What if I was a guy who lived in Arizona in the 21st century who like thought he was channeling Bukowski? I'd probably write something like this...

I opened the freezer door and inside I found boxes of frozen food. My roommate had placed all of the prepared food which did not "fit his diet" to the very left of the freezer. I could have any of that food I wanted. He even encouraged me to "eat it quickly, as it was taking up space."

I made a mental note of this. Mostly because I wanted him to get through organizing his freezer so I could place my bologna in the refrigerator. I was thinking about going on my bologna and cheese sandwich diet again. That may not seem like much of a diet. But it seemed a bit healthier than fast food every night.

Plus the last time I started the diet I dropped 12 pounds in about a month. Most people wouldn't try eating the same sandwich everyday, but that's because they eat ham. You can't eat ham sandwiches everyday. You'd get sick of them, quickly. Maybe that's because ham reminds you of the variety out there in the real world.

Bologna doesn't really have any taste. Maybe it did in the 50's. But today's turkey bologna is bland and inoffensive. So much so that a dollop of mustard awakens the tongue and reminds you that you are eating. Also a couple of those sandwiches and some Fritos and a cold glass of milk will keep your hunger pains away for hours. You could live off that for a few dollars a week. Even in the days of the 6 dollar onion.

I suppose I should tag someone

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I wanna write to you about the dead birds I've been seeing. I hope this doesn't creep you out.

I want to write about the birds I've been seeing. The dead ones. You don't normally see a lot of dead birds. You'd think you would see more. Lot's more of them.

I think birds number in the billions. And birds don't live very long. At least pigeons and black birds don't. I think. Maybe birds live a long time, but that still doesn't explain why you never see piles of dead birds lying on the street.

But lately things have changed. I've been seeing a lot more dead birds lately. It all started with the dead pigeon at my front door. I opened my front door to see a dead pigeon. Just lying there. Dead. Almost like my cat delivered it for me in that creepy cat way that cats have for showing you they like you.

Only I don't have cat.

But I've noticed since finding that dead bird that cats have been coming around the house a lot more frequently since I let that dead pigeon sit on my front porch for so long. It was really only a few days, but that was long enough to draw attention to this house for the neighborhood felines. They tend to pick up on these things.

But maybe the cats are on to something. Because it was my hope they'd take off with the dead pigeon. Relieving me from the "bad medicine" that a dead pigeon represents. Or at least sparing me the icky collection process.

No such luck. No cat would touch that pigeon long enough to drag it off. And no cat felt that this pigeon was what you might call a "prize" to take home to his overweight and lonely misses.

I am not as freaked out as my roommate over the dead pigeon. I am not what you call spiritual. I tend to get pissed when I am at the Grand Canyon and I can't get my Quizno's on. Warm and Toasty is how my God wanted my cheesesteak to be.

All that was before I began to see the dead black birds.

Normally I would all be for the death of as many black birds as I could find. Me and Black Birds have history. Black birds are spooky. They make your intestines queez up and like a big heaping spoonful of Olestra.

I hope their is nothing supernatural going on. That all these dead black birds I see everywhere aren't some kind of warning that only a forum loving chat room Lost watcher could decipher. Because if so we may well be all doomed. I don't see why the gods always deliver signs to the people least likely to see them or believe them.

Why can't the Pope see all these dead birds? I am sure he'd know exactly where to find this in Deuteronomy or Acts or whatever.

But nope it's just me. And I will just keep stepping around all these dead birds whenever I run into them. I am not going to let any of you asign any value to this occurence whatsoever. No matter how freaky this gets. I am just not.

Cuddles.

Romius T.

A Small Tale of a Guy Who Worries Too Much About the Amount Of Tooth Paste He Uses

After flossing he took out the tooth paste from inside the middle drawer of the mirrored cabinet and placed a peasized amount of tooth paste on top of his tooth brush. He did so only after first rereading the warning label printed on the side of the tube, "children should use a peasized amount and be supervised until they develop good brushing habits i.e. not swallowing."

He'd read that warning label a thousand times, though as a child never followed it. Always in turn placing as much tooth paste as he could fit on to his tooth brush. Sometimes overestimating the amount one could place on a brush, he'd watch the toothpaste drip off and fall into the sink.

He supposed that his placement of peasized amounts of toothpaste as an adult was some kind response to not obeying those instructions as a child. A kind of atonement for past mistakes.

Not that he actually regretted his little rebellions when he was a boy. It was just that today he no longer needed to rebel against authority the way he did as a child. In addition, he worried about the cost of toothpaste.

That's why he held onto several tubes of toothpaste he was given for serving three days is jail for a DUI charge of which he was most certainly guilty.

In the jail each prisoner, he was not certain if the technical term for someone guilty of "just" a DUI and serving his sentence in a city jail was prisoner, but he knew of no other term for it, so each "prisoner" then was given three tubes of toothpaste. That had been three years ago. And he still had one of the tubes left.

"It was quite ironic," he thought, "that the tubes of tooth paste came with a warning on its side for children. Did they really intend "Jail House" tooth paste to be given to children?"

I guess one could say he failed to consider the option that tooth paste for criminals could be given to juvenile delinquents.

It took a long time for all those thoughts to appear in his mind and when they were done he looked back down at the tooth brush he had been holding in his hand and began to to clean his teeth. First he started on the right side of his mouth and then he scrubbed at the gums of his sore molars.

He'd had the molars removed at the age of thirty three. Well after the time the dentist alerted him to the problem. And occasionally the surrounding tissue of the root canal would flare up and give him a painful reminder that at one time his molars had given the marching orders in his mouth.

Not only did the molars tell his mouth what to feel and when, but they had been secretly giving him nasty headaches. He used to take massive doses of aspirin and Tylenol during that time to deaden the pain while his friends taunted him with out mercy for doing so. Saying things like, "You swallow aspirin likes its candy." He often just nodded numbly to their accusations and pretended that the insults they doled out didn't bother him.

But the insults did bother him. They built up inside him. One brick at a time. The insults gave him doubts about the reality of the pain he felt. He began to lose confidence in his minds ability to determine the rationality of his fears.

Later in life his inability to control his irrational impulses would cause his doctors to mistakenly diagnose him with heart trouble. A few weeks stay in a hospital landed him $13,000 in debt. And the sourness of that debt would finally force his friends to confront his hypochondria.

"It was probably just gas." They would say anytime he hung around all his friends. They still enjoyed getting together. And they would razz him like they always did. Hoping this time it would work.

My buddy Enis, who's girlfriend was so hot that an Angel lusted after her, and so she begat a giant, and the giant was evil, and the giant killed us.

Not to mention that the Giant ate a lot before it decided to kill us.

No matter where we went. McDonald's, the local farmer's market, that giant could eat its own weight in food and still want more. A ceaseless hunger that giant had.

I always thought that the mother of that giant was cute, even though she was my best friend's girl. She was skinny and usually that's enough for me. But she also had freckles and a spiral perm. In 1987 spiral perms were totally hot. They still might be today. I never really pay attention to those sorts of things. But I do know that freckles have never been considered hot. Maybe that's why she flirted with me all the time.

I remember the first time I saw Mandi. She had just had a baby. She brought that baby with a giant head to her work which was also my favorite bar. I remember not thinking too much about the kid as the Suns were on TV and Charles Barkley was dunking and shooting his way to a victory over the Spurs.

With less than a minute to go I was staring up at the big screen TV when I noticed out of the corner of my eye Mandi urging her man to leave, "I wanna go, you can watch the game at home."

I saw Enis get up rather sheepishly and I felt sorry for him.

"Why don't you let him stay 'till the end? The game is almost over."
For some reason Mandi relents and allows him to watch the rest of the game. The Suns win on a 16 footer from the "round mound of rebound."

There was an angel in that bar that night. He was watching the Suns game with me. Other than angels drinking at my local bar it had been an unremarkable year in Phoenix. Great basketball and the 130 degree summer temperatures.

That angel looked over at Mandi and Enis' big headed baby and thought to himself, "I wonder what it would be like to have a big headed giant from a spiral haired, cutely freckled, human girl?"

I say he must have thought it, because that's exactly what he did. He even got me to introduce him to her. Later when asked, I wouldn't be able to recall if a skinny blond haired guy in the trench coat frequented the bar where Mandi worked and I so often drank at.

At the time I probably just figured that the guy was there for the same reason I was. His wife had left him and now he was trying to pick up on girls half his age. And if that didn't work he could get drunk and hope the bartender would flirt with him.

Which she did. At first it seemed innocent enough. She gave him free beers and he delighted her with stories from his high school debate team.

I remember the first time I introduced Mandi to him. He'd been seated by himself at a table next to the bar stools, picking away at his complimentary peanuts. He was not what you'd call an attractive man. He had patchy blonde facial hair that wouldn't quite grow in. Much like a pubescent boy's won't. He looked animated and cheerful. But his eyes betrayed him. They were sulky and he tried masking that fact through extravagant vocalizations and flailing his arms about whenever he spoke to nearby patrons or the waitress who refilled his bowl of nuts.

He wore a trench coat. Always. Even in the summer. Despite this I never saw him sweat. And the summer in Phoenix is hellish. Even the devil vacations away from Valley in the summer, preferring the moist heat of Hell to the stifling blast furnace faced when one decides to brave the air un-conditioned.

He said his name was Noah. "Like the sailor?" I asked. He laughed a little at my joke. And seemed intrested in hearing how I had been waiting my whole life to meet a guy named Noah. Just so I could use that joke.

"Do you plan a lot of things like that?"

"I do." I told him.

He thought I was bit odd. And that was OK. He was used to weirdness. He had been in, "Drama club in high school." He didn't get offended when I called him a "Drama Fag" for being in theatre.

That's how I came to introduce my new friend, Noah, to my best friend's girl, Mandi.

Part II coming soon.

Ninja World Movement Alert

World Control has become aware of a massive deployment of Ninjas.

Angola has entered into the collective unconscious of this blog by sending 2500 of its deadly Ninjas to attack Zimbabwe.

Angola sends 2500 'ninjas' to Zimbabwe - World - smh.com.au

The move was called "normal" and "unnewsworthy" by Zimbabwean authorities. We at World Control know better.

Agnosticism is about knowledge.

What is Atheism?

"Atheism entails, minimally, the disbelief[1] in the existence of any deities.[2] It is contrasted with theism, the belief in a God or gods. Atheism is commonly defined as the positive belief that deities do not exist, or as the deliberate rejection of theism.[3][4][5]

However, others define atheism as the simple absence of belief in deities[6][7][8] (cf. nontheism), thereby designating all agnostics, and people who have never heard of gods, such as newborn children, as atheists as well.[9][10]

In recent years, some atheists have adopted the terms strong and weak atheism to clarify whether they consider their stance one of positive belief (strong atheism) or the mere absence of belief (weak atheism).[11][12][13]"

I know I've answered this before. But recently a friend of mine asked why (so called strong atheists) believe "a negative- something that can't be proved."

Here is a quote from Richard Dawkins:

"A friend, an intelligent lapsed Jew who observes the Sabbath for reasons of cultural solidarity, describes himself as a Tooth Fairy Agnostic. He will not call himself an atheist because it is in principle impossible to prove a negative. But "agnostic" on its own might suggest that he though God's existence or non-existence equally likely. In fact, though strictly agnostic about god, he considers God's existence no more probable than the Tooth Fairy's.

Bertrand Russell used a hypothetical teapot in orbit about Mars for the same didactic purpose. You have to be agnostic about the teapot, but that doesn't mean you treat the likelihood of its existence as being on all fours with its non-existence.

The list of things about which we strictly have to be agnostic doesn't stop at tooth fairies and celestial teapots. It is infinite. If you want to believe in a particular one of them -- teapots, unicorns, or tooth fairies, Thor or Yahweh -- the onus is on you to say why you believe in it. The onus is not on the rest of us to say why we do not. We who are atheists are also a-fairyists, a-teapotists, and a-unicornists, but we don't' have to bother saying so."

Why should we leave the philosophically comfortable and safe position on agnosticism about God and postulate [below] a positive proposition like Strong Atheism?

"Strong Atheism is the proposition that we should not suspend judgment about the non-existence of a god or gods. More extensively, it is a positive position against theistic values, semantics and anti-materialism, a rational inquiry in the nature of religious thought, a new way of thinking about religious and spiritual issues."

There are good reason to not believe.

Empiricism, Science, problem of evil, the god answer solves no problem, the gambit jumbo jet.

Hence if knowledge says there is only a small infinitesimal probablity that the supernatural exists, we shan't believe.

Hugo Chavez gives good interview to Barb

I know I haven't been keeping you up to date on Hugo Chavez. But with the Comunist Party here in Tempe having a lecture on him this March 25th at its annual picnic I thought this would be as good time a time as ever to post this U-tube.

Sunday in the ParkJoin us for a PICNIC with music, poetry andprogressive politics. Special guest:

James Jordan, WesternRegional Director of the Venezuela Solidarity Network who will speak on:

THE BOLIVARIAN REVOLUTION:BUILDING SOLIDARITY WITH VENEZUELA

Sunday, March 25th 1 pm Kiwanis Park in Tempe. Ramada #10

From Baseline south on Mill Kiwanis Park will be on your right.

We will have cold beer and picnic food including vegetarian-------------- ------------- -------- Poets for Justice will present Spoken Word----------- ------------- ----------This picnic is dedicated to welcomingback local activist Laro Nicol, a victim of government repression.------- ----------- -------- ------

-$5 minimum donation requested $2 for low income, kids free

Hopefully you can donate more! Proceeds to benefit the
PEOPLES' WEEKLY WORLD newspaper Check it out - pww.org

I am a winner

The universe is always looking out for me. Like just today I learned that I could win a prize simply by clicking on Kevin Federline's search engine.

How cool is that? What's the prize you ask? You can win tickets to attend K-Fed's birthday party. Wow. Do you think I care that accommodations and travel are not included. Hell no. Who wouldn't want a chance to meet the Fed? Even if it means paying for it.

Want more proof that God loves me?

It turns out the cat and dog food you've been giving your animal companions is slowly killing them. I knew if I prayed long enough god would revenge me.

I've been reading Jung lately. His answer to Job. God is amoral. Unconscious. An antinomy of contradictions. Yes, god attacked me with a German Sheppard. But god also got his revenge against that animal.

Millions of pets slain. Perhaps that's why in the future we domesticate the ape. And plant the seeds of our own destruction.

Larry King Blogs on his Birthday

I never take a day off from. No matter what. Even on my birthday. Some people think I am the hardest working man in show biz, but they are wrong. That distinction belongs to James Brown's "fiance" who appeared for more than a month straight on my CNN talk show.

I've got way to many distractions to devote my life soley to Journalism. I keep very busy giving the "sex" to many of my Laotian mini-wives over at my Turkey Baster Impregnation Farm in Peru. Not to mention all my heart attacks and field trips with Tom Cruise to his Scientology's anti-psychiatry museum.

For the first time in my life I almost met a man with double the size of my own megalomania. Of course I am talking about Katie Holmes, not Tom. We all know Tom loves the Trannies. And we all know how Katie (Kate) Holmes' vagina has been surgically altered to look even more like the gigantic penis that Tom craves it to be.

As much as I disapprove of the museum I must say that it is one hell of a ride. I give it Four Stars. I am going to have to go back again and again.

Larry King blogs every Thursday night at 6 P.M., when he's not too drunk he posts. Visit Larry King Blogs here and be my best friend forever on the MySpace.

538 Loatian Mini-Wives crave Larry's cock and don't know why.

I don't like me either

I was asked to guest blog over at a Star Trek Themed website. I thought it went well. Except for the lack of enthusiasm exhibited by the blogs readers.

That's OK. I don't like enthusiasm in people. Or passion. It unnerves me.

It's also OK that none of my glorious readers clicked on the "digg" me option I set up over at Self Help too. It's not like I really want to be famous. Also I can't get any family or friends to read my blog. Even though harass them on myspace everyday.

In real life my family and friends think I am funny. But they always read my blog in a down cycle (The way it is in right now.) So screw 'em.

Isn't it great that you know how awesome I am? And how nobody gets it, but you. When you share this blog with folks and you promise that this blog is really funny afterwards your friends take a look at you and think "I need to get him/her on Ritalin."

Well I can only take so much of all that. That's why I am not blogging so much. Maybe one day. When I get me some talent I will try again. But that whole Digg sellout post got me depressed. And the latest offerings on this blog are self indulgent tripe. Well, not really self indulgent, but they are tripe.

Which is a kind of fat that Mexicans eat.

I Review Movies so you can learn stuff. So now I am going to review the movie Billy Jack.

I know that my movie reviews are considered some of the weakest material I provide for this blog. But I still keep doing them. I hope that irritates you. Like when your little sister walks in on you jacking off.

I agree with you. There is no need for your sister to go and tell Mom. What a girl does in the privacy of her basement should stay private. Plus you're not really hurting anyone. If you don't consider that vibrator a person. Which you shouldn't. Even if you name it.

Speaking of which. I just watched the craziest movie of my life. It's called Billy Jack. But I don't want to review that movie here yet. Instead (in the ancient practice of outraged Christians everywhere) I want to review a movie I haven't seen.

That movie is called Billy Jack's Moral Revolution. Now for readers who are not familiar with Billy Jack Movies you need to just think one thing. Flower Power + Clint Eastwood. What else? Think Obi Won Kenobi...

"A key ingredient of the original Billy Jack was Billy teaching how to become a real man, and Jean on how to become a real woman in highly dramatic and emotional scenes. The new Billy Jack will do the same for today’s youth."

Billy Jack also dealt heavily with themes of sexuality. Girls get raped. Girls who sleep around get impregnated by minorities. Those girls get targeted for abortion and eventually get "punished" and lose their unborn children. Also there are shots of a naked 13 year old girl.

But Billy Jack's obsession with 13 year old's isn't just for the past. It's a continuing and creepy concern of the writer/director/star.

BILL JACK ON

How to become a woman and stop being an “Anybody’s”

"People will be shocked to learn in the film that 30% of 13-year old's are sexually promiscuous, and one out of five is a “cutter”, someone who has slashed their wrists at least once in a suicide attempt.

Because women are programmed so intensely that the way to become accepted and popular is to become a hot, sexy “anybody’s” – a sexual object who gives sexual gratification to chopped haired idiots whose idea of masculinity is to get high and conquer women, women desperately need a way to develop their own inner power."

An "anybody" is a hot sexy 13 year old girl who sleeps with anybody just for attention. Usually in billy Jack movies it is with the main evil character. And right after the bad guy has chocked and humiliated the "anybody's" friend.

Women in Billy Jack movies go to the bad guy of their own free will. So they get what they deserve. If by deserve you mean getting raped at knife point.

I know what you are thinking this is some kind of loony fringe cult film. You've never heard of it. Why should you care about a movie so far from the mainstream? You are wrong!

"They said it was impossible! For 17 years we couldn’t get Billy Jack made because studios and investors said Indians were “box office poison.” So we mortgaged what we had, got a friend to invest, and did it ourselves, and to this day Billy Jack is still the most profitable independent film ever made, grossing in today’s dollars over $400 million."

You need to go rent all these damn movies. You need to donate to this guy so he can finish his film. I don't know what he did with all his money. He probably gave it away to the Indians. That's the Indian Way after all.

Why I still hate Oprah Winfrey

For a while I thought I had gotten over my hatred of Oprah Winfrey. My last post inspired some rather nasty racist name calling. So I thought about taking it easy on her.

None of the commentors in my original post did. Those commentors used the N word. People like that just seem plain dangerous to me. Not in the controlled anti-social way, like myself. But in a primal I-just-shot-your-mama-now go-to-your-room kinda way.

Nevertheless, Oprah does deserve a fair amount of the criticism she gets. For instance in a recent Salon article took her to task over her endorsement of a silly self help book The Secret.

The article mainly rehashes several points that many other critics have been making for years. But the author does a good job of showing how the criticisms when taken together show that Oprah is endorsing and promoting a kind of "culture."

For instance, Oprah writes about "The Secret" on her Web site, "the energy you put into the world -- both good and bad -- is exactly what comes back to you. This means you create the circumstances of your life with the choices you make every day."

That statement is just sickening and offensive. And I do sickening and offensive for a living. I don't need to tell you that her idiotic statement is an indictment of starving children. Who I guess brought all of their misery on themselves by crying too much when they got hungry.

Actually I probably did need to tell you how stupid her belief system is. Way too many people in the United States fall for this New Age Hocus Pocus. Allthough Oprah did not come up with this nuttiness, she has profited from it. And while she did not create Oprah Culture from scratch she is hyping it to an eager and gullible audience.

What's Oprah Culture?

"It's a culture where superstition is "spirituality," illiteracy is "authenticity," and schoolmarm moralism is "character." It's a culture where people apologize by saying, "I'm sorry you took offense at what I said," and forgive by saying, "I'm not angry at you anymore, I'm grateful to you for teaching me not to trust shitheads like you."

And [here's] the part that should bother us most: the diminishing, even implicit mocking, of genuine goodness, and of authentic spiritual concerns and practices. Engagement, curiosity and active awe are in short supply these days, and it's sickening to see them devalued and misrepresented."

Oprah Culture combines some of the worst aspects of Eastern and Western Philosophy. One part of hedonistic materialism with an equal dose of "false spiritualism."

I wished Americans were strong enough to resist the false positism that Oprah offered, but I bet we aren't.

I don't want to tell you to be ironic. That would be ironic.

But I do want to hear about your amazing cat stories. Nothing excites a man more than hearing about amazing cats and their stories. Other than baby pictures. We love baby pictures. Maybe the guys who love baby pics are only the guys who go to jail for masturbating to baby pictures, but we loves them all the same.

I don't want to have dicsussion with you about irony either. Because sooner or later you are going to bring up that Alanis Morissette song. Do I think its ironic? Sure, but I also think you are a moron sometimes. Not the real "you" mind you. Just the fake you that doesn't exist. The fake "you" that I am fighting with because it's a Friday night and I am all alone in the house with nothing to do.

So I have imaginary conversations with people that don't exist. I use bits of you and conflate them with bits of people I hate. So I can have an argument. I used to do that with an EX-GF of mine. She always wondered why I came home pissed. It was because I used to walk home from a shitty job and take my anger out on her in imaginary conversations. But then sometimes I would forget that I wasn't really pissed at her and it was just in my head. Imagine her consternation.

Well in truth she never had a bit of consternation. I think you have to know what a word means in order to have the feelings associated with the word. Now that's ironic.

You better hope that your God has not grown as tired of you as I have

The world is a scary and dark place. Not just in Africa. Where the people have good tans, but face death, hunger and genocide the way we face alienation, anomie, and poorly made Lifetime movies here in America.

You can make a pretty good movie about Sudanese people overcoming the odds and doing good in society, but I can't get inspired by it. The only reaction I get from watching inspired people is depression.

I am a useless and worthless human being. Not that it takes being depressed to know that I've never done anything in my life. I can't even blame it on my village getting bombed or almost starving to death. My belly is swollen into 36 (OK maybe 38) inches of Pizza Hut's garlic encrusted dough. Unlike the Sudanese in this film I've never created a free health clinic or even gotten a degree in Economics. But then again I don't think I am a good person. Not that I think you are either.

I have a theory about how morality is linked to the mode of production, but you can't be trusted to read it. Just know that even a refugee's life in America sucks. And they probably feel sorry for you. Because we have lost what he calls "culture" and "community."

I don't romanticize community even though I am a communist. A culture's morality can't be judged by preliterate standards of cooperation. Capitalism at once inspires individualism and requires nearly unparalleled kinds of social cooperation.

The messianic force of radical critique finds salvation for the modern world precisely in it's comprehension of the social cooperation that is required by Capital. What critique seeks is not only the augmentation of this social dependency form to higher states of cooperation, but to build an awareness of the necessarily social in technologically advanced nations.

See, aren't ya glad I don't go any further there?

Don't go gettin' Paranoid on me Android

I don't just make veiled references to popular rock bands in my blog posts, I also make sure to send you guys the latest in conspiracy theories.

"The fact that the BBC reported on the collapse of Building 7 over twenty minutes in advance of its implosion obviously provokes a myriad of questions as to how they knew it was about to come down when the official story says its collapse happened accidentally as a result of fire damage and debris weakening the building's structure."

"Myriad? I was impressed to see that she made proper use of the word 'myriad' in her suicide note."