You speak with a broken tongue, breaking words for your amusement. It amuses no one but yourself, and yet your crooked smile is smile enough for others. What joke must be spinning within your mind, a joke so far inside. Selfishly laughing at the world because you can. Never speaking plainly because that is boring, that can be done by anyone. But can you mumble a broken spirit with a broken tongue. Crooked nature fully formed because you accept it. Broken man, how broken are you? How did you break your tongue so.
She comes into your life and brings nature’s blessing. And with her entrance comes a curse of wanton passion. The grass is still alive as it blazes in the sun. The chorus of our laughter floats gently in the Spring breeze. We are the definition of love and our hands are linked as we dance amongst the growing and the grown alike. We enjoy timeless sunsets on picturesque settings creating canvases waiting to be painted at each moment. We love.
Time works wonders and bonds grow firm. We resolve to walk quietly into the night together. Hands held tightly against the shadows we once faced alone. We pick each other up in the heat of the Summer, against the blazing sun and humanity’s punishment. We turn as one, in unison with one another’s needs. I am your need and you are mine. And like an oak tree we grow together.
The rain has come and we have weathered storms. We still touch… but sometimes our hands Fall like leaves from our tired limbs. The chatter of children running around our base keeps us united, we are still united with finger painted signs and chalk figures. But some nights are cold and the moon shines two shadows upon the ground.
It snows here in Denver. The Winter seems to be most of the year… at least lately. But even with the constant ice, it does melt with the strength of will. A will we share each morning and return to each night. The seasons form a timeless ring that hardens into a golden promise. They touch each time our hands unite with infused emotion. Regardless of what emotion that is the presence of feelings means that we still care.
Hide not your eyes from my truth because it does not match your own. Instead appreciate the fact that everyone gets to be the most important person in their own life, as it should be. As it was meant to be. Far too often people forget that just because something is true for them does not mean it will be true for others. Everyone wants to be a preacher these days and pulpits are a dime a dozen. People want to lather others with the truth they think the world should embrace. How about you live your life and I will live mine. How about we walk our own paths and don’t share common ground. No matter how clearly you relate your moments to others they will still always be yours. I will never live a second in your shoes and you know what?
I don’t want to.
We battle. Our forces lock on, as precise as any engineer, and our souls dance. Their tango is a deadly dance of shadow and light, as we move without motion. Darting, shifting, and turning we probe for weaknesses immediately. Are we such predators that weakness comforts us? Our mood eases, letting out tension as we sense someone that is not a threat. Far better than another predator, an intellectual equal, whose presence immediately sends our guard up. Stranger, know that I am watching you and if you dare to confront me your challenge shall be met.
We comfort each other, but we know our boundary. We groove in the same mood and commiserate in times of passion or pain. Emotional wall, you are my constant companion and never a burden. Were you to become a burden, I am no saint. I carry no one else’s boulder. Gladly will I share a meal or give a drink, but I do not carry the emotional weight of someone else’s consciousness. Friend, be a friend, and let us keep our dance in balance.
Beware, I can kill you and sleep soundly at night. I have no remorse, except in regards to myself or my own. You, I do not care for you. Walk swiftly across to the other side of the path, cross not my eyes, for to do so will place your own life in dire peril. I see the potential, this world is full of people auditioning for the role of adversary, and yet I care not about them unless they come into my world.
You and I dance to a song without words. Sometimes the dance is painful, love can hurt, but most of the time it is a dance we do without thought. It is under your caress and gentle touches that I know why I wake up in the morning. You move me to passion, without passion there is no love. Of course we most continue to stoke the fire, what love does not require the effort of rekindled interest, you are worth that effort. Others have slipped away, faded into the night their names are ink prints on my mind. And although those stains may stay for a time, their meaning and value diminish with each setting sun. There is only one lover here in my heart, it is you.
Kill me fast, but let me die slow.
So that I may appreciate the lights as they fade away.
Majestic light that steals the night.
How you comfort me as you drink my soul.
Through eyes of want, through a heart of stone.
Still I want. Kill me faster.
I have to remind myself sometimes that I can’t help them all. I don’t see myself as some Joel Osteen and I never want to be. I see people struggling though, trying to figure it all out… and it sticks with me. I may not react that day, but sometimes weeks later I’ll revisit their blog and share one of their posts. No I am not the Korean Santa Claus, I just think it takes such little effort sometimes to help people and why not do it? Why not? Everyone is so focused on their dreams and goals and I am no exception to that. That is why I browse a lot of new blogs every week, to inspire myself and remind me why I love to blog. I am reminded every time I see a new blogger happy with their first post, their first follow, or their first view.
“You can’t help them all.” I can’t help them all; I just don’t have the time or energy. And so I help when and where I can because I remember when I first started last year and the large bloggers wouldn’t give me the time of day. They wouldn’t answer questions or emails and treated me like another peon. No one wants to feel that way, myself included. I treat other bloggers as equals because that is what we are. We are all here pouring our hearts out through our medians and that is blogging. That is why we do it.
Motivation and inspiration are so easy to give. It can come in the form of a random comment or visit to a person’s blog, a kind word of encouragement to someone that is struggling, or just simply recognizing the existence of a person. As much as I network and push my blog, I recognize that the people I push it to ARE real people. That is a difference in outlook by choice and why I don’t refer to those that visit my website as “fans.” You never know who you might be helping even when you don’t actively try. You can’t help them all, but you can easily help someone.
Who will you help today?
We box lives daily and fit people into perfect squares. If they don’t fit, we make them fit by forcing their proportions to our desire. Boxing lives we kill life without a thought. Carelessly we destroy dreams and hopes because to allow another to overshadow us is a depressing thought. We find depression waiting under their shade. Motivated by constraint, we often constrain those we love. For who wants to wallow in despair alone? Sadness is only found in failure when you walk the path by yourself… a hand in the night feels so right.
Box us together.
We live our lives along perfect lines. Striving to duplicate cheated acts of perfection. A line is never perfect and yet we constrain it till it is. Till it must be.
Perfect lines in an imperfect world. How we outline our lives each day with our personality. Walking lines with printed happiness. How happy must they be?
Perfect line, I seek you still. Through constrained perception I seek my own true line. A line not just to walk by, not just to live along, but to guide my hand. Through dreams of perfect strokes.
Here are some pieces of advice I have on sex and they are obviously mostly for men, but maybe some women can relate to them as well.
1. Men don’t be too quick to defend yourself. When she says “was that it?” Don’t immediately say “but baby that was 2 minutes and 35 seconds longer than last time…”
2. Men you may not want to watch the football game while having sex. If you just “happen” to sync your sexual activities with that of a two minute drill going on women WILL notice. And they don’t take too kindly to it when suddenly everyone is clapping right on queue.
3. If you throw the pillow case and ask for a timeout for a water break and then get distracted by a playoff game while downstairs don’t expect sex for another 4.3 weeks.
4. Using condiments and making things interesting is fine during sex up until a certain point. That point normally begins when you hear voices that say “Are you guys making dessert in there? I hear whipped cream… I want some!”
5. Guys if you get caught looking at the clock have an answer ready for when your woman asks “what are you looking at?” I normally pick the water glass that should be there by the bed because hydration is important, “I was making sure no one was putting anything in your drink.” When she says “…but we’re at home…” you then need to look frustrated and say “baby can we concentrate on our next moves?”
6. Getting caught having sex in public, like in a car at the park, stops being “cute” and “romantic” at a certain age. The walk of shame is a little worse when your 18 year old has to bail you out from prison and drive you home.
7. Have an answer ready for when women ask you those questions like “was it good for you baby?” I like to go overboard with my answer to stop any further conversation. “Yea baby! This Captain is sure happy! You rocked the boat!” If that one gets old you can change it up with something like “This warrior is sure glad he visited this village!”
8. Sometimes women say silly things they have either heard other people say or seen on movies. If a woman says “Baby it is so large” and you are pretty sure it isn’t… just smile and try not to roll your eyes.
9. Pretending you are a superhero makes sex better.
10. Guys don’t just roll off and run do other things. At least give her a high five before you go. That lets her know you care.
Disclaimer: HarsH ReaLiTy is not responsible for any outcome from having followed any of the above advice. We encourage caution while dealing with sensitive subjects such as these.
The Buffer Zone – Guys this isn’t just a punchline for movies. The buffer zone exists. If you walk into the bathroom and there are six empty urinals and only one person is peeing don’t go stand right next to that person. That is just awkward and unless you are about to ask me if you can help me shake it… just weird.
If you don’t wash your hands – I will normally only shoot you a “wow you are a disgusting creature” look, but here is the catch. If later that afternoon you come by my desk and offer me a cookie or a Cheetoe I will reserve the right to not only give you a crazy look, but ALSO to inform you why I will never, ever share food with you. Ever!
Whimpering in the stall – I always assume that if I hear whimpers or weird moans that you are just having a “hard time” with it. That is cool and all, but we are men right? Cowboy the hell up and keep that noise to a -1 volume. No one wants to hear you in there even if the door is closed.
Throwing up in the sink – I don’t understand why you are not throwing up in the toilet, but OK! Let’s just give you the benefit of the doubt that whatever you ate has got to come up immediately. CLEAN THE FREAKING SINK! Especially if you are at work, not even the janitors deserve to clean up that crap.
Saying “Hi” in the restroom – Hellos and Goodbyes should be kept to a minimal in the restroom. There is nothing that important that we need to speak about and frankly my mind is set on a different goal.
Talking to me while I pee – Are you honestly trying to make me uncomfortable? Are you waiting to see if I will switch toilets… because I will! This isn’t musical chairs either, stay your talkative ass over there.
Come on guys these rules aren’t that hard. Stop making the peaceful comforts of the bathroom vanish.
1. Play dead. Before you laugh and say “that won’t work” have you actually tried it? Seriously, fall down and don’t move. Even if she yells your name or pokes at you with her high heel. Just pretend like it is nap time.
2. Start to pray. I normally look at them and indicate they are supposed to join in… and keep shooting astonished looks that they aren’t.
3. Keep saying “I love you” till they stop talking. It will work. Have faith.
4. Counter everything they say with a bad adage about some sport they hate. Women absolutely hate when we do sports analogies and it is enjoyable to see them squirm.
5. Yell “That’s right I forgot to do that thing!” and run out the door… you may want to wait a few hours before returning. Possibly with some flowers.
6. Tell her suddenly that Bill has died. When Bill shows up to your house the next day fall to your knees and cry “Lord! It’s a miracle!”
7. Keep turning the argument to her anger issues. Even if she doesn’t have any. It makes them rethink themselves and they end up getting frustrated and dropping the topic.
8. If you are married or dating an Asian woman yell out “Godzilla” and use those few seconds wisely.
9. If arguing while eating suddenly “choke” on a chicken bone and allow her to be the hero. No one wants to argue when they are in hero mode.
10. When an argument is about to start in bed I use two options. I either fart and allow the humor of the moment to dissolve the tension in the atmosphere OR I start audible snoring until she gets the picture.
Note: I am not responsible for any possible… repercussions of following my relationship advice…
I hope to see you another morning. When we can rest upon our troubles and use them as cushions as we weave our tales for one another. Rest easy dearest for you have earned it. I know not how long your journey may be, if other journeys will supersede the first and cause our sails to drift further away into the night. I have kept my promise and turned my eyes to the third star and thought of you. Of growing memories being born that I cannot see, but still have seen through your eyes. Your smiles are my smiles, I pocket them greedily from written letter or even spoken thought. My thoughts… yours. Forever.
Why do you give up so easily on your window to the world? Allowing your writing hand to drag until your knuckles begin to bleed from the want. From the need to be heard by someone in the night, even if that someone is never known by this one. Would I quiet my voice before I learned to talk. Laying in my bed before waking deeds have been done. Surely I would stay awake humming the sound of my heart. The rattle of a keyboard in my head keeping my eyes from ever closing. Could I torture my soul forever with an unfinished sentence? Never… break my writing hand first.
One of my clearest experiences of being in trouble was an unfortunate incident as a child when I got caught lying to my parents. In my defense if parents didn’t ask so many questions there would be a far less likely chance of me telling a lie as a child. More questions means a greater percentage chance I would “bend” the truth. Rarely would I ever outright lie, but there was this one time…
“Jason Chandler Cushman come upstairs right now!”
As we all know if there is ever any doubt as to the severity of a situation the usage of one’s full name is a clear sign. I considered a lot for an 8 year old as I climbed those fifteen stairs of inevitability. What had I done? What were we eating for lunch? Look the Lego piece I was missing! I wonder if this is actually one of those rare times when my mom used my full name for a GOOD reason! Is there a god and if so why did he create so many stairs? Normal things that an 8 year old considers.
When I arrived at the door to the room of the brother that never let me in, touch his stuff, play with him, talk to him, or even just “see him” some days I found him with a smirk on his face standing with my parents. The smirk of a sibling is never a good sign either, but I remained faithful that this was a good meeting I was being cordially invited to.
“Jason did you write on your brother’s window in marker?”
My life stopped. This was one of those moments in a boy’s life where there are obviously two choices. On the one hand I DID remember writing “something” on my brother’s window, but no matter how I strained my brain I couldn’t remember WHAT I had written. I took the safe and obvious route.
“No… I didn’t do it!” I said with confidence, a confidence that was building by the second.
“Then why is YOUR NAME written on the wood in sharpie marker?!?” the voice of God boomed from my mother’s mouth. My father added a firm reinforced head nod. My brother smirked even more. And my confidence wilted like a whoopee cushion. I had chosen badly.
Weigh him! If he weighs more than a pig he is cheating on you! Since the beginning of the church we have been taught that a man’s sins make him heavier. This is obvious proof right? Or was that for witches…
Ask him 574 questions in a row until he messes up on one. Then you GOT HIM! Cheating little bastard!!!
Withhold sex from him until he admits it. This will NOT be because he ends up cheating out of desperately wanting sex… …
Follow him! Follow his ass everywhere and bring a camera crew. You might even want to contact MTV for a show.
Follow his brother! If his brother is a cheater then you can count your pennies that your man is also. It is a genetic thing.
Watch for differences in personality. Wait… is that happiness I see? Who the hell is he talking to!!! Cheating bastard! Men are evil!!!
1. I absolutely hate when bloggers use the word “hiatus.” The first time I saw this word used so often I thought it was some remote country I hadn’t heard of. “I’ve been on a hiatus” is said so often I thought to myself “man… where the hell is this Hiatus place at? Everyone goes there!” In all honesty people unless you are a celebrity no one cares why you haven’t been blogging. The few people that are interested were probably with you on your “break” so they also don’t actually care about you not posting.
2. Creating titles for yourself to impress the world is annoying as shit. We get it… you really want to be important and created yourself an “Editor in Chief” or “CEO of FakeCorporation.com” to stroke that ego. If I were a job recruiter and I read your resume and saw a “fake entry” like that I would call you out on it. Not only that, but I would make you feel incredibly stupid for pumping yourself up.
3. Bloggers are all here for their own reasons. Some are here to share, some are here to promote, and some are just “finding their way.” I don’t understand why some bloggers make a habit of visiting blog posts where an individual is celebrating hitting a view or follower goal and bashing them for being happy. It happens all the time and it honestly shows what a shitty blogger you are if the only self-esteem boost you find daily is making others feel bad. If you aren’t here for numbers, views, or subscribers that is perfectly ok, but don’t make people feel bad for chasing their dreams. It just makes you look like a bitch.
4. We all have causes we want to trumpet and push towards the public eye. I get that and I do the same thing here. This doesn’t mean that you have to accept and carry every banner you can find because society tells you that you should care. I wonder sometimes how much true conviction people have when they cry bloody murder over almost every incident that hits social media. Pick your battles people.
5. People that present differing opinions are NOT trolls. If a blogger takes issue with your post and decides to respond to you and your twenty friends that are chirping in agreement, that simply means that person cared. It doesn’t make them a troll unless they cross a line and are commenting just to comment. I think many people label any disagreement as trolling and that is sad. That is a pathetic way of viewing blogging.
6. We have all gotten into social media spats. People really need to know and recognize who they are going to war with though. If you decide to reblog or post an attack on a blogger with a thousand times your subscriber number you deserve the attention you get. Honestly people… size up the enemy first. Use some fucking common sense.
7. Stop complaining about lack of views, spammers, fake follows, and the negative sides of blogging if you claim to “only be here for fun.” It starts to sound like you care a little more than just about the fun and we would hate for you to be labeled a hypocrite right? If you publish online for “fun” then that is great and I applaud you for that. It is annoying as shit though to see a blogger claim these things and then all you read is rant after rant about lack of views, how WordPress sucks, and how there are no real readers out there. How is that “not caring” going for you pumpkin?
8. Stop creating a new blog every month. Your last blog didn’t fail because of content or a bad Blog Title. It failed because you were lazy and didn’t go out to find yourself some readers. That is the simple truth. Your “new and remade blog” is going to fail too if you didn’t also remake your blogging habits.
9. It is annoying as shit to require your audience to make accounts to a new website to comment. Turn that moderation crap off or stop wondering why people aren’t commenting. No one has time for that and most people that get that “pop up window” asking for you to create an account click the X and say “fuck it.”
10. The last one is a personal one. I really love how it has become trendy to say “I unfollowed Opinionated Man a long time ago!” Like my website is the equivalent of Facebook or something. As flattering as that is to consider it really is just annoying as shit. It is also amazing how many people feel a need to type that statement.
This is a tribute to a disease that has given me so much in the form of treasured memories. I thought I would record some of those lost pages for all time.
Crohn’s disease is a relatively new term, but the “disease” itself has been around forever. I did not realize I had Crohn’s until 2009 and I had suffered from its affect for almost half of my life. Today we have come to a mutual respect for each other, but it was not always so. It was definitely not always so. Throughout my life I have had a sensitive stomach, but I normally related this to my drinking habits. It wasn’t till after I stopped drinking heavily and still had bouts of sickness that I realized I was either pregnant for 15 years or it was something internally wrong.
The first serious incident occurred at Kessler Air Force Base, MS during my training for electronic principles. I developed a fistula in ano which caused me some pain while being forced to run during PT. I hate running unless it is from cops, dogs, or women with knives so I overcame my embarrassment and went to the on base medical center. This would be the first “memorable experience” of my life with Crohn’s.
I limped into the clinic and asked to see the doctor. The Airman running the desk asked me what the visit pertained to. I tactfully said I had a sensitive injury and would rather elaborate with the doctor directly. I waited around for a little while and then the doctor, a Captain, asked me to follow him into an examination room.
“So I am told you have an injury Airman Cushman. Can you give me a little more information or better yet show me what it is?”
I looked at him nervously and finally said “My ass hurts. I am not sure what it is, but it hurts to use the restroom and to run.”
“Well let’s take a look!” the Captain said with amusement in his eyes.
I slowly took my pants off and bent over the table in the middle of the room.
“WOW! Well… that is something!” he said with clear astonishment in his voice. “Hold on a second Airman.” He then walked to the door and opened it.
“Bob! Hey Bob! Come here for a second you have to see this!” he literally yelled for the whole city to hear. “Bring the blue book as well we may need to refer to it!”
“Oh great,” I thought to myself “this is obviously amateur hour. Where did these morons get their medical licenses from Walgreens?”
A Major who was obviously Bob walked in and immediately focused on my bare ass. Nothing like male eyes staring at your rear in such a vulnerable position.
“WOW indeed Jim! Is that… is that even real? What the fuck is that?” Bob said in the most professional voice of bewilderment I have ever heard.
“I have no clue Bob. Let me get another opinion!” Jim exclaimed as he rushed again to the door. “Cindy! Nancy! Could you come here for a second please and hurry!”
So after the whole medical staff had gotten a good look at my ass they referred to the magical blue book. Apparently the “F” section was missing, or maybe they just never made it that far, because in the end all they needed was a few shots and a scalpel. Years later I still cringe over that experience and how stupid some medical “professionals” are. Nothing surprises me anymore.
I value my time with Crohn’s because it has brought me closer to god. While sitting on my porcelain throne I often contemplate what god does on his. Does he use angel feathers and are they as soft as my Charmin Ultra? I also consider different advantages and disadvantages of my ass… or lack thereof. I suppose if I wasn’t so lazy I would simply go and buy a padded toilet seat because even the softest seat becomes hard as stone after sitting on it for 30 minutes straight. Maybe Santa will bring me one for Christmas, but as long as I have my Charmin Ultra Soft I will be ok.
The second major incident involving my Crohn’s disease was far more painful and less humorous. It was actually almost murderous in nature. My first major flareup left me gasping in pain for 24 hours straight. After I decided I wasn’t being a pussy and that it really did hurt that bad, I went to the doctor. By now everyone should realize that I hold a very deep distrust for all medical personnel even though my father is a physician himself. The pain was that bad that I would have sought the help of almost any drug dealer. After dragging myself to the family practice center and seeing the on call there, she concluded that I had an appendicitis. An ambulance was called and I was in a medical bed before I even knew what was happening. I distinctly remember thinking “Oh Jesus… who is Appendicitis and what the fuck did I do to cause his wrath?”
The surgeon came to greet me in the hospital and that should have been a warning sign, but I was in so much pain that I would have taken, smoked, or injected almost anything at that point. Mr. Slice and Dice had me prepped and ready before the ink on the papers was even dry. The surgery of course went well, but what didn’t go as expected was what occurred when I woke up. I awoke to the same pain that I had prior to the operation and I became furious. Now some of you might think you know “furious.” Unless you have seen a half drugged, screaming Korean throwing bed pans at nurses you have never known furious. I was fucking pissed.
When Dr. Right came to see me he gave me the blue pill. I felt better within ten minutes and he didn’t even have to take any body parts. Imagine that. I was caught between being so relieved that the pain was gone and still being furious over the unnecessary surgery that I just said “thank you.” I had finally learned I had Crohn’s and my nemesis was given a name. To this day I am told Crohn’s is a disease, but if I get to heaven and I find out Crohn’s is actually a person I am going to punch him in the fucking face even if it means I have to turn around and go back the other direction.
I have come to realize I can’t eat certain things, even though occasionally I still do. I shouldn’t drink alcohol… but that just ain’t happening folks. I deal with my pain level every day and that struggle is something only other people that live with constant pain can understand. Dealing with any level of “pain” on a constant, never-ending basis changes your perspective on life. It changes your life. Even if that pain level is a 1 on a scale of 10 it is still a struggle and it is still felt. The human body hates pain and rejects the idea of “accepting” any amount of it on a consistent basis. I know my disease is by far not the worst out there and so I respect and sympathize with those that have terminal illnesses or lifelong diseases. You have my thoughts and prayers.
He passes through your life a shade. A shadow confined to the very edges of darkness and light, he shimmers as he barely exists. Names are given, a personality is painted, and a half image of a man is left. It dissolves like a distant memory as reaching bonds are snapped by the force of departure. Neither cry nor sigh is given in respect. Just a lonely memory that walks alone. Above the moon guides the steps of the lost souls below. They find comfort in the darkness away from the light. A sleeping sin that hums like a forgotten tune. I hear the words still…
There is no passion like forgotten passion. No love like lost love. We journey on towards the light, forever bound by the night. And with the coming day we cry in dismay as we slowly vanish before the warmth. Never to truly know the sun, but forever given a small glance. Just a look at what we will never have.
Racial issues in America will always be dominated by the Black and White issue. The “others” are only remembered when their support is needed or required to justify an action. Or to win an argument. That is when the “other” races are considered and why many of us have an impartial attitude towards the current societal crisis going on in America. It isn’t that we don’t see or hear it, who could not violence and protests are all around us and on every news station, but we also see “above” the current issue. We see the real issue.
The greater majority will always dominate the current concerns of society. Blacks and whites have dominated American culture and history since it was founded and they still consider themselves the most important races here. The reason why there will never be racial unity is because there can never be enough “generations” to gap the feelings of hate a culture that was formerly slaves will feel for the race that was formerly their master. Until some outside force comes that is powerful enough to force us all to unite and see past our past there can never be an end to racism. Since Blacks and Whites have dominated this country’s culture, as I previously stated, their racial feud dominates this culture. It is this culture.
After all the marching and the beating of people in the streets. After all the hatred, the violence, and the tension. After all the anger has been spent and the frustration at past shadows has been used up. People will still need take-out Chinese food at a “dollar a scoop,” they will need their laundry done, an impartial dentist, a stoic doctor, and a friendly liquor store owner to get them the rest of the way home. That is when the “others” will matter. That is when the rest of you will remember us. Don’t forget to leave a tip.
Dear Dog Owners,
Sidewalks are made for humans. If I am walking down the sidewalk with my daughters and your dog is larger than they are you need to make Fluffy walk in the grass. If Fluffy isn’t trained to do that then you should walk your ass in the grass as well. Sidewalks are made for tax paying humans, not for four legged animals that couldn’t care less what they are walking on.
If your dog is larger than my 5 year old daughter don’t allow IT to approach my kids without asking. If my kids approach your dog then that is a totally different story, but there are leash laws for a reason. If you aren’t strong enough to keep your dog in check give your “pet” away or have it put to sleep. If another dog aggressively comes near my daughters that the owner “claims wouldn’t hurt a fly” I will use the belt knife I carry at all times. That is actually a promise and it is a promise made in frustration.
I don’t hate animals, but I am beginning to hate animal owners. Just because your pit bull acts friendly around your kid doesn’t mean it will do the same around mine. I know about dogs and I also know they can be triggered by the smallest thing, sometimes the most random thing. How is my daughter to know that touching his ear will make him bite her? Am I suppose to wait until that happens so you can look shocked and say “Fluffy has never done that!” Uh… no. Like I said, I won’t wait for tragedy to happen to learn a lesson. I’ll create a tragedy instead.
I am sure some animal lover is going to read this and go off. Bite me. Dog owners are becoming as entitled as bicycle riders that hog a whole lane. Move your asses over where you belong and leave the sidewalk to people that walk on two legs.
Silent night come still this thought. Stop it mid sentence as I seek blissful separation. A pause from regret, worry, doubt… life. How I seek the chain that hangs from the cloud of worry. And make it shift elsewhere.
Silent night I dance between my doubts. Upon shattered dreams and broken promises. Upon my life.
In a country as diverse as America you may randomly get asked this question. I suppose that is to be expected, however, there are a few instances where I find it ridiculous. The main instance is when you and I have already had a conversation and THEN you ask me if I can speak English. “No Sir I can’t, I was really just nodding my head to the rhythm of your words…
It was a Saturday night and the wife and I had decided to go to Blackhawk, CO to play at the Indian casinos. We had an amazing time, namely because my wife was extremely lucky that day and hit two large jackpots on slot machines. We of course had a shot of patron for each win, but because I was driving I withheld the urge to have more beverages to celebrate. We stayed a few hours at the casino, more than enough time for me to process twice as much alcohol as I had, but we still made our way carefully down the mountain back towards Denver. The road can be remarkably dangerous and I knew this first hand having hit a deer in my brand new Eclipse a couple years earlier. Apparently deer have no regard for their own personal safety or the image of my baby car which I still mourn to this day.
As we made our way towards the one gas station located a few miles outside of Blackhawk I began to see red and blue lights ahead. I immediately thought it was either an accident or a DUI checkpoint, and sure enough the police were standing in the middle of the road conducting DUI “interviews” on passing cars. I say “interviews” here because the cops were actively talking to each driver and sending the ones they “suspected” of being under the influence to the dirt parking lot nearby. It was my lucky night.
“Sir have you had anything to drink tonight?” the cop asked me.
“I had a couple drinks three hours ago,” I answered honestly. I could actually feel the nervousness from my wife.
A second cop approached from the passenger side and shined his flashlight at me. The first officer placed his hand on his gun and said “I am going to need you to pull over so we can do a quick sobriety test.” He made it apparent this was not a request. “Please pull over slowly to the right and don’t allow your car to break contact from my hand” he said with what I imagine he thought was a stern demeanor.
I pulled slowly over, very slowly, and ensured his grip of authority never lost contact with my vehicle. I was a little nervous, not because of the possibility of blowing over the limit, but because both the cops were white and I have a large suspicion about law enforcement in general. Namely that I think police are worthless for the most part, at least in many of the cities I have lived in, and they seem more gauged at causing trouble for the law abiding citizens than the criminals. Once I had parked my car the cops motioned for me to get out of the vehicle.
The police explained to me that they had pulled me out because they smelled alcohol on my breath. I thought “bullshit” because I had only had two shots and after those I had eaten and drank non-alcoholic drinks. There is absolutely no way he smelled anything but my Febreze air freshener. I was very confident because I knew I was fine to drive and that these cops were just looking for a criminal if they could find one. We spoke for a few minutes in which I explained why we were in the mountains, because apparently Asians don’t travel into the mountains at night because they melt from the high altitude, and then he dropped the question on me.
“Before we begin I need to ask if you speak good enough English to talk to me. Do you need a personal translator?”
I had a hard time biting back my retort which would have thrown me in jail. The deciding factor was his partner who still had not taken his hand off his gun. Overaggressive policemen are not hard to find and they frequent Youtube these days on viral video after video. I wasn’t about to be the next “when police attack video” that got a million hits, it wasn’t worth sacrificing the beauty of my face just for a viral video. But seriously where does a guy get off asking me if I speak fucking English when we just spoke for several minutes and my vocabulary obviously exceeds your own?
We began the test and let me point out that giving ANYONE a DUI test on a gravel parking lot is complete bullshit. I have trouble enough walking a straight line in the street, add some rocks and I definitely wasn’t looking very coordinated. I am a part-time ninja, but I can’t do shit without my ninja outfit. The issue arose when we began the ABC test which consisted of me saying the alphabet backwards. Now I don’t know about the rest of you, maybe I am just a dumbass, but I have never practiced saying the ABCs backwards. Why would anyone learn to do that? I was about two vowels away from getting tackled before I made it through finally. It wasn’t pretty, but I suppose I could have simply said “I guess I really don’t know English…”
So what ends up happening? After all five tests, YES FIVE TESTS, were done the idiot ends up giving me a Breathalyzer test and guess what this non-English speaking Korean blew? 0.00, that is what. I refrained from giving the cops any sign language as we drove off and I am surprised they didn’t chase after me for “accelerating too fast.” What can I say? Cops love me.
1. Women are always saying “get in touch with yourself and get in touch with your feelings.” I believe watching porn accomplishes both of those feats in one blow.
2. Men don’t talk about sexual positions much, except for that ONE FRIEND that acts like the God of All Men and won’t shut the hell up about all his “conquests.” If you are that guy take a hint finally, SHUT THE HELL UP! Because men don’t want to show a “lack of knowledge in certain areas” we turn to porn to learn what we don’t know, and to raise our expectations to a surreal level. Show me a guy that will go to the customer service desk at Barnes and Noble and ask “excuse me can you point me to the books on sexual advice?” I give you ten to one odds you get laughed at if the worker is a male.
3. Because books and pictures lie. Porn is as real as World Wrestling Entertainment.
4. It was an accident. I meant to type in Google.
5. You can get in LESS trouble watching porn than with a Facebook account.
6. Because porn will never break up or dump you. It is always loyal and always there.
7. We watch it for the plot just like we read Playboys for the articles.
I will roll out something a bit different for this site today. I hope you all enjoy it.