To be the new Pope

I am what could be generouly called a lapsed Christian. But even if I become an atheist Budhist with Zoroastrian tendencies, I am and will forever be Agnostic. Even though I was never ordained by the Church of Agnostics, the experience left an indelible mark on my soul none the less. So, with Benedict throwing in the towel, the media getting their Catholic geek on and the election of the new Pope - it´s been an interesting couple of weeks. And my sister knows me very well.
"So what would you do if you were the Pope?" She asks.
"Probably try and figure out how to smuggle hookers into the Vatican." I say.
"Popes have done it before."
"I am sure the Borgias left tunnels somewhere." I laugh.
"No seriously." She goes on. "I am sure you care what happens to the new Pope, but what would you do?"
"Well I wouldn´t call myself Francis for one."
"Why not?"
"Because if any of you guys call me Francis..." Isay with a hysterical shrill in my voice. "I´ll kill you."
She stares at me blankly. "What the hell are you talking about?"
I sigh. I´m five years older than her so we dont share all the same cultural references. I explain the legendary dialogue from the movie Stripes.
"Oh man." She says when I finished. "That´s bad."
I emailed that video clip to a classmate of mine. He wrote back. ´I know. I was thinking the same thing. Psycho!!´

TO DO LIST UPON ELECTION AS SUPREME PONTIFF OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH:

1. When the Camerlengo asks, “Do accept your canonical election as Supreme Pontiff?” Laugh maniacally and shout, “It’s on bitches, Hell Yeah!!!”

2. Pick a name. Pick a scary name. I shall be called Rodus Sixtus.

3. My papal motto will be, “Because I said so.”

4. Remind myself never to look at online porn again. That shit could be traced back real quick.

5. Quickly figure out who’d be the first to poison me. Drink bottled beer only.

6. Call my cigar store and have a couple of boxes sent to “Top Dude, Big Dog at Vatican” post haste.

7. Pull the Vatican out of the Euro Zone. I want my face on the money.

8. Call my banker in the morning to set up a retirement plan.

9. Order the entire Rosetta Stone Language program. I need to be able to say, “Kneel before Rod!” in every tongue.

10. Find some really, really hot nuns.

11. Have my butler totally vetted before hire.

12. Dust off the Spanish Inquisition manual and renovate the dungeon. I have some housecleaning to do.

13. Relaunch the Crusades – as a massive multiplayer online game and reap the profits.

14. Put John Paul II back in the ground – where he wanted to be laid to rest. (I don’t need to worry about my corpse becoming an object of veneration. Something tells me I won’t be buried in The Vatican.)

15. Put in a rule that says a Pope must be dead a hundred years before you can even think about promoting him to sainthood. Right now the whole thing’s a racket.

16. Create the Swiss Navy. Sell The Pieta to the Bellagio in Vegas and buy a fully armed aircraft carrier and rechristen it, The Wrath of God. Stalin once asked, “How many divisions does the Pope have?” Well Uncle Joe, now the Pope has nukes.

17. Move Castel Gandolfo to the Surrey brick by brick

18. Hire Bruce Willis to find those priests who have the stones to make The Fifth Element. With my luck Satan is a monster-sized alien who’ll show up on my first day off.

19. Make my five-year old nephew a cardinal. It’s been done before.

20. Rename the Jesuits “The Jedi” and rename their mother church “St. Obi-Wan Outside the Walls.”

21. Commission Pope Sixtus comic book series. I’ve already got a cape.

22. Make the Vatican energy independent by hooking up the mains to the Ark of the Covenant. I know it’s around here somewhere.

23. Ditch the Popemobile for a Lamborghini.

24. Bring back bingo night at St. John Lateran.

25. Extort cattle ranchers for big payoffs or I bring back of meatless Fridays all year.

26. Have all the other religions of the world pay me for “protection.”

27. No more of this “What time is midnight Mass?” bullshit. Midnight! End of discussion.

28. Say priests don’t have to marry – but they have to raise at least one child.

29. Make waiting tables part of seminary formation. You learn a lot about people serving food.

30. Proclaim no priest shall be ordained until he is thirty-three. By that time, if you’re crazy, we’ll know.

31. Warn Sinead O’Connor she’d better not rip up MY picture.

32. Buy red sneakers. Better yet, launch my own line – Air Sixtus.

33. Tell Puerto Rican mothers to stop naming their kids Jesus.

34. All of Rome’s homeless get to sleep in St. Peter’s every night. Make that mandatory for every bishop’s cathedral in the world.

35. Watch the first two Godfather films for guidance – because the Curia is the original Mafia.

36. Have nuns constantly praying to St. Anthony so I can always find my Keys to the Kingdom.

37. Add “Ecclesiastical Shogun” to my extensive list of titles. Get accompanying samurai sword from the Emperor of Japan. Wicked cool.

38. Make Latin hip again.

39. Bishops will no longer be allowed to reside in mansions. Of course, this does not apply to me. It’s good to be the Pontiff.

40. Bring back the Sedia Gestatoria. I am the Man!

41. Make L’Osservatore Romano a tabloid and add sudoku.

42. Turn the Bark of St. Peter into a macked out yacht.

43. Start selling stuff. Start selling lots of stuff.

44. Have my attorneys send Dwayne Johnson a cease and desist letter and tell him the use of the name “The Rock” has been copyrighted for two-thousand years. “Tu es Petrus et super hanc petram aedificabo Ecclesiam meam.”

45. Bind less. Loose more. In all seriousness, we don’t get a new Pope every day. Even I teared up when I heard the words “Habemus Papam” Good luck Papa Bergoglio. The hopes of the world are with you.

Big Brother is watching, rant

I have had to change my beloved, oversized and pointless Government Identity Card for the so called Citizens Card. So I grudgingly head over to the most feared bureaucracy in Portugal – the Citizens Shop or Loja de Cidadao. When I get there, I discover the line just to get into the building is a 15 miles long. The book I brought almost manages to kill the three hours I spend waiting. Almost. “Number 242!” the clerk calls out. “Number 242!” “Here,” I say, almost running towards the counter. “ID and proof of residency, please,” the clerk says, not looking up from her terminal. I hand over my passport, social security card, driver’s license and a copy of my electric bill, gas bill, cable, water and a letter from my mother. Satisfied I am who I say I am, the clerk punches some numbers into her computer and says, “Okay, stand in the box to get your picture taken.” Freshly shaved with a new haircut and wearing a nice shirt, I take up position in the box and smile. “If you’re wearing glasses take them off,” She continues without looking away from her computer screen and not noticing that I don’t wear glasses. “And you can’t smile.” “Why not?” I ask in my really bad Portuguese. The clerk taps a sign next to the camera that reads “Facial Recognition System.” “Are you kidding me?” I say to myself. “If you smile it throws off the computer.” “Jesus. Talk about Big Brother.” “You want the Citizens Card or not?” I know the moment my picture is taken, it will join millions of faces in a system accessible to law enforcement personnel. The rationale behind such programs is to root out identity thieves and insurance fraudsters, hunt down Al Qaeda operatives and catch bank robbers who forget to wear a ski mask. I also know it will enable the government to track every move I make. A guy who used to work for the transport Authority told me that when I drive onto the 25th of April bridge, cameras are not only reading my license plate and comparing them to a list of wanted automobiles, but are also capturing an image of my face. “The cameras are so good,” he said, “They can count the change in your cup holder.” So, even if I leave my Via Verde Card at home, rip out Car Insurance disk and take the battery out of my mobile phone, the government’s electronic gauntlet will still detect me going into the city. Not that I want to do anything nefarious, mind you, but does the Portuguese Intelligence Agency need to know I crossed the Tagus river to grab a 10 euro burger menu at Mackie D´s? It’s a brave new world. Credit card companies can count the change in my pocket, Google Maps has a picture of my house, for-profit companies dissect my forays online, the post office scans my mail and, thanks to Mr. Snowden, whatever you think of him, I know all my phone calls and Internet searches are stored in some kind of vast database. Now the President of the Republic knows I have an affinity for MILFs in cheerleading outfits. Just great. But if I want to work, sleep, drive or spend some quality man time in the toilet, I have to acquiesce yet again to the power of The State. “Take the picture,” I tell the clerk, and the results are monstrous. I’m usually told I look younger than my forty-two years, but the grumpy guy on my new picture looks sixty – and has been absorbed into an PSP/GNR/PJ/PIDE biometric super snooper program to boot. Depressed, I go to my local cigar shop where I strike up a conversation with the local police officer. ”Rod,” he says, after I tell him about my run in with the burgeoning security state, “In five years, you will have no expectation of privacy anywhere but your home.” After hearing that, I wonder if noon is too early to start drinking. As I puff on my Maduro, the television news starts squawking about Anthony Weiner and his affinity for posting his penis online. For some reason, men love sharing pictures of their dicks with the world. I’ve never done so and I’m not sure what dark corner of male sexuality powers the compulsion, but if you look at sites like Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr and Snap Chat, you’ll realize the Web is veritable sausagefest. Then an idea free-associates with my paranoid mind. If facial recognition is going to be part of our daily lives, why don’t we have penis identification software? Cockidentifcation? Men already think their penises are special, but I’m sure the phallus of the human male had enough biometric identifiers that make it as unique as a fingerprint, iris or strand of DNA. So if we analyse the data I’m sure there’s enough variances in length, girth, lack thereof, tapers, angles, shapes and bends to assemble a searchable database of dicks. Obviously, we’re talking about cataloging erect penises here. Flaccidly and shrinkage would only confuse the system – like glasses and smiling flummoxes facial recognition now. So how do we get all this tumescence online? We already have an impressive collection of dick pics lurking on the world’s data servers. Putting names to those penises might be a start. Perhaps aggrieved females could put names to the unwanted cock shots they get and forward them to some future government agency. On second thought, I can see this being abused by pissed off drunken women nationwide. “Don’t call me back will you? I’m sending your prick to Guantanamo or Siberia!” I’m afraid we’d have to mandate some kind of cold and clinical nationwide dick inventory. Of course we’d have to use machines – no busty nurses with analog tools like tape measures, sorry. Too many dicks, too little time. Maybe when a young man signs up for Selective Service, he’ll have to go to full mast for his country and stick his unit in the Federal Wangometer and register his johnson. Perhaps future trips to the Loja de Cidadao might involve porno mags and dropping your shorts. Or we could finally put those detested full body scanners in airports to good use. I’ll leave the logistics to others. So what’s the benefit to this system? What’s the value of having every guy’s dong digitized and searchable? Glad you asked. 1. If you’ve ever used a dating website, you know that people send misrepresentative pictures all the time. If you send a picture of a penis that’s not your own to impress some woman on a sex hook up site – the computer will label your fraudulent weenie and boot you out of the system. That’ll prevent a lot of female dissatisfaction. 2. National security. Terrorists are invariably perverts. Remember all the porn they found in Osama’s bunker? Two minutes after these guys wrap up their You Tube rants about miniskirts and Western decadence, they’re spanking it to Girls Gone Wild. It’s not much of a stretch to imagine them posting pics of their dicks. Well, once the World Wide government Agencies penis sniffing algorithms spot a terrorist schlong getting Tweeted from an IP in The Hindu Kush, time to send in the Predator Drones. That’s what I call a hard target. Whacking tangos was never so much fun. Oh I could go on forever…… 3. Could be used as an alternative ID – a guy never leaves his penis in his other pants. Maybe it could even be used as a passport. Like being able to pee standing up, just another advantage to being a dude. Who knew Visa stamps could be so kinky? 4. Scientists could crunch the numbers and finally tell us if all those ethnic/racial stereotypes are really true. 5. Aid in prosecutions. Think how much faster the Bill Clinton thing would have gone. 6. Interpol and their special separate department Interpole (sorry), would have a 10 Most Wanted Dicks Poster. And you wonder why your girlfriend always volunteers to buy stamps? 7. It would make life easier for porn producers. “Jimmy Wad’s got the flu. Check the database for local talent!” Like all sensitive information, a national dick database will have to be protected. God forbid the government uses it for illegal purposes. Cops will need a warrant before doing any search and uh, seizures, but let’s face it; the court will find a way to pervert the Constitution. And I’m sure some whistleblower wannabe will get a job with the National Penis Data Initiative to “see what’s really going on,” steal the information, release it to the press and then seek asylum in Russia. Putin. What a dick. An hour later, my cigar has gone cold and I finish typing this post on my tablet. I’m exhausted from thinking about so many synonyms for wieners. “What are you writing?” the police officer asks. “Sir,” I say. “You don’t want to know.”.

NOTICE OF REVOCATION OF INDEPENDENCE

To the citizens of the United States of America, In the light of your failure to elect a competent President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective today. Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths and other territories. (Except Utah, which she does not fancy.) Your new prime minister (The Right Honourable David Cameron, MP for the 97.85% of you who have until now been unaware that there is a world outside your borders) will appoint a minister for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire will be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed. To aid in the transition to a British Crown Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect: 1. You should look up "revocation" in the Oxford English Dictionary. Then look up "aluminium". Check the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it. The letter 'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'favour' and 'neighbour', skipping the letter 'U' is nothing more than laziness on your part. Likewise, you will learn to spell 'doughnut' without skipping half the letters. You will end your love affair with the letter 'Z' (pronounced 'zed' not 'zee') and the suffix "ize" will be replaced by the suffix "ise". You will learn that the suffix 'burgh is pronounced 'burra' e.g. Edinburgh. You are welcome to respell Pittsburgh as 'Pittsberg' if you can't cope with correct pronunciation. Generally, you should raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. Look up "vocabulary". Using the same twenty seven words interspersed with filler noises such as "like" and "you know" is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication. Look up "interspersed". There will be no more 'bleeps' in the Jerry Springer show. If you're not old enough to cope with bad language then you shouldn't have chat shows. When you learn to develop your vocabulary then you won't have to use bad language as often. 2. There is no such thing as "US English". We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take account of the reinstated letter 'u' and the elimination of "-ize". 3. You should learn to distinguish the English and Australian accents. It really isn't that hard. English accents are not limited to cockney, upper-class twit or Mancunian (Daphne in Frasier). You will also have to learn how to understand regional accents - Scottish dramas such as "Taggart" will no longer be broadcast with subtitles. While we're talking about regions, you must learn that there is no such place as Devonshire in England. The name of the county is "Devon". If you persist in calling it Devonshire, all American States will become "shires" e.g. Texasshire, Floridashire, Louisianashire. 4. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as the good guys. Hollywood will be required to cast English actors to play English characters. British sit-coms such as "Men Behaving Badly" or "Red Dwarf" will not be re-cast and watered down for a wishy-washy American audience who can't cope with the humour of occasional political incorrectness. 5. You should relearn your original national anthem, "God Save The Queen", but only after fully carrying out task 1. We would not want you to get confused and give up half way through. 6. You should stop playing American "football". There is only one kind of football. What you refer to as American "football" is not a very good game. The 2.15% of you who are aware that there is a world outside your borders may have noticed that no one else plays "American" football. You will no longer be allowed to play it, and should instead play proper football. Initially, it would be best if you played with the girls. It is a difficult game. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which is similar to American "football", but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like nancies). We are hoping to get together at least a US Rugby sevens side by 2005. You should stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the 'World Series' for a game which is not played outside of America. Since only 2.15% of you are aware that there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable. Instead of baseball, you will be allowed to play a girls' game called "rounders" which is baseball without fancy team strip, oversized gloves, collector cards or hotdogs. 7. You will no longer be allowed to own or carry guns. You will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous in public than a vegetable peeler. Because we don't believe you are sensible enough to handle potentially dangerous items, you will require a permit if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public. 8. July 4th is no longer a public holiday. November 2nd will be a new national holiday, but only in England. It will be called "Indecisive Day". 9. All American cars are hereby banned. They are crap and it is for your own good. When we show you German cars, you will understand what we mean. All road intersections will be replaced with roundabouts. You will start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour. 10. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips. Fries aren't even French, they are Belgian though 97.85% of you (including the guy who discovered fries while in Europe) are not aware of a country called Belgium. Those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called "crisps". Real chips are thick cut and fried in animal fat. The traditional accompaniment to chips is beer which should be served warm and flat. Waitresses will be trained to be more aggressive with customers. 11. As a sign of penance 5 grams of sea salt per cup will be added to all tea made within the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, this quantity to be doubled for tea made within the city of Boston itself. 12. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all, it is lager. From November 1st only proper British Bitter will be referred to as "beer", and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as "Lager". The substances formerly known as "American Beer" will henceforth be referred to as "Near-Frozen Knat's Urine", with the exception of the product of the American Budweiser company whose product will be referred to as "Weak Near-Frozen Knat's Urine". This will allow true Budweiser (as manufactured for the last 1000 years in Pilsen, Czech Republic) to be sold without risk of confusion. 13. From November 10th the UK will harmonise petrol (or "Gasoline" as you will be permitted to keep calling it until April 1st 2005) prices with the former USA. The UK will harmonise its prices to those of the former USA and the Former USA will, in return, adopt UK petrol prices (roughly $6/US gallon - get used to it). 14. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you're not adult enough to be independent. Guns should only be handled by adults. If you're not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist then you're not grown up enough to handle a gun. 15. Please tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us crazy. Tax collectors from Her Majesty's Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all revenues due (backdated to 1776). 16. Last but not the least, and for heaven's sake.....it's Nuclear as in "clear" NOT Nucular. Thank you for your co-operation and have a great day.

I'd love to help you move rant

Sure!
I'd love to help you move out of your 2 bedroom apartment.
Let me guess?
Your on the 4th floor with no elevator?
And we'll be hauling cheap disposable Ikea furniture that falls apart when your try to move it?
And is it safe to assume that when I show up, instead of neatly packed, the apartment will look like a junk yard was sodomised by a category 5 tornado?
AWESOME!
When you said: "Just helping out with the big stuff?"
Did you mean: Helping organise, pack and move every possession you've ever owned, including your massive collection of 1980s era troll keychains, none of which are packed of course, but are instead scattered around the house like bits of multicoloured pubic hair?
FANTASTIC!!
Did you keep every book you've ever read?
GREAT!!!
I love moving 100lb boxes of Dean Koontz novels from place to place just so that you can proudly display them on your bookshelf and show house guests how intellectual you are.
I asked: "How many people are coming to help?"
To which you replied "A whole bunch!"
By a "whole bunch" am I assuming you mean myself plus that flakey friend of yours which would be about as much help as an asthmatic ant with shopping?
PERFECT!!!
Whats that you say? You'll buy me a beer??? Holy slavery Batman! A 1 euro value for 11 hours work - What a deal!!!
While we are at it, do you want to attach a halter and reins to my mouth so I can pull a plough for you?
No? Do any of your family members need burying? I ask because I'm also quite talented at moving large boulders into shapes of gigantic desert pyramids.
I'm cool at picking cotton too - just let me know.
You move apartment every single year always claiming your landlord is a dick!
After so many landlords I'm beginning to suspect that they arent that bad.
you simply suck at occupying a space which belongs to someone else!!!
Youre like a Spanish conquistador but instead of bringing smallpox you bring Scandinavian furniture, property damage, cat urine and irresponsibility!!
Saturday at 10 am???
Sure... What are friends for???

How I hate cold calls and fake surveys

Ok, there is nothing new about cold calls, despite the fact we all hate them, despite the fact we are rude to the callers they still keep calling. It's a fact of life and that's that. What upsets me is the lack of inventiveness to the callers these days
for example the
"Helloooooo, we are doing a survey"
yeeess
"don't worry we are not selling anything"
uhhuh
"I just wanted to ask 2 simple questions"
ahhhhh
"As an incentive you may win a FREE gift voucher"
Ooooooo - ok then, go ahead
"Do you own your own home?"
Errrrrrrr - yes (It's a vanity thing, you have to admit it, don't you?)
"Great! Now, second question, if you could replace your kitchen, bathroom for FREE which would you pick..........?

Recognise the trap? It won't be for free and it will mean follow ups very soon. Now what do you do?
My usual one to this question has been "none of them, we have just replaced the lot".
Needless to say they pack up at that point and you don't get your FREE voucher!!

So, what are the follow ups to this type of call? Answer the question with "I would probably choose a kitchen" and you will win the "voucher" with the benefit of a follow up call at a later date starting.............
"Helloooooo, you answered a survey a while ago saying you would like to replace your kitchen and we have estimators in your area so we would like the opportunity to give you a FREE estimate for a luxury designer kitchen?"
I don't need an estimate, they told me how much it would cost.
"Really? Oh, errrrr, so you have had an estimate?"
No, I don't need an estimate, they told me how much it would cost and you can come and fit the kitchen on Monday please.
"Errrr, I'm a bit confused here, can you confirm the cost they gave you?"
Yes, it was FREE. The question was "if you could replace your kitchen or bathroom for FREE which would you pick" So, I'll have the FREE kitchen please, is Monday ok with you?
Oh, and while you are on the phone can I order my FREE bathroom too? Make that Tuesday please, we don't want the workmen getting in each others way.
"I think you misunderstood Sir, it's not FREE but of course you don't have to pay the full price because you won the FREE gift voucher which knocks a huge 10% off the price!!!"
Ahhhhhhhh,, ok this may be a strange question but when you do the survey why don't you say "If you could replace your kitchen or bathroom for several thousand Euros, which would you pick"
"I don't think that would work from a marketing perspective, I have a feeling most people would just say "no" or hang up"
NO?!
REALLY?! .......................click

To the blonde MILF jogging in the park on Sunday

Dear Blonde MILF

I hope you realize that my perving was directed at you and only you, and absolutely no part of it was meant for your young daughter (niece? juvenile jogging companion?).
As implied, I enjoy the perks of jogging in the park, and one of those is a bit of ogling on the sly. It helps me forget that it's been too long since I was jogging regularly (of course), and I usually wear sunglasses to keep my baser proclivities to myself.
You are stacked and I mean stacked, Jeez! You couldn´t fit a baby´s finger in between that sports bra but hey, you are welcome to prove me wrong and show me some day!
I like blondes, NAY love blondes! They have always been my weakness and downfall and will constantly fall victim to them. There is no other basic instinct in me that reacts with such a force as when a blonde walks past. I mean help! I have betrayed girlfriends, missed dates, forgotten friends just because a blonde smiled as she walked past and I ended up spending the day, afternoon or night with them. (Obviously depending on the type of lady involved!!!)

But on Sunday my sunglasses were missing...you see where this is going, right???
Anyway, I must congratulate you on getting your young companion to to run completely concealed behind you, only to emerge at what was, for me, the worst possible time. Do you practice that? It must be the best ogle-stopper in the business. I swear, when she popped out from behind you, my libido panicked and imploded in about a nanosecond, and it took effort not to loose a cry of "Dirty perv!!!" Well played, MILF.

Anyway, I am sorry if the young lady was hit with creep-shrapnel. That really isn't my thing. I apologize if my perusing of your goods was offensive, too. But next time, lose the young one and go solo for a while... If not for the kids innocence then at least for my health. I have a serious medical dissorder in which I need to perv or my balls will explode!!!

See you around?


Location: Costa de Caparica, Portugal.

Paintball Pallet Wars

Report

Date: 16/10/2010

Area: Negrais undisputed war zone

Report:
On Saturday 16th October 2010 at around 9am, the green forces engaged in combat with the blacks team in a violent confrontation of paint for the supremacy of Negrais.


This day would mark the return of some old vets to the paintball field, specially myself who had not seen a war since entering Portugal. It has been 5 odd years of doing nothing but sitting in front of a computer and smoking way too many cigarettes. (Truth be told, just about the only excercise I´ve engaged with during that time frame would be getting up from the couch to go sit down for a meal and squirrel stalking (but thats another story!!!!!)

But enough about my slacker days, on with the show!!!!!!!!!!!!

An enormous, tremendous, overwhelming number of things took place this weekend and the only way that I can do the event and the happenings any justice is to break it all up into a multiplicity of individual reports (unless you’d all rather spend the next five days reading War and Peace 2, the longer version of the day after)

So forthwith, I will now provide you all with a summary:

The Paintball event was partnered mainly with work staff from Estefania.  The facility itself at Negrais has been in use for a few years now but this was the first time any of us had a chance to play on said field.

One major change was evident from the multiple fields I have played in the UK:  the playing fields were a lot smaller, which meant that the games would have to be played with little tactics and loads of guts Or more like run around like a lunatic, scream like your on a mixture of Repnol heart racer and Sudnil stay awake pills!! (basically about fifteen bottles of Vodka and Red Bull!!!)

We played out games and had a great time (I hope I’m not being overly modest by saying that it only took me three games to get my game back), but the majority of the fun and the overall experience was getting together with folks that I’ve not seen or played with/or against before.

I’ll get the lists of vets out of the way first. YES, thats myself, Emanuel and Dave who have been hauling paint out in the field before. (that means we have been through the wars before, in paintballing slang!). Judging by the dropped jaws and the information that all three of us were to stay in the same team seemed to tremble some knees but even though all three of us have had some paintball history under our belts but have not fired paint in a while should have consolled them. It was a pleasure to be able to be around people who knew something of the sport rather than
screaming American teanagers that just ran around like headless chickens.

Suffice it to say that after a long time out of the game the old habbits kicked back in and we were all communication with hand signals, even though most of the time it involved the middle finger!

Consider that to be a good thing.

Ok. Enough with the Rod, Emanuel & Dave Show.

Other notable get togethers were: Toni (FI), Hugo (UKI), Sean (UKI), Manuel (UKI), Manu (GK) & Wife and many other players that I will not mention due to the National Secrets Act of 1971.


Apologies to everyone else who I probably ought to be mentioning but have managed to forgot at this point. (Believe me, I know I will be reminded of so-and-so and I WILL be editing this piece to include anyone who ought to have been mentioned.)

Games that we managed to play during the five hours were:

Shoot the president (a game which ended with the Green Teams President being shot in the face within about 5 minutes)

Afghanistan Oil (this was a real leg killer, specially when your going up hill.)
Trust me this hurts!!
Favelas (basically a city slum, very much like Rio or Lisbon)
Speed Ball (Easiest way to explain this is run around trying to find your gun and waste some ammo)
Pallet Slope (Pallet collection anyone?)
Rock Valley (Rocks, rocks everywhere)

It was an absolute blast and I will be returning to the wars with regularity – (Wife willing!!)

Breathless, with lungs and chest ready to explode like an unborn alien we walked off the field at the end of the day still with the same smiles we had walked onto 5 hours earlier.


I still remember that first game at a real, honest-to-goodness paintball field as if I was observing myself from a distance. And I felt that way at the time too though I can’t explain why. I wasn’t excited, I was intrigued. I wasn’t expectant, I was curious. Until the whistle blew. And everything changed. Prior to the game the refs had explained the field for the newcomers and encouraged everyone to take a lot of ground quickly. Not knowing any better I did exactly what they suggested and ran until I realized paintballs were zinging all around me and I threw myself down behind a tree that didn’t come close to offering real cover. Fortunately there was also a depression in the ground on my side of the slim trunk and I pressed my face up into the exposed roots applying the ostrich principle (If I can’t see them they can’t shoot me) for all I was worth as paint continued to whiz by and smack the tree and ground around me. Suddenly paintball became immediate and real, visceral and intensely exciting. I was so excited infact that I heard someone laugh out loud and suddenly realised that it was me! I quickly realized that while I wasn’t a sitting (or laying)duck I wasn’t secure either and that was great, too. It meant I had to do something besides not get shot. (Although being at risk and continuing to survive was a big part of the thrill.) I called out to my teammates and discovered most of them were quite a distance behind me. That first time it didn’t bother me in the least. They were the ones missing out. Slowly the game began to unfold.
I tried to use my forward position to relay information. To spot the opposition’s positions. I worried about being flanked because my depression wouldn’t save me then. I tried to bring my gun to bear but I didn’t try too hard because I didn’t want the game–this first real experience of paintball–to end. I knew I didn’t have the skills to compete and it didn’t matter. All I wanted was to keep playing.
And fourteen years later I’m still hooked though my relationship to the game has evolved pretty dramatically over the years.

Crispy tweets.

It’s two in the morning, and there is a bird in my ventilation system. That isn’t a euphemism, either. Like “man, I had this bird in my ventilation system last night! It was crazy!”

I bet he'll be tasty.
There is an actual, live bird, trapped in my ventilation system. A fowl imprisoned in a silver cage.

I started hearing things a few days ago. Simple things, not enough to attract any actual attention. At first, I thought it was just the house settling at night, or perhaps even a squirrel on the roof, high out of his mind on acorns, chasing imaginary giant nuts!! But as the noise persisted, I knew it could only mean there was a creature inhabiting my vents. The thing is... It´s not just a normal vent. Its the one linked to my water gas heater!

I first thought it was quite possible that a mouse was running amok in my house, rampant with lust for the pizza I had left the night before and perhaps that mouse decided to take refuge in the vent in the kitchen. But I came to this horrible conclusion this morning, when I heard the unmistakable “tweet tweet tweet” that was accompanied by the slight flutter of a pair of wings, futilely attempting to get enough room to fly.

But instead, the bird sits in my vent, attempting to survive. What a prick. Doesn’t he know that I’m trying to sleep? He can at least have a little respect for those who aren’t facing an imminent death and shut the fuck up.

For now, I need to figure out how to get the bird out of the vent. It would be useful if I knew how the damn thing got in there to begin with. The only reasonable scenario that I can drum up at this early hour relies heavily on the notion of teleportation. Or the chimney.

But that would be ridiculous.

Fed up...

I'm fed up with life. Not only life but work. And driving. And shopping. And eating. And working. Somewhere, somehow, they're different now, none of 'am are the same, they all got chewed up and spit back out, and they don't taste like living anymore! Don't you see what it's like in this deranged Waring Blender of a world?! Every day is an agonizing ordeal, like balancing a pot of scalding water on your head while people whip your legs and butt... (hmmmmm) You never forget Uni...

YOU think I'm "sick"? Well the only disease I've got is "Modern Life," a schnutbusting gauntlet of inefficiency and misery that's one long parade of let-downs, put-downs, trickle downs, shutouts, freezeouts, sell-outs, numnuts, nincompoops and nimrods, all making every day as much fun as waxing a flaming Cherokee Jeep with your tongue, where even if you do luck into the possibility of some fleeting pleasure, like, say, if some nymphomaniac telephone operators with the muscle control of Rumanian mat-slappers agree to a little Strip Air Hockey, it'll be over before it starts 'cuz some vowel-lacking, feta-reeking cab-jockey slams his Checker up your hatchback and the cab is owned by some pinata spanker from a Santeria cult in Xoacalpa who starts shaking chicken bones at you and gives you a boil on your neck so big all it needs is Michael Jordan's autograph to make it complete, and even with all this, with ALL THIS, I still drag my sorry butt off the Sealy every morning and stick my face in the reaping machine for one more day, knowing when it's time to flash the cosmic card key at those Pearly Gates, I won't be in the coffin anyway 'cuz some underhanded undertaker sold my heart, pancreas and other assorted Good 'N' Plenty to that same Santeria cult, so does anybody really wonder why anybody is hanging onto sanity by the atoms on the tips of their fingernails while Life dirty-dances on their digits, and is it really any wonder that I seem DERANGED???!!"

But...heh that's probably nothing you haven't heard a hundred times before...

Some suggestions for the Youth of today on how to not be Useless

First of all, PULL UP YOUR FUCKING JEANS!!!
Look, I support your right to express yourselves, I did the whole Rebellious Youth thing when I was in school. But having your jeans hanging down with your underwear sticking out of the back is about the stupidest look you could go for. You look worse than a fucking retard, cause at least the retard was trying to put them on right. Besides, in Prison it means you're already "spoken for" and it's a signal to other cons not to hit on you, because you're someone else's bitch. So unless you take it up the ass from a 300-plus pound, life sentence or more, not-ever-eligible-for-parole murderer on a regular basis, or have to blow him & his buddies whenever he says, pull up your jeans you useless bastards.

Learn the value of respect. For instance, if you don't respect yourself, how in the hell can you expect anyone else to respect you? Years ago, before you could call 999 and have the Child Protection Agency arrest your parents, disrespect earned you an ass-kicking. If you fucked up, you paid the price, simple as that. Respect is better than money in a way, because the more you give to others the more you get in return. An unruly, disruptive, over-indulged little cshit is a useless individual, destined to be nothing more than a burden to society, unless your parents were smart enough to become wealthy. Then you won't be a burden to society but you'll still be a useless fuck head.

Learn the value of money. I don't know why your parents can't say "No" to you whenever you whine for the latest hundred-euro pair of jeans or an expensive gaming console, but just be glad you're not my kid. I started making my own money before I started school by washing windows in the summer and shoveling snow in the winter. There will always be someone willing to pay you to do things for them, if you get off your lazy ass and do it. I would probably pay some neighbourhood kid a 50 to cut my grass, but in an area full of teenagers, there aren't any who would do it. Believe me, it feels way better to pay for something out of your own pocket. That way you don't have to justify it to anyone. My dad caught me smoking when I was 14 and swore he would never give me money for cigs, and was true to his word. But I always had cigs, because I always had money. So knock off your pussy-assed whining and earn your own money, otherwise you're also a useless shit for brains.

Pimps and drug dealers are not role models, they're pussies. When you call something "Pimp" all it says to me is that it's something overtly tacky and ostentatious (look it up) and cheap. In other words, totally devoid of class and purpose. When you implement the previous suggestions, you will realize that you can't buy class. Just because a suit cost 1,500 doesn't mean it won't make you look like a fucking carnival barker (look that up too). If you drive a chimp around in a limo, it doesn't mean that chimp has class, because he'll still beat off and throw his shit at you. The same is true for people; just because some white trash fuckwit won the Lotto doesn't mean he's a better person, it just means he'll swap his rusted-out 88 piece of shit Ford Capri for a new Escort, and finally buy that second Elvis-on-velvet painting he could never afford before. A pimp makes money by bullying women into giving him money,and any able-bodied grown man who doesn't earn his own living is a useless shit.

I'm sure I'll be putting up similar posts in the future, because I'm far from done.

Unemployed smokers

As people, we occasionally we bear witness to some magnificent event that happens but once in a lifetime. Halley’s Comet, the Aurora Borealis, or Pam Anderson’s first sex tape. Sometimes these things are glorious, mystifying, or just too effed up to that they make you say “Wait, did that just happen?”

What I experienced last week was all three. Here is my story…

Every day during lunch, I take a little stroll around the park area near my office. During these walks, I’m treated to a veritable rogues gallery of citizens: Young professionals enjoying a bite to eat outside, students catching a smoke between class, a handsome young stranger (Oops, that’s just my reflection! I’m so silly.)

My walk nears its end as I make my way out of the park and back to the office building – a convergence of four streets that serve as a conduit to the rest of the city. This is where the action happens. A lot of traffic, both of the rubber and leather variety. (By leather, I mean shoes, not an S&M enthusiast parade.)

In other words, there are a lot of people here. And when you have a lot of people in one area, in the middle of the day, that can only mean one thing: Unemployed jukes with nothing better to do with their time than hang out. And when I say “unemployed,” I don’t mean 30-year-old account executives who were laid off. I mean people who are barely qualified to walk and chew gum at the same time. You dig?

So there are a lot of jukes hanging ’round at noon on a weekday, and as I turn the corner of the home stretch of my daily jaunt, my eyes lock onto one at about 20 yards. For some reason, this juke intrigues me. I’m a people watcher by nature, so I just watched this guy. Maybe it was his bandanna that held his ratty hair back just so, maybe it was the torn denim jacket that appears to have several blood stains (none of them his), or maybe it was the black tracksuit trousers that were tucked into his combat boots – as if to tell the world “Hey, I still use a tape deck – what of it?” Whatever the case may be, this guy reeked of something. This must be what Spiderman feels like when he senses trouble afoot, or when he gets a boner. (Come on, you’re telling me that Peter Parker’s Spidey-senses don’t go off when he is about to get a piece? HA! I said “go off!” That wasn’t even on purpose.)

Anyhow, I knew this guy wasn’t going to let me down. At 15 yards, he slows his pace as he spots something on the pavement. Yes, yes. 10 yards, he bends at the waist and picks something up. Okay…what is it? The cap to a magic marker, a rubber band? 5 yards, he stands upright, the treasure in his hand. You fool, what is it? 3 yards, he opens his hand to reveal…a cigarette. WHAT? A previously lit, used and stepped on. THAT’S GROSS! I don’t mean that it was lit for five seconds and tossed because the smoker couldn’t take it on the bus, I mean that this thing was damn near smoked all the way. All that remained was the filter. And he spotted it from 40 feet, like a nervous eagle who had the shakes.

And it’s not so bad that he picked it up (Wait, yes it is), it’s that he then examined it, smelled it, and put it in his wallet. In front of a dozen other people who were waiting for the bus or just walking by. In the middle of the day. Obviously, he was holding onto it so he can smoke it later, unless this cat just so happened to be some kind of archivist who specializes in half-smoked cigarettes, old lip gloss and used condoms.

But really, well done, sir. Well done.

It’s gross enough that he picked up a used cigarette, but it was lodged in a pavement crack. A crack, mind you, that was probably filled with urine at some point. And feces. And probably vomit. And DEFINITELY semen. These pavements are such filth traps that even the rats avoid them. THE RATS!

Which brings me to my point: Where did society fail this man? This isn’t as simple as “he wasn’t loved enough as a child,” either. This can only be the end result of some aggressive, abusive, mind-effing as a child. We’re talking Menendez brothers meets Joan Crawford meets the guy who jizzed on Clarice Starling in Silence of the Lambs. Something went very, very wrong with this guy at some point in his life.

And as Thoreau said: The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. Maybe this man was a little too quiet. A little too desperate. Maybe no one heard his cries for help or his pangs of hunger. Like so many of us, he was left in the cold to freeze, alone and naked like a penguin egg without its mother to protect it. And when life finally called to grant him a reprieve from the torment he had suffered, perhaps he chose not to answer it. For a life unearned is a life not worth having. I think that’s something we can all appreciate.

But maybe this guy was just gross, but hey, free cigarettes.

99 Ways To Annoy People

1. Sing the Batman theme incessantly.

2. In the memo field of all your checks, write "for sensual massage."

3. Specify that your drive-through order is "to go."

4. Learn Morse code, and have conversations with friends in public consisting entirely of "Beeeep Bip Bip Beeep Bip..."

5. If you have a glass eye, tap on it occasionally with your pen while talking to others.

6. Amuse yourself for endless hours by hooking a camcorder to your TV and then pointing it at the screen. <

7. Speak only in a "robot" voice.

8. Push all the flat Lego pieces together tightly.

9. Start each meal by conspicuously licking all your food, and announce that this is so no one will "swipe your grub".

10. Leave the copy machine set to reduce 200%, extra dark, 17 inch paper, 98 copies.

11. Stomp on little plastic ketchup packets.

12. Sniffle incessantly.

13. Leave your indicators on for fifty miles.

14. Name your dog "Dog."



15. Insist on keeping your car windscreen wipers running in all weather conditions "to keep them tuned up."

16. Reply to everything someone says with "that's what YOU think."

17. Claim that you must always wear a bicycle helmet as part of your "astronaut training."

18. Declare your apartment an independent nation, and sue your neighbours upstairs for "violating your airspace".

19. Forget the punch line to a long joke, but assure the listener it was a "real hoot."

20. Follow a few paces behind someone, spraying everything they touch with chocolate smelling aerosol.

21. Practice making fax and modem noises.

22. Highlight irrelevant information in scientific papers and "cc:" them to your boss.

23. Make beeping noises when a large person backs up.

24. Invent nonsense computer jargon in conversations, and see if people play along to avoid the appearance of ignorance.

25. Erect an elaborate network of ropes in your backyard, and tell the neighbours you are a "spider person."

26. Finish all your sentences with the words "in accordance with the prophesy."

27. Wear a special hip holster for your remote control.

28. Do not add any inflection to the end of your sentences, producing awkward silences with the impression that you'll be saying more any moment.

29. Signal that a conversation is over by clamping your hands over your ears.

30. Disassemble your pen and "accidentally" flip the ink cartridge across the room.

31. Give a play-by-play account of a persons every action in a nasal Darlek voice.

32. Holler random numbers while someone is counting.

33. Adjust the tint on your TV so that all the people are green, and insist to others that you "like it that way."

34. Drum on every available surface.

35. Staple papers in the middle of the page.

36. Ask telephone operators for dates.

37. Produce a rental video consisting entirely of dire copyright warnings.

38. Sew anti-theft detector strips into peoples backpacks.

39. Hide dairy products in inaccessible places.

40. Write the surprise ending to a novel on its first page.

41. Set alarms for random times.

42. Order a side of pork rinds with your filet mignon.

43. Invite lots of people to other people's parties.

44. Publicly investigate just how slowly you can make a "croaking" noise.

45. Honk and wave to strangers.

46. Dress only in clothes coloured Hunters Orange.

47. Change channels five minutes before the end of every show.

48. Tape pieces of "last of the summer wine" over climactic parts of rental movies.

49. Wear your jeans backwards.

50. Decline to be seated at a restaurant, and simply eat their complimentary mints by the cash register.

51. Begin all your sentences with "ooh la la!"

52. ONLY TYPE IN UPPERCASE.

53. only type in lowercase.

54. dont use any punctuation either

55. Buy a large quantity of orange traffic cones and reroute whole streets.

56. Pay for your dinner with pennies.

57. Tie jingle bells to all your clothes.

58. Repeat everything someone says, as a question.

59. Write "X - BURIED TREASURE" in random spots on all of someone's roadmaps.

60. Make appointments for the 31st of September.

61. Repeat the following conversation a dozen times: "Do you hear that?" "What?" "Never mind, its gone now."

62. Light road flares on a birthday cake.

63. Wander around a restaurant, asking other diners for their parsley.

64. Leave tips in Bolivian currency.

65. Demand that everyone address you as "Conquistador."

66. At the Laundry, use one dryer for each of your socks.

67. When Christmas carolling, sing "Jingle Bells, Batman smells" until physically restrained.

68. Wear a cape that says "Magnificent One."

69. As much as possible, skip rather than walk.

70. Stand over someone's shoulder, mumbling, as they read.

71. Pretend your computer's mouse is a CB radio, and talk to it.

72. Try playing the William Tell Overture by tapping on the bottom of your chin. When nearly done, announce "no, wait, I messed it up," and repeat.

73. Drive half way down a road and then just get out looking at the sky. Repeat several times.

74. Inform others that they exist only in your imagination.

75. Ask people what gender they are.

76. Lick the filling out of all the Oreos, and place the cookie parts back.

77. Cultivate a Norwegian accent. If Norwegian, affect a Southern drawl.

78. Routinely handcuff yourself to furniture, informing the curious that you don't want to fall off "in case the big one comes".

79. Deliberately hum songs that will remain lodged in co-workers brains, such as "mission impossible", "batman" etc.

80. While making presentations, occasionally bob your head. like a parakeet.

81. Lie obviously about trivial things such as the time of day.

82. Leave your Christmas lights up and lit until September.

83. Change your name to "AaJohn Aaaaasmith" for the great glory of being first in the phone book. Claim it's a Hawaiian name, and demand that people pronounce each "a."

84. Sit in your front yard pointing a hair dryer at passing cars to see if they slow down.

85. Chew on pens that you've borrowed.

86. Wear a LOT of cologne.

87. Listen to 33rpm records at 45rpm speed, and claim the faster speed is necessary because of your "superior mental processing."

88. Sing along at the opera.

89. Mow your lawn with scissors.

90. At a golf tournament, whenever someone swings at the golf ball shout “GO ON MY SON!"

91. Ask the waitress for an extra seat for your "imaginary friend."

92. Go to a poetry recital and ask why each poem doesn't rhyme.

93. Ask your co-workers mysterious questions, and then scribble their answers in a notebook. Mutter something
about "psychological profiles."

94. Stare at static on the TV and claim you can see a "magic picture."

95. Select the same song on the jukebox fifty times.

96. Never make eye contact.

97. Never break eye contact.

98. Construct elaborate "crop circles" in your front lawn.

99. Construct your own pretend "tricorder," and "scan" people with it, announcing the results.

Shut Your Mouth, Close Your Legs, and Raise Your Kid

There sure are a lot of fertile women out there. It never ceases to amaze me that some walking sperm bank can continue to pop out kids like it's an Olympic sport, but wouldn't know how to properly raise any of their heathen bastards if Dr. Spock raped them with one of his self-help books.

The moms of this nation have to be stopped! If done properly, raising a child is a full-time job. But lying on your back every night, allowing your husband to violate you any way he can imagine, then popping out another unit every nine months, is not a job. You have to actually put forth some effort and teach the little soul-suckers you've produced. Going out in public with the cast from The Island of Dr Moreau and spending your husbands money on useless crap your kids don't need is not a job. Teaching your children how to function in a society, how to read, write, communicate, and act like they're not being raised by a pack of wolverines, requires actual parenting. If you are not up to the task do us all a favour and have your twat stapled shut so we don't have to put up with any more walking genetic deformities.

If you're not sure if this rant is about you, here's a quick guide:

If you continue to shop while your kids try to re-enact the Rodney King beating in a department store, quit fucking.

If you have to decide which is more important, baby food or alcohol, quit fucking.

If you are only birthing children as an excuse to not work, quit fucking... and kill yourself

If you leave any number of your children in your vehicle unattended because you're only going to be gone 'for a minute', quit fucking.

If you have to go to a bar and insist on using your television or computer as a babysitter, quit fucking.

In short, your children are a direct reflection of your parenting. If you can't be a good parent, your privilege to fuck should be revoked. Do us all a favour and let your man blow his load in your mouth, hair, ass, ear, anywhere but your baby-maker.

Working like a sexual predator

Yes, I just spent the last 8 hours at work. In a call center. Should the opportunity ever arise for you to go sit in a call center, don't!

Let me clue you in. Call center workers are anal-retentive fucks. Well, most of them. The rest of them, me included, have coping mechanisms that basically involve us screwing everyone or pissing everyone around us off. Usually both.

SO today I am trying to work. There is a ginormous sign on the wall that says "No eating, no smoking, no mobiles, vibrators, sex of any form,, either on the desks under them or in the toilets. No IV drips, biscuits, coffee, Vodka or cock fights anywhere in the call center. Offenders will be removed, beaten with bagpipes and told not to do it again etc, etc. Really scary shit. I am high on adderall, (I am rotating between adderall and ritalin for work. ON the plus side, I am still off the valium, xanax, and alcohol. Someday I will look back on sentences like that one and wonder when I became a junkie and a pillhead and when I actually acknowledged it. (But Not yet.)

So I am trying to wrap my mind around the acceleration clause exception to the rule of bank holiday cut offs and this girl walks past. A new breed of worker, those new girls full of enthusiasm for their work until they realise that what we do is shit, who we talk to everyday are shits and those that pay our wages (If you want to call them wages, even though slave labour has been abolished many years ago they have ingeniously found a way to pay someone minimum wage and still call it work) are shit bag assholes!! She walks past, swaying her hips and driving me crazy. She has no idea who I am but I´m sure that she senses that I want to bang her until she bleeds through her nose!!! ANYWAY!!!!!!! Everyone in the room (all the males at least) Huff as she walks past. (At least I think they do or I´m hearing my inner child/alter ego talking again) It was the main noise for most of the morning. A hundred voices, huffing in this pent up sexual frustration, burning inside.

We are all high on work drugs, crabby, and on a deadline. This woman drives me up the wall everytime I take a wiff of her scent. I´m like a dog, NAY!!! A wolf on heat and I can feel this fire burning from within my boxers. People watch me as I stare and say the usual.... "Her father is worried about her now ! Or... Dude! You like a ravid dog." Shut the fuck up!!!! What the hell do you know!!! I need to bang that bird before my scrotam explodes!!!!!!!!!!

I turn to her, smile politely, "Wanna breed?"

"EXCUUUUUUUSE ME?" she asks.

I pointed to the fire exit.

"IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY, SAY IT!" she yawps.

I stand up. I´m not that tall but I stand a good 6 inches above her. "You and me, outside in the alley, go at it like rabbits????"

She got up and ran outside. She returns with a security guard. I am back to anticipatory repudiation.

"HIM!" she squawks. "HE TRIED TO SEXUALLY ABUSE ME!"

Point of information - a security guard at a call center has little to no power, KNOWS that everyone looks down on him, and TAKES ADVANTAGE OF ANY CHANCE TO WEILD HIS SECURITY BADGE.

"I did not sexually abuse her. I just tried to convince her to go outside with me."

He hitches up his trousers. "I think we have a problem here."

No shit, sherlock. It is statements like that that are the reason I am on THIS side of that uniform and you are on THAT side.

"Go and smoke your fiftieth cigarette. Take the moaning bitch with you so she can shout sexual abuse at someone else.

Silence. The security guard tries to stare me down. THAT's not gonna happen. Woman informs me she is going to "report me". I have no idea what that means. I may get sent to my supervisor for a good spanking. Is spanking still legal? Security guard, also shorter than me, hisses that if he has to come back, he is going to forcefully remove me. HA!!!!


I still have no idea who else I can annoy this week, my adderall is wearing off and my head hurts.

But yes, I am still winning friends and influencing people and spreading joy wherever I go.

Name change rant

I am in full support of someone who changes his or her name (legally.) There are plenty of reasons why you might want to change it. Religious reasons, you are wanted by the KGB, a sex change, or your parents are rich pseudo-intellectual antidisestablishmentarians and named you something ridiculous like Ranthanon, are all acceptable reasons to change your name. What I absolutely despise is when people change their name from a normal one, to a weird one.
I call it a, “I want to be different”
name change. A, “I want to be different” name change, is where a person just decides one day they want to go by a different name.
For example: “My name is not Tom anymore, I am Salamander.” Or, “I am not Susie, I am Raven Willow.”
When you hear that it makes you want to go, “Really? I changed my name too. My name is not Bill anymore, it’s you’re a douche bag and I want to punch you in the face.”
Usually these arachnion’s don’t legally change their name, because deep down they know they are going to want to go back to their original name. Eventually they get to the point where they want to mate, and they realize the “Hi, I’m Siddhartha” line does not work. They find out that their pretentious “I want to be different” name; instead of intriguing people, instead makes people want to use a fork to put a fire out on their face.

I had a friend (I am going to use a different name because he’s probably reading this) do the, “I want to be different” name change. It totally changed the dynamic of us hanging out. My buddies name was Jordan, which is not a unique name. In his defense, it is not common either. According to the 25 most popular names of the 80’s (when he was born) Jordan ranks 189th. One day, Jordan, out of the blue says to me,
“Don’t call me Jordan anymore. My real name is Oparen! Jordan is dead to me.” He hadn’t changed his name legally; he just did the “I want to be different” name change because according to Jordan, Oparen was his “true name.” I did not know this about his new name, but apparently Oparen in Latin means, I need attention. I hated the sudden name change because I had been calling him Jordan for 5 years, and now he just decides that his true name is Oparen and expects everyone to call him that. The problem is, everyone did start calling him that, but me. We would all be out, and I would say, “Hey Jordan” and everyone would look at me like I just spit in a handicapped kids face.

It got to the point where I stopped addressing him by his name period. Which made it weird when I would have to call his house; where other people lived. I always wondered if his family embraced this sudden name change. I would call and just combine the name like, “Is Jorparen there?” Usually this would get a laugh out of one of his family members and they would hand the phone to him. Finally, 5 years later, I decided I would start calling him Oparen. The first time I called him Oparen he said to me, “Oparen is not my name anymore. I am going back to my real name; Jordan.” I felt like I had just been punked. It seemed like it was a 5-year elaborate practical joke on me.

Moral of this rant is, if you change your name; commit to it. Like the guy I knew who legally changed his name to Mister Ohlala (true story.) If you don’t like your name then legally change it to something you like. Don’t flip flop like a Commie out of water. However, If you do come across someone who pulls the “I want to be different” name change on you, stab them to death with something very dull.

Chuck Norris Facts

If you have five dollars and Chuck Norris has five dollars, Chuck Norris has more money than you.
There is no 'ctrl' button on Chuck Norris's computer. Chuck Norris is always in control.
Chuck Norris can sneeze with his eyes open.
Chuck Norris destroyed the periodic table, because he only recognizes the element of surprise.
Chuck Norris can kill two stones with one bird.
Chuck Norris once ate a whole cake before his friends could tell him there was a stripper in it.
There are no races, only countries of people Chuck Norris has beaten to different shades of black and blue.
When Chuck Norris falls in water, Chuck Norris doesn't get wet. Water gets Chuck Norris.
Scientists have estimated that the energy given off during the Big Bang is roughly equal to 1CNRhK (Chuck Norris Roundhouse Kick)
Chuck Norris’ house has no doors, only walls that he walks through.
How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could Chuck Norris? ...All of it.
When Chuck Norris talks, everybody listens. And dies.
While urinating, Chuck Norris is easily capable of welding titanium.
Chuck Norris invented black. In fact, he invented the entire spectrum of visible light. Except pink. Tom Cruise invented pink.
On his birthday, Chuck Norris randomly selects one lucky child to be thrown into the sun.
Little known medical fact: Chuck Norris invented the Caesarean section when he roundhouse-kicked his way out of his monther's womb.
There are no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, Chuck Norris lives in Oklahoma.There are no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, Chuck Norris lives in Oklahoma.
Chuck Norris once ate an entire bottle of sleeping pills. They made him blink.
Chuck Norris can touch MC Hammer.
It takes 14 puppeteers to make Chuck Norris smile, but only 2 to make him destroy an orphanage.

Scientific Truth in Product Warning Labels

(Stolen Without Permission from Journal of anillegiblycopiedtitle)*

WARNING: This product warps space and time in its vicinity.

WARNING: This product attracts every other piece of matter in the Universe, including the products of other manufacturers, with a force proportional to the product of the masses and inversely proportional to the square of the** distance between them.

CAUTION: The mass of this product contains the energy equivalent of 85 million tons of TNT per net ounce of weight.

HEALTH WARNING: Care should be taken when lifting this product, since its mass, and thus its weight, is dependent on its velocity relative to the user.

ADVISORY: There is an extremely small but nonzero chance that, through a process known as “tunneling,” this product may spontaneously disappear from its present location and reappear at any random place in the universe, including your neighbour’s domicile. The manufacturer will not be responsible for any damages or inconvenience that may result.

COMPONENT EQUIVALENCY NOTICE: The subatomic particles (electrons, protons, etc.) comprising this product are exactly the same in every measurable respect as those used in the products of other manufacturers, and no claim to the contrary may legitimately be expressed or implied.

CONSUMER NOTICE: Because of the “Uncertainty Principle,” it is impossible for the consumer to find out at the same time both precisely where this product is and how fast it is moving.

NOTE: The most fundamental particles in this product are held together by a “gluing” force about which little is currently known and whose adhesive power cannot therefore be permanently guaranteed.

ATTENTION: Despite any other listing of product contents found hereon, the consumer is advised that, in actuality, this produce consists of 99.999999999999% empty space.

HANDLE WITH EXTREME CARE: This product contains minute electrically charged particles moving at velocities in excess of five hundred million miles per hour.

READ THIS BEFORE OPENING PACKAGE: According to certain suggested versions of a grand unified theory, the primary particles constituting this product may decay to nothingness within the next four hundred million years.

PUBLIC NOTICE AS REQUIRED BY LAW: Any use of this product, in any manner whatsoever, will increase the amount of disorder in the universe. Although no liability is implied herein, the consumer is warned that this process will ultimately lead to the heat death of the universe.

NEW GRAND UNIFIED THEORY DISCLAIMER: The manufacturer may technically be entitled to claim that this product is ten-dimensional^ legal rights above and beyond those applicable to three-dimensional objects, since the seven new dimensions are “rolled up” into such a small area that they cannot be detected.

IMPORTANT NOTICE TO PURCHASERS: The entire physical universe, including this product, may one day collapse back into an infinitesimally small space. Should another universe subsequently re-emerge, the existence of this product in that universe cannot be guaranteed.

PLEASE NOTE: Some quantum physics theories suggest that when the consumer is not directly observing this product, it may cease to exist or will exist only in a vague and undetermined state.

THIS IS A 100% MATTER PRODUCT: In the unlikely event that this merchandise should contact antimatter in any form, a catastrophic explosion will result.

* As if you couldn’t guess, I got this verbatim from somewhere else on the net. The Illegibly copied title wasn’t even in my handwriting, even though my handwriting is defined by its illegibility. Isn’t this great! I’ve put my own disclaimer on my disclaimer page regarding my disclaimer! Please don’t hit me!

Email Mistake (Very very funny)

An amazing true story about an e-mail gone wrong. Found the clipping in an American newspaper. Very very funny...

"A Minneapolis couple decided to go to Florida to thaw out during a particularly icy winter. They planned to stay in the same hotel where they spent their honeymoon 20 years earlier. Because of hectic schedules the husband left Minnesota and flew to Florida on Thursday, with his wife flying out the next day. The husband checked into the hotel. There was a computer in his room, so he decided to send an e-mail to his wife. However, he accidentally left one letter out in her e-mail address, and, without realising his error, sent the e-mail. Meanwhile, somewhere in Houston a widow had just returned home from her husbands funeral. He was a Minister who had a heart attack and died. The widow decided to check her e-mail, expecting messages from relatives and friends. After reading the first message she screamed and fainted. The widow´s son rushed into the room and and saw the computer screen which read:

To: My Loving Wife
Subject: I´ve arrived
Date: October 16th
I know your surprised to hear from me. They have computers here now and you are allowed to send e-mails to your loved ones. I have just arrived and have checked in. I see that everything has been prepared for your arrival tomorrow. Looking forward to seeing you then! Hope your journey will be uneventful as mine was.

P.S. It sure is freaking hot down here.

Pride is such a dirty word...

This manifest coming from someone that doesn't live in the 'new' South Africa (where the after-appartheid Laws protect and promote blacks, segregating the whites - a new form of apparteheid that seems not to bother the International Community, previously always very active in this matter!!!!!!), or in any other African country (where, at least, laws like the 'New Racist South African Laws' are not official....), is a genuine protest.

Makes for interesting reading and something to think about.

Proud to be White

Michael Richards makes his point!... ... ...

Michael Richards, better known as Kramer from TVs Seinfeld, makes a good point!

This was his defense speech in court after making racial comments in his comedy act. He makes some very interesting points...

'Someone finally said it. How many are actually paying attention to this?'

There are African Americans, Mexican Americans, Asian Americans, Arab Americans, etc. And then there are just Americans. You pass me on the street and sneer in my direction. You call me 'White boy,' 'Cracker,' 'Honkey,' 'Whitey,' 'Caveman'...

and that's OK.

But when I call you, Nigger, Kike, Towel head, Sand-nigger, Camel Jockey, Beaner, Gook, Chinkor or Kaffir (I added his one used in South Africa that, according to the new Law, is considered an offense punnished by the South African Law and that only means "any black African" - Collins English Dictionary)... You call me a racist.

You say that whites commit a lot of violence against you... So why are the ghettos the most dangerous places to live?

You have the 'United Negro College Fund'.

You have 'Martin Luther King Day'.

You have ' Black History Month'.

You have 'Cesar Chavez Day'.

You have 'Yom Hashoah'.

You have 'Ma'uled Al-Nabi'.

You have the 'NAACP'.

You have 'BET'!...

If we had 'WET' (White Entertainment Television), we'd be racists..

If we had a 'White Pride Day', you would call us racists.

If we had 'White History Month', we'd be racists.

If we had any organization for only whites to 'advance' OUR lives, we'd be racists.

We have a 'Hispanic Chamber of Commerce', a 'Black Chamber of Commerce', and then we just have the plain 'Chamber of Commerce'... Wonder who pays for that?

A white woman could not be in the 'Miss Black American' pageant, but any color can be in the 'Miss America' pageant.

If we had a college fund that only gave white students scholarships... You know we'd be racists.

There are over 60 openly proclaimed 'Black Colleges' in the US. Yet if there were any 'White College', that would be a racist college.

In the ' Million Man March', you believed that you were marching for your race and rights.

If we marched for our race and rights, you would call us racists.

You are proud to be black, brown, yellow and orange, and you're not afraid to announce it.

But when we announce our white pride, you call us racists.

You rob us, carjack us, and shoot at us.

But, when a white police officer shoots a black gang member or beats up a black drug dealer running from the law and posing a threat to society, you call him a racist..

I am proud... But you call me a racist.

Why is it that only whites can be racists?’

Fuck You, PP! (Warning, this is a RANT)

Yeah that's right. This is a very long stupid fucking rant that we all hate so much. I'm not asking you to read it but you can if you'd like. This is more about venting than anything else. Whether you want to read it or not, just please don't ever get work for a British Financial Services company I worked for because they'll fuck you over. Anyway, on with my rant.


Dear PP,

Fuck you, you stupid, cocksucking, backstabbing, piece of shit company!

At first things were cool between us. I had work for maybe a year or so and boy did we have some good times within that year. Remember when my pc just wouldnt work and you gave me a new one and still it seemed slower than hell and then you bollocked me for not working fast enough??? DO you remember??? That was one of my fondest memories of the time we spent together. Remember how funny it was when I got pissed off and threw my keyboard across the office and all the keys flew out so that putting them back together in the right places was vertually impossible?? Yep, that's how I found out you guys fucked me over. We had such a good laugh about that one! What about the time you forced me to do those endless boring non sensicle company courses run by people who couldn't speak English properly in the first place, only to leave me totally baffled and confused by the whole course and wondering where I would start to translate your endless crap, because your company wont employ English natural ex-pats but Portuguese dickwads that think they know English only to make up their own words!!! Remember?? hahahaha I still laugh about that now. Or the time you "accidentally" erased all my information on my pc that was vital to the company like the endless drearly stats I had to complete every bloody day? Remember that one?

What about when you switched the company phones and non of them worked properly for about a week? And every time I called out to clients I was put through to some non understanding Portuguese person that spoke to me in their language that reminds me of Klingon... Though you and I both know I may live in Portugal but I'm clearly a white boy who can barely order food at a Mexican restaurant let alone understand whatever the hell they were saying? Yeah that was a good one. Everyone who called my phone either hung up without leaving a message or started their message with "Uhh, I don't know if this is you or not, because your speaking to me in a different language but hey .... blah blah blah..." Then when I called to switch it back, I wasn't able to because you answered with a Portuguese automated system. Haha, I think I was stuck with Portuguese for a week!
You always were such a prankster.

We had such a good relationship so I don't know why you're pulling this latest stunt. Perhaps it's because you're mad that I refused to go to another Pirate day Training to learn how to walk on a wooden leg and wear an eye patch whilst trying to build my own Pirates hat? Team building I think you called it? Bollocks I think I called it... Maybe it's just another one of your pranks? Maybe you miss me and just want to me to leave by giving some bullshit that my contract is over and that you cant ship me to another department because their are no vacancies only for me to find out a week after I left that your recruiting... HAHAHAHHAHAHA thats great! every time I'm forced to to talk about your company to the Union and the Workers Right Government Department it just makes me laugh out loud!!!! I don't know but I've tried to be reasonable about this.

I left the company a month before i was due because you kindly offered me full pay but that little prank of getting me out of the building and recruiting straight away after all the bullshit you gave me about we have no spaces is the best ever. You must've known I I'd just walk away quietly with not a care in the world not a care that I have a new born daughter and a nagging wife. Not a care indeed!!!!!!! Now every time I get a letter from the Union or the Worker Rights I just smile and think of all the good times. So its not the companies fault... Someone, and I know who you are; Hates me... Fine I did all I had to do and told to do and that still wasn't good enough eh? You actually wanted me to brown my nose and shove it so far up your big fat humongous eclipse of an arse, that I could see through your eyeballs uh?? Is that what you wanted me to do?? Well... It's not gonna happen girlfriend!!

Not only did I get a letter from the Union, I also got a call from a very nice lady from your company saying that basically my life is gonna get fucked up if I continue sending you emails. Hmpff yeah thats gonna happen!!! because of this and I basically have to go further and it will get worse. I gave you a call and of course we did our little dance that we always do where they tell me to call you and then you tell me to call them. This usually goes back and forth for a bit but this time I didn't feel like dancing. Now no one will answer my calls no one will respond to my emails. Ooooohhh you so funny. You comedian yes???

What. The. Fuck?

I'm sorry PP but this is complete bullshit. I have been cool and calm about all the shit you've pulled in the past few weeks and now I'm fed up. After all, a bloke can only take so much until he explodes. Why the hell didn't you tell me this shit in the first place? That my contract was over. good bye. ended! NO! you had to fuck me over and shut me up! Well its not gonna happen.

Yes, I'm being stupid and stubborn about this but I don't care. You've already fucked up my life so it doesn't really matter if I fuck your company over or not. It's not even about the money. It's about the point of the whole thing. I'm sick of you bullying people. Your cock sucking ways and your arse licking nature. Oh and your recruitment is bullshit. Only contracting gays on the other departments??? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ALL ABOUT!!!! Thats bullshit. And I refuse to get bullied. You can kiss my ass and then go fuck yourself, you bastards.

Sincerely,

Pariah

P.S. -2 Die Asshole

P.P.S. Faggots!!