Wednesday, October 29, 2014

JOSE CAN YOU SEE (your finger)? Canseco shoots off his middle finger cleaning his gun...

            Jose Canseco's fiancee had to file a police report after the former steroid mutant baseballer accidentally blew off his middle finger while "cleaning" his gun in their kitchen.  According to Leila Knight, Canseco had been shooting at a gun range earlier and didn't know the Ruger pistol was loaded.

            Here's a slightly altered pic of the former Bash Brother preparing to testify before Congress in 2005...

                How is it that people with handguns never seem to know when they've got a live round in the chamber?  Is there a way to idiot-proof pistols in order to alert owners to the fact that the weapon is loaded?

                Or is it folly to expect idiots to know what they're doing?

Sunday, October 26, 2014

"IT'S A SIGN! A SIGN FROM THE LORD!" (with apologies to Monty Python, we shall endeavor to enlighten...)

           I'm pretty sure we could be wealthy any minute now.  I mean, I see on the news and in the papers all the time where someone has found an image of Jesus in their toast, or of Mother Teresa on a bagel.  They publicize their "miracle", and followers from various cults swarm to see it for themselves.  Ka-Ching!  Surely, somewhere out there, someone lies awake dreaming of the day Roger Rabbit returns from the grave in some miraculous fashion.  Perhaps even through a fashion statement!

           Personally, I don't think about Roger Rabbit very often.  Maybe once or twice since I saw the movie, and only then because someone made a reference to "Jessica Rabbit" as a favorable comparison for some sexy woman somewhere.  Jessica Rabbit was (indeed) hot.  Roger definitely married above his station.

          But while we're on the subject of hot women, I might as well tell you what this is about...

          My lovely (and oh so dangerous) wife teaches cardio/kickboxing classes three days a week, and whenever she does, she loses prodigious amounts of fluids via sweat.  On the days she takes advanced karate classes and THEN teaches her own cardio class, not only does she come home with a karate gi that is totally saturated with sweat, but her cardio workout clothes are soaked, too.  She's a sweaty woman when she works out.  (I, on the other hand, avoid sweaty situations...)

           Yesterday morning after her cardio class, my wife turned to leave the kitchen and I couldn't help but notice she had somehow managed to sweat herself a masterpiece.  In fact, I was so dazzled, I made her take off her shirt right there on the spot, just so I could capture the image for posterity.

           Here it is.  This is a completely unretouched photo of my wife's tee shirt after cardio class:

           Am I the only one who sees the image of Roger Rabbit in that sweat pattern?

           Those of you who are thinking of traveling to our fair city just to see or touch the holy rabbit shirt, be advised:  My wife thinks I'm nuts, and she washed the shirt as soon as I got through taking a photo of it.

            Sigh... she just has no sense of marketing to the rubes...


Tuesday, October 21, 2014

FETUS FREAKS OBJECT TO EMBRYONIC STEM CELL EBOLA VACCINE... (because a cure derived from the unborn should never be used to save millions of the "already" born...)

          It's getting harder and harder for me to ignore the fetus fetish crowd.  Every time I turn on the television or radio lately I'm subjected to somber warnings concerning Amendment 1 here in Tennessee, and the newspapers have been running editorials and letters on the subject for weeks.  

         Amendment 1, for those of you who aren't fortunate enough to live in the Volunteer State, is a GOP sponsored dog whistle wedge issue on the midterm ballot designed to help our rosy red legislature make abortions impossible to obtain in Tennessee.  That's not how it's being sold, of course, because the majority of people still support legal and safe abortion rights in this country.  No... it's being sold as a compassionate way to make sure women aren't subjected to unregulated or unsafe clinic conditions when they go in for a procedure.  It's all very slick, what they're trying to do, but if you know what time it is it's pretty obvious they're simply trying to find a way to circumvent Roe v Wade here in cracker country.  Reproductive clinics in Tennessee are very tightly regulated, and they're as safe as any hospital anywhere... but if they can sell this Amendment as an effort to protect those "poor women in their time of need", well, there you go.

           On top of the constant barrage of anti-abortion noise from the right concerning this amendment to our state's constitution, now I'm reading that some folks are upset because potentially lifesaving Ebola vaccines are being developed from embryonic stem cell lines.

           Oh, perish the thought!

           There's a group out there called Children of God for Life that is organizing petitions and protests, because discarded unborn zygotes from fertility clinics are WAY more important than actual post-birthed sufferers all over the globe.  Seriously.  They're opposed to an Ebola vaccine if it's developed from an embryonic stem cell line.

           Let me end this little rant as quickly as possible, because I'm beginning to get pissed...

           Let's see how quickly the average fetus worshiping conservative changes his or her tune once they (or someone they love) contracts Ebola.  My guess is they'll take their oozing orifices to the nearest Ebola clinic and push their way to the front of the line for one of those embryo soup injections just like those of us who DON'T spend all of our time and money worrying that every sperm is sacred.

           These gung-holier-than-thou assholes make me wanna hurl.  They moan and groan over a clump of cells the size of a Tic Tac, but turn a blind eye to actual children who are dying of this disease in Africa.  It's hard for me to get my head around that.  They'll stand out in the rain and sing to save the life of one unborn baby, but won't lift a finger to save thousands of living, breathing, walking, talking children who could use their compassion and concern right fucking now.

            There really should be a name for the psychosis that makes that possible.




Monday, October 20, 2014

PUMPKIN RIOTS??? (Good grief, Charlie Brown...)

          When I first saw the story concerning rioting at a pumpkin festival in lily white Keene, New Hampshire, I thought the story must be a creation of those funny guys at "The Onion."  After all, riot police firing rubber bullets and tear gas into a crowd of unruly pumpkin festival goers is too bizarre to be true, right?  But this wasn't fake news from a satirical website, it was actual news from a lot of independent sources.  Dozens of arrests were made.  Dozens of young people were treated for injuries at local hospitals.  It qualified as a riot, by anyone's standards.

           Folks in Ferguson, Missouri must be wondering what's wrong with white folks.  I mean, it's not like some cop shot an unarmed student for walking down the middle of the street.  

           My theory is that white kids in New Hampshire desperately need a cause.  It's one thing to go out and overturn cars and throw bottles if your favorite team has finally brought home an NBA or NFL title.  That's an American tradition, as time honored as fireworks on the Fourth of July, or a trip to the gym after overeating for an entire Thanksgiving weekend.  It's just what you do when you aren't busy with something important.  Ask anybody.

           But gathering to drink and rage in a quiet little Mayberry-esque village in October?  Shit, people, this isn't spring break at Daytona Beach!

           No... the kids at Keene State College and the surrounding area really need some way to vent their pent up emotions and energy.

           Too bad we don't have a couple of never ending wars to protest, or a creeping theocracy in our state and federal government to stand up against.  I imagine Elizabeth Warren would have been willing to interrupt her nascent presidential campaign to attend if those kids had been raging in the street about the government's on-going practice of student loan usury.

           But a pumpkin festival?

           Good grief...


Friday, October 17, 2014

"HONEST, I DIDN'T DO IT!" ("Don't worry about it, we know...")

Not my baby's right eye... her's looks WAY worse...               

          I make a lot of jokes about my lovely (and dangerous) wife's martial arts skills, and those who know us hear a lot more than folks read here on this blobber.  I've frequently told friends that when we're out in public, my little ninja serves as my bodyguard.  My favorite saying in times of distress is, "Take the woman, don't hurt me!" because I know if someone DID take her, they'd bring her right back.  If they were at all able.  She's earned her fourth degree black belt, and will soon test for her fifth... and no doubt, she'll earn that one, too.

          I bring this up in order to tell the following story... and every word of this is true.

          During the night on the day after our return from our tour of Washington, D.C., my wife got out of bed and went to the kitchen for a bottle of water.  She makes ten or fifteen little hikes to the bathroom or kitchen every night, so she has no need of lights with which to navigate in our darkened home.  I can't find my way to the first doorway without pawing around like Stevie Wonder in a corn maze, but she's like a bat... navigating by echolocation or some other mysterious method that allows her to maintain a brisk pace, even in pitch black darkness.

          Apparently, she was trotting along at a nice clip two nights ago when she attempted to drink from the plastic water bottle as she left the kitchen.  I didn't hear her trip or hit the edge of the kitchen door frame with her face.  I didn't hear her get an ice pack out of the freezer, nor did I hear her return to the bedroom.  In fact, I didn't know there had even been "an incident" until I saw her face the following morning.

          "Holy shit!  What the hell happened to you???" was all I could say.

          She started laughing, shaking her head, and told me about her trip to the sharp edge of the door frame, right eye first.  Her eyelid was blood red, and there was a trace of blue under her right eye to go along with a nice little red vertical crease above and below the eye.  That was yesterday morning.  Today, it's much much much much worse.  

           As she was getting ready for work yesterday morning I asked her what she intended to tell folks in her office when they asked about the eye.  She said she would tell them she teaches cardio kickboxing... because that's not a lie (she can't pull off even the whitest of lies without immediately confessing the transgression...).  I reminded her that she sucks at lying, and she nodded in agreement.  She would just tell people the ugly, ridiculous truth: she had stumbled into a door frame while trying to drink and walk at the same time in the dark.  Don't drink and walk...  Ought to be on public service announcements any day now.

            Last night she went to her karate class, and I warned her some people in her class would think she was living with a wife-beater.  She laughed and laughed.

             "Honey, no one who knows you will think you're capable of doing this to me." was what she said.

            Now, there are two ways a person could take that reassuring message.  The first, and probably her intended message, was that no one who really knows me would believe me capable of hitting a woman in the face.  Just not my nature to hit someone, and I certainly wouldn't hit a woman.  (well... Ann Coulter, maybe... if I'm truly honest with myself, I have to admit I'd love to bitch slap Ann Coulter... but I digress...)

             The other, far more insulting message implied by her comment is the one that says "No one would EVER believe you could land a punch against me, you silly man."  And that was the message I got after thinking about it for an hour or two after she left for class.

              She's right with either message, of course, but that's not the point.

              I didn't do it.

              But I'm not convinced I couldn't, if I really had to.

              Do I ever intend to put on gloves and a sparring helmet to find out?

              No way in hell.

              Every marriage needs a little mystery.  This will have to be ours.