and she kept insisting on smelling our hair.

Because she was a sister my friend argued against "taking advantage of her." I was slightly pissed about that. I mean I was so in the mood to take advantage of someone. Even if it meant just watching someone else get a BJ.

Eventually we ended up dropping her off at her house. Neither of us could decide if this girl was a hooker or what sorts of drugs she was on. But I have a feeling we might meet her again as a REAL phone number was given out.

14 Signs of A Serial Killer

According to Dr. Phil (and who would know better?) here are the 14 signs..Let's see how many I have:

Fourteen Characteristics of a Serial Killer. Could you be raising a criminal? Acts of violence don't come out of nowhere, and every parent should be aware of the clues along the way. (Too bad my parents weren't.) For the most violent of criminals, there are warning signs that often start in childhood. Below is a list of the 14 most common traits of serial killers:

1. Over 90 percent of serial killers are male
2. They tend to be intelligent, with IQ's in the "bright normal" range
3. They do poorly in school, have trouble holding down jobs, and often work as unskilled laborers.
4. They tend to come from markedly unstable families.
5. As children, they are abandoned by their fathers and raised by domineering mothers.
6. Their families often have criminal, psychiatric and alcoholic histories.
7. They hate their fathers and mothers.
8. They are commonly abused as children: psychologically, physically and sexually. Often the abuse is by a family member.
9. Many serial killers spend time in institutions as children and have records of early psychiatric problems.
10. They have high rates of suicide attempts.
11. From an early age, many are intensely interested in voyeurism, fetishism, and sado-masochistic pornography.
12. More than 60 percent of serial killers wet their beds beyond the age of 12.
13. Many serial killers are fascinated with fire starting.
14. They are involved with sadistic activity or tormenting small creatures.

Let's see how I stack up?

1. I am male.
2. I once used the word salubrious correctly.
3. Hmm..check mark ..underachieving at school ,"crazy on the job"( or as an online bot once told me in a chat room )-or so I have been told
4. Sniff..My family life was unstable ..What's that 4/4?
5. Pops Abandoned me, but Mom was submissive. Can you get half credit?
6. Daddy drank even when there was only Miller Lite in the house.
7. I would say hate is a strong word.
8. Abused?..Well my parents never bought ME a car.
9. They never caught me early!
10. What constitutes a High number?
11. Ok ,so who out there is not interested in porno and voyeurism?
12. Hey, I only wet the bed till I was 8!
13. FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!
14. Think about it ,would you torment a non-helpless creature?

I guess only 7 signs is pretty good. Rest easy Momma, you did a good job!! Anyways, if I did become a serial killer, it would all be for Phil Mogg. Phil, your the greatest!

Cryptically, I must add $IGN OF THE 4

The Fro'meister

My roommate just received his Columbia House record of the month club mailing. Peer into the contents and we will find:

1. Bangles greatest Hits
2. Gold and platinum Best of the 80's vol.1
3. Gold and platinum Best of the 80's vol.2

It should be noted for those who don't know me personally my roommate is a 245 pound black man.

And at 6:45 this morning he decided that he needed to quit drinking because he has a jury trial for a DUI today. (Oh yea he's innocent)and now he needs drive himself to court!

I am all out of sunflower seeds.

I have been thinking way too much about my pooh lately. I've been considerin documenting "my gifts" to the porcelain god.

My roommate has a webcam I could borrow. Then I would use those pictures to compare and contrast the color, consistency, size, and shape.

I have Mary Lou Henner to blame for my unwanted preoccupation with my bowels and it's byproducts. I caught her on television a couple of years ago while watching Larry King. She talked about how she would weigh her little poops and watch to see if they sank down or floated.

Ostensibly, shite can tell you a lot about your health. Floaters are not healthy, it means you need more fiber. And since I am a hypochondriac with no health insurance I could find no better methodology of discovering my health and constitution than by 'poop watching.'

Curiously, prior to my introduction to Ms. Henner's poop philosophy I had no idea that I went 'once a day' on a fairly regular basis.