Wednesday, August 31, 2005

'Men cleverer than women'

In my search to enrage the better half who never "put out." I found this little diddy of an article.

BBC NEWS Education 'Men cleverer than women' claim: "Academics in the UK claim their research shows that men are more intelligent than women.

A study to be published later this year in the British Journal of Psychology says that men are on average five points ahead on IQ tests.

Paul Irwing and Professor Richard Lynn claim the difference grows when the highest IQ levels are considered. "

I have known that for many years. Can you name me a woman who could compete with men on the field of genius? I can think of only two. Franklin being the only one of true worth.

Rosalind Franklin was a chemist and physicist working at Kings College in London in the early 50s. She was known for being an absolutely brilliant experimentalist. She was very, very dedicated. She loved science.

She gets no credit for the biggest discovery in Biology over the last 75 years and one of the biggest discoveries in herstory. (Even History)

Yes, yes, women have been short changed by men. I get it, ...they have been denied education etc. Still...I get a sneaking suspicion that women do not harbor the eccentricities required for going above and beyond the human plane.

I must ask where is your Aristotle, Freud, Marx, or Newton? Christ I would take a Larry Flint at this point. Men think in a linear, (ok I will say it) less emotional and circular manner. Let's see if any responses back that aren't a bit emotional.

By the way the claim about IQ is old, it's been around for a while. Anyone else read that crock The Bell Curve ?

P.S. Don't debate IQ --I know it does not measure the worth of woman or man and the brains they use to figure out the world. There must be a woman's studies major out there somewhere who can enlighten me.

Let the wrath ensue.....

Monday, August 29, 2005

Check out my new hat!!

I am not invinsible. I finally had a losing session over the River Casino. I hate that place anyways. But I bounced back with a small vicory at my FAVE casino. Where yes, there is horse parking. And the players suck more than I do.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Memoirs from the short bald fat white guy who sits next to you on the bus who wants to get your attention but quickly averts his eyes when yours meet.

If you're writing your memoirs at age 30 it should be about something. Some kind of momentous occasion. Dave, I share a given-name and the inability to create fiction with, Eggers wrote about the death of his mother. But my mother is still alive. Alive and kicking as they say. Not that I'd wish death upon her just for some convenient pathos.

Maybe I could wish death upon a lesser relative like an unknown aunt or uncle. They could die just like in that Twilight Zone episode where you would be given a million dollars if you would agree to push a button that would kill a person you did not know.

The kicker being soon after you decided to push the button a man in a suit would come knocking on your front door asking for the button back. "So where is it going?" You would ask. "Oh, don't worry..." He'd answer in his best spooky voice. "We're gonna give it to someone you don't know."

So while I'd like a million dollars and the ease of an artificially created pathos, I guess I don't have the stomach for random murder "Twilight Zone" style even hypothetically.

I am not your father's Archie Bunker.

Whatever happened to fat, middle-aged, short, bald white guys being cool? And by cool I don't mean hipster. I know what "hipster" means even without having read a Reader's Digest in the last 25 years.

What's it take to maintain the interest of females these days? Don't you get me? Maybe we can just be friends? I know you like to hang out with cool, funny guys. We can sit around and berate your boyfriend's "made up on the spot" excuses for why he banged your sister.

We can sit next to each other on the couch and you can lean into me with an insincere intimacy. And in a moment of frustrated arousal I will grab for your boob. And you can be like "That's like totally gross! That 'totally' tries to change our relationship. I don't know if I can think of you the same anymore."

But I suppose you feel the way you've always felt about fatty (200lbs), middle-aged (34), short (Hey Doug Flutie is 5 '9 too!), bald(ing) white (so-not so tanned) guys.

Ssecretly you pine for us. You want to get down and dirty, nasty like with us. You have a fetish for sex with disgusting guys. I read about it in Maxim, or maybe it was Oprah's magazine? Either way that's pretty messed up. But most likely you'll just hold "it" all in, all your perversions and go on ignoring me like the rest of humanity does.

Go ahead. Try to ignore me. You can avert your eyes ... sigh and "put up" with me when I try to be cool. You can go make fun of me with the rest of the cute waitresses in the back of the restaurant.

But I will warn you and the rest of the nation, ignore me at your own peril. The meek Sunday morning pancake eating NFL watching white guy next to you at the sports bar is a shaken aluminum soda can full of rage. I just dare your ass to pop my top. I 'll spray all over you in a sugary coated syrupy mess. I'll get in your eyes and sting bitch.

You don't want to fuck with me. I can walk into a McDonald's and shoot up a room, then order a dozen chicken McNuggets to go. Who do you think does all the stalking? Who picks up all the little girls in unmarked vans and drives them out to the middle of nowhere? Single white males who get no attention that's who. So maybe it's time to start paying a little more attention to me-that's all I am saying.

You think Caucasians can't have pathos? Or maybe you're just looking for a little more ethnic in your gravitos? Why do you think only the ghetto makes you crazy? Try the suburbs baby. I want my props! Who do you think buys up all that Gansta Rap and Death Metal? Young white suburban males. We've been killing our species since Cro-Magnon met Neanderthals.

Kudos to me for the longest fucking title of my bloggin career.

2 ....the number of women who have pleasured themselves to my writing. And you know who you are. Quit asking yourself "Will he fuck me?" Of course I will. Line up my bitches, you can get all three inches of my thunder.

Please pardon the cum stained pages from my journal this entry has come from. I have no idea how they got there. Let me repeat that, "I have no idea how they got there. I mean I am pretty sure they may have come from me walking around dripping looking for a towel after masturbating.

Had I noticed the cum stains I assure I would have cleaned them up. I certainly wouldn't have allowed them to sit around for several days. That would make running over the crusted up surfaces difficult witha pen. I'd like to think that I treat my pen with a bit more dignity than that.

Do y'all remember the movie "Revenge of the Nerds III?" Do you remember it's stunning and mournful theme song? Of course you don't. It was a shitty third tier Made-for-TV movie from USA Cable Networks "The Denny's of late night TV programming."

I think their slogan was "It's late, your up--we're on, so quit your fucking complaining. Plus we've got super special guest star "Booger" returning, and he doesn't exactly get paid scale these days."

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Christian Nutwing - Robertson Calls for Chavez's Assassination - U.S. & World - Robertson Calls for Chavez's Assassination: "Religious broadcaster Pat Robertson suggested on-air that American operatives assassinate Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez to stop his country from becoming 'a launching pad for communist infiltration and Muslim extremism.' "

Holy crap, is this guy insane or what? Say what you will about Chavez, but he is the freely elected leader of a democratic and allied nation (while he may be critical of G. W. Bush since the guy did nothing to support him during an attempted coup) that's hardly reason to off the guy.

Is being a commie still that scary? What fucking Bible is he reading? Oh...wait...

Monday, August 22, 2005

Way to many updates coming

Last weekend busy:

Poker update

California trip with the Card Shark where :

  • I met Jack High, Chris Darden, Men the master, and freakin Celine Dion's Husband.
  • 1,000 dollar buy in tournament was entered
  • learned Californians think three betting a 2, 4 offsuit preflop is good idea.
  • hung out with Dan-the-Man
  • Speaking of Jack High , a friend staked him and got 10% of his winning and may even get into a Documentary
  • did an 8 minute riff on Armenians and Turnips
  • discovered the Armenian Mafia doesn't think 8 minute riffs on their national product so funny

There are just a few stories I will have to tell about this weekend.

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

My autobiography will start out "Call Me Doyle Brunson"

Just because I haven't shaved in 9 days, it don't mean that I don't know enough to play the Deuce Six suited. Every time baby. Every time.

I am in the small Blind with no callers back to me, so I limp in making a point to announce my weak status. Prick to the left of me raises. Just try and steal my blind. Now I am gonna let you get 6 bucks instead of three by calling you. (He could have at least let me seen the flop and then raised I would have folded almost anything due to his kindness.)

Now the Flop:

Five. Four. Jack. Now your in trouble bitch, cuz I got me a drawing hand.

"I check." I say.
"I bet you do." The plumpy prick retorts. "Raiser her up!"

To the Turn:

Something insignificant like a 9. He raises and I call like an idiot with 3 WSOP braclets.

Old Man River--( if only I could do sound effects.)

I need a three. And lo Jesus spoketh and the lord provideth a three.

I check. He raises. I re-raise. And then without bothering to check the board..he stammers out..

"I call."

He seems rather pleased with himself. That is until I flip over the 2,6. Then he is beside himself. He goes off on me like Courtney Love... Three days into Rehab.

"Just keep playing that 2..6 all day man." d

"Uh...I think I used up all my 2..Sixes for this year, but thanks." He says a few other things and I mention he might have seen it coming with my check raise, since the guy to his right shouted at my raise (as he called) "you got the straight?"

Kid Shark

Friday, August 12, 2005

Why aren't you annoying people?

The Voice: You should become "Mr. Obvious."

Mr. Obvious?

The Voice: Yes. The Master of the Obvious. Cliff Claven.


The Voice: For instance you could say things like..."Ice is really just frozen water." But you do it all day. It becomes your "thing."

Yea, ...I'll think that one over.

Maybe you would prefer your life to be written by Hal Hartley rather than Larry David.



I said "hello."

Oh. did. Why?

Why what?

Why would you do that?

Say hello?

Yes. Hello.

We have allready established that. You have said Hello. I am just trying to figure out why you said it.

Why I said it?

Right. Why you said it.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

In what was known as the Great Mall Wars.

It was the year 1983, otherwise known as the time before WillowBrook Mall. They lived in a small barrio located on the cusp of a development called "The Greenspoint Mall." A large and noisy highway separated the barrio from the mall and shepherded many visitors into it's paradise of shopping and eating.

In the Barrio it was not at all uncommon for 16 members of a family to be living in a 2 bedroom apartment. Though it was quite uncommon for members of that family to speak in the language of the ruling class. The Barrio's members much preferred the tongue from their homeland.

The residents of the barrio never tired of complaining in that tongue of the theft of their ancestral lands. They were a proud people, a people who saluted their leader, even while he dressed in the rags from enlisted men in a futile attempt to escape capture.

The children born in the barrio often stood along side of the mall's roadway. And when the cars of the ruling class would ride by, they would throw stones at cars of the white men whose ancestors had stolen their land. The children, a fearful bunch, would be chased away by even the slightest suggestion from a tapped brake light that one of the cars would stop and that the owner of one of these vehicles would exact his revenge upon them.

This signal could send the children scurrying off, to hide in the woodlands which bordered the barrio from the land of the whites. But there where a few white unfortunates that lived among the brown barrios. Families who had disgraced themselves among the whites. And not surprisingly, the children of those families enjoyed throwing stones at cars as much as any of the brown children.

To be continued. One can only post so much from the Library. Or when I learn how to do outsider art.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Just another angry Black Woman.

Foxxylove, whom I might add has never really posted here , has finally decided to post on her own blog. Check it out.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Just a sec.....P.O.S...can't talk

I was watching the TV the other day, when one of those .."The more you know" segments blurts out the alarming statistic that :

20 % of youth age 10-17 have received unwanted sexual solicitations online.

So is the "good news" the 80% who have welcomed the sexual advances they have received?

I think we all can recognize the real dangers of pedophilia, but who among us knew of the dangers presented by the 80 percent bracket of horny teenagers?

Parents over the Shoulder (tm) like a lot of other groups out there is trying to do a good service, but I think they are going about it the wrong way.

For instance, A"creepy" 30 year old picking up on his prey isn't about to pretend to be 16. No idiot would try that (sorry about the premature balding, no... really I am 16. Um no..I don't have like an I.D. ), he would be all like "Hey, I can buy you beer and stuff." Or,"It takes me longer to come to orgasm."

Protect your teen by telling the truth:

  1. Look if you want beer that badly, I 'll buy it for you.
  2. Without Viagra , no thirty year old can have multiple orgasms.
  3. Your Dad is younger than the creep trying to diddle you.
  4. Save your virginity for the goofy, painfully inexperienced 17 year old just like your Dear old Mom did.
  5. The 30 year old doesn't care about your Troll dolls either, he just pretends to.

Tuesday, August 02, 2005