December 20, 2005


BLISTERED by a backlash over a secret eavesdropping program, President Bush yesterday said it had prevented terror attacks, was not an abuse of his power and would continue. In a vigorous counter-attack, he also accused America’s most respected newspaper of helping the enemy with its “shameful” scoop revealing the spy program. The New York Times revealed last week that Mr Bush had authorised the National Security Agency to spy on US citizens without obtaining warrants.

This stuff is really getting out of control. It is obviously wrong, so much so that I didn’t feel the need to post about it when it came out as news. But after reading about Bush and how he’s going to continue despite outrage. . . I have to wonder where it all ends. He’s apparently going to do whatever he feels like doing, and that’s that.

We’re attacked, and so all of our freedoms are taken away to make sure we aren’t attacked again. What was it that they claimed we were fighting for all of these years? Freedom? To do what, exactly? The right to say what we want and do it in the privacy of our own homes: that’s freedom, right? Maybe not, at least not in the 21st century. Denial of the enemy’s rights seems to go hand in hand in denying our rights, and lately it seems that if you disagree with that, you too are the enemy. And we all know what happens to them. They get tortured in secret camps, and are forced to listen to Eminem, a fate worse than death. So you better keep that mouth shut. No dissent, children, not today. If you’re not with the Bush admin and the horrible shit they pull, then you must be against them and you’re a traitor.

Look at the New York Times, for instance. They report that the president is abusing his power, ignoring the checks and balances as it were, and they are marked as bad and “shameful.” Apparently they shouldn’t be reporting to the American people that they no longer have private lives. We are to stay deaf, dumb, and powerless. Have faith in Jesus and The Administration and all will be fine, my good Americans. Because if our president says Torture, Spying, and Lying is ok, it must be. Never question authority — especially when you can’t handle the consequences.

Manning Eats Turf

December 18, 2005

Just watched the Colts-Chargers game, and what a beautiful god damn thing that was. I have had an intense hatred for all things Manning since I moved to Tennessee and saw that the Mannings were worshipped like demi-gods, as rich people there tend to be. I have hated Peyton in particular since his University days, when I had to put up with his life-sized cardboard cutouts in my classrooms at school, smiling down on me in his hideous orange jersey like Christ himself, ressurrected into the body of a huge faggot. . . but today, TODAY, things were set right, for I saw Peyton Manning tossed around like a jailhouse bitch by some hungry San Diegans.

The only reason the Colts had a 13-0 record is because nobody could get in there to make that priveleged little prick run. Peyton sat in his pocket and completed his passes, simple as that. That changed when San Diego got on the field. The Chargers stuck his ugly Manning-face in the turf at his own stadium — he looked like a scared little girl having to run out of his cozy little pocket, bare to the world and without blockers, actually having to do some work. It was beautiful. Oh, that precious skin of yours is going to be bruised in the morning. Just remember, the Manning name ain’t gonna buy you a 14-0 record, punk, cause this ain’t Tennessee. Eat shit!


I Can’t Think Of A Title

December 10, 2005

Fridays are fun. I told myself I’d lay off the booze for a week, but I keep fucking it up. I tried, but then realized nothing I have is worth preserving and went back to bashing my brains out with cheap alcohol. I wake up and keep busy until work, and then, some time while throwing boxes around, I conclude that there isn’t any reason why I shouldn’t go home and get shitfaced. Health? Yeah, right. Life can get very repetative, especially in a place like this. I think you need to see the world through a pure grain alcohol tint if you’re going to live in this neck of the woods.

Let’s see, what’s new and exciting? Ah, today at work, Turbo throttled the snack machine until it delivered him three treats. Actually, the second and third treats were awarded to Gilberto, the Puerto Rican. Gil was holding a chocolate chip cookie and a bag of chips as the supervisors came out, and he moved sheepishly from person to person before settling at the counter I was leaning against. He had gone over to investigate the goings-on and ended up with food in his hands. Caught red handed, as it were.

It’s harsh calling Adam a retard; he could be called disabled or just slow or perhaps he’s just of a different mindset from people like myself. I don’t know what the perfect person is. I know it isn’t him or me… but I also know that he’s as maladjusted as I could ever be. While I have quite a bit of anxiety and frustrations of all varieties built up inside of me, I don’t think I would ever assault a snack machine or a box of panties (not while being watched, anyway). The stealing of food didn’t faze me so much as Adam’s response to the appearance of authority on the scene, though. Adam didn’t even put the thing back. The machine was left about a foot and a half from the wall, the cord dangling helplessly. He shook that corrupt vender several feet across the concrete floor in his violent episode… payback for the overpriced treats he’s wasted so many shiney quarters on… and then he just left it. Apparently, he hadn’t realized how much noise he was making until somebody showed up. He was off somewhere in Autism Land shaking down the Pop-Tart fairy, and when he snapped back into reality, he decided to leave everything right where it was and act as if nothing had happened. Yes, nobody will know — not until they go to get a Duchess Honey Bun on Monday and realize they’re standing further away from the wall than usual. That’ll throw those fuckers for a loop, Adam. Good man.

And that’s really about it for the exciting goings on in my life today. Yeah. I know.


This photograph was taken with a one-of-a-kind camera in the early 1900’s by a Russian named Sergei Mikhailovich Prokudin-Gorski. He constructed the camera himself. When I first saw these, I was absolutely amazed. As a history geek, this is the type of stuff that makes me cream my jeans. These pictures are crystal fucking clear and they’re almost 100 years old. I mean, imagine seeing WW2 like it was photographed yesterday. WW1. Everything.

That’s when I got angry. Because not everybody had one of these cameras. As far as I know, there was one of them and it was used by Sergei. Who is this Russian bastard that decided his remarkable camera wasn’t worthy of the rest of the world?

If only all photographers had one of those. We wouldn’t look at black and white photos like we do now and think about how it’s an old photo, or how it looks like it is from some foreign time on some foreign world filled with people we don’t understand. We’d think, wow, these were real people, 60 years ago, going through the same motions as us. This stuff is real. You would be hard pressed to say whether some of these Gorskii pictures were taken yesterday or in 1909, and that is nothing short of incredible. And yet, they are the only pictures of their kind in existence. A bitter-sweet gift to history, I guess.


Entire collection

Spray some I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter on these delicious baked goods and have at it. This dude was in the news a few months back, but I only came across these pictures recently and thought they were neato. The latest issue of Maxim had a two page close up of these bread-head things, and they looked like something out of a movie.


Made by a baker in Thailand. They’re supposedly edible, although I read that he uses mold to get some of the red/blue coloring. The artist says he’s making a statement against eating unhealthy food, but it sounds to me like he was just searching for a reason to make moldy treats resembling cadavers. Hey dude, whatever works.