If you ever find yourself profoundly intoxicated, resist, if you can, the apparently overpowering urge to strip to your birthday suit, smear yourself in your own feces, and jump shit-covered and nekkid into your neighbor’s pool.
Other note to self:
It’s rather disturbing that the deputies involved needed a dog’s help to find the shit smell. That’s pretty weak. Unless. I mean. The whole town smells like shit.
My term for the flight, on an individual and societal level, from the consumerist orgy of the past few decades. Near totally forced, initially, but perhaps increasingly self-appropriated/chosen. We are ground zero of the Great Revulsion.
Oh. The emptiness. Of it all. The pointlessness. The waste. It is. So. Over. And still they play at breathing life into and propping up the corpse. Like our entire culture is a cross between the films “Groundhog Day” and “Weekend At Bernie’s.” Too bad for them the life cycle of maggots is unaffected by, necrotization is unaffected by spin. Rot is the way of the corpse. Happy thoughts or not. The longer they deny, the longer rebuilding will take.
“A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to let alone.”
Excuse me while I go retch.
You’re basically a chimp. Somewhat taller. With less hair (most of you). A bigger brain, often not put to better use. And a penchant for accumulating crap you don’t need, typically on credit.
If you’re getting much less than eight hours of sleep nightly, you’re digging yourself an early grave. 100 years ago, humans averaged nine hours of sleep per night. Our biology has not changed. The number of silly night-time distractions and availability of electric lighting has.
Turn it off. Go to bed.
And I realize that if there is a world after this one, I’ll have to answer for my transgressions. I believe I can. But I’m getting really pissed off that every time I do a search for canned tuna or canned chicken or canned beef on Amazon or ebay, I keep getting hits for pet food. Pet food shouldn’t be in grocery. It should be in pet care. Damn it.
The man on the radio told me I could make new friends who share my interests. I thought about that for a moment. And then I realized. Or, I mean, I remembered. That I’m a Marxist. As in Groucho. I find the idea of meeting people who share my interests rather unsettling. Such as. They would be freaks. Right? How silly.
“I don’t care to belong to any club that will have me as a member.”
-Groucho Marx
But I do appreciate that because they are so ubiquitous I’m able to walk down the street mumbling to myself incoherently without anyone necessarily assuming that I’m psychotic, or even taking any notice at all for that matter.
I love this world.
I care essentially none about sports. But I do care about fair play. Whether Semenya is biologically male or female I am in no position to say. Of course, I have suspicions.
Semenya calls the gender debate a “joke.” Male, female, androgynous, or extraterrestrial, it is immature and unsportsmanlike of her to take this position. The only possible joke I see here, and it’s more trick, well, cheat really, than joke, is that someone not biologically female be allowed to compete at the world level in female events.
If our definition of female was not good enough to keep one from slipping through, I’m sure we can fix it (and will have to keep fixing it) and do sufficient testing of athletes to prevent this in the future.
I’m not opposed to allowing people who don’t biologically fit well into the confines of a single sex classification, i.e., male or female, to have their own “other” classification for sporting events, in which they can compete against other “others.” And in the future there may be more “others” than not. But they shouldn’t be allowed to use their abnormal sex biology to the detriment of other competitors under the two-sex system as it is structured now.
Other national security assets have self-destruct mechanisms. Just asking.
Internet Gambling Ban Upheld by Appeals Court in Philadelphia
Why anyone cares about Internet gambling when, over the Internet, one can trade highly-leveraged financial instruments to his heart’s content I fail to understand.
Legalize it. Tax it (if you’re into that). Forget about it.
