The Infamous "Oh."

We've all heard it. We've all said it. The infamous "Oh." "Oh" can stand for many things, but I find the "Oh" usually stands for "Oh, you're right and I'm wrong, and I've just made a huge ass out of myself, but I'm not going to apologize because I don't like being wrong."

The "Oh" is insulting. It's usually uttered after one person has interrupted another, or, they have forgotten information that they were told. For example:

"Where are you going?"
"I'm going over to Jamie's to-"
"Why are you going to Jamie's? I told you we have company tonight!"
"Yes, I know. I'm going over to Jamie's to pick up the punch bowl-"
"Why didn't you do it yesterday? Why do you have to do it today?"
"Because Jamie just got back from vacation, remember?"
"Oh."

I hate the "Oh." If you make an ass out of yourself, if you attack someone or question their motives only to be shown you're doing so in error, be man/woman enough to say you're sorry. Admit you forgot, or didn't know, or didn't care, or whatever. Don't say "oh," and then dissapear around a corner. Saying "Oh" is conceited. It's pompous. It's telling everyone that you're too good to admit you've made a boo-boo. It's saying that you're so superior that you don't need to take responsibility for being a jerk.

To avoid saying "oh," stop interrupting people and listen to what they have to say. Stop jumping to conclusions. Stop making assumptions. Realize that you don't know everything, and that other people in this world have the freedom to move about without having to explain themselves to you. The less you question, the less likely you are to need the "Oh." And for God's sake, once you've been proven wrong, leave it alone already.

For example: "After years of fruitless searching, thousands of wasted dollars, millions of unanswered questions, never ending media coverage, ruining our reputation, and ending innocent lives, we've found not one lick of evidence that suggests Iraq ever had weapons of mass destruction, Mr. President."

"Oh."

Yee-HAW!

I had the best weekend. My weekend was so great that I don't even care that it's Monday. I had about 18 lengthy stops due to construction and arrived at the office half an hour late. No problem.

As some of you may know, this last weekend was the NFL draft. For those of you unfamiliar with this phenomenon, the NFL teams draft new players in a long, drawn-out, useless ceremony that lasts two days. It is my idea of pure hell, it is heaven for my husband. For the last two years my husband and I planned on being apart for this event. For the last two years something has happened and our plans have been ruined.

Not this time.

I woke Sat. morning to find my best friend, Alissa, already at my house. It was only seven thirty, but we had a 9am spa appointment. She was deliriously happy for being up that early on a Saturday. She's an early riser anyway, but it took me a few minutes to wake up. I finished packing a bit and we drove off into the gray morning.

The Spa was located in a hella-strip mall. We stopped by the Break Company and stuffed ourselves before going to the spa. We'd never been to this one before. It looked nice and clean, but the professionalism was something to be desired. I think the desk-girl was stoned. No one seemed to know what was going on. Two girls, we'll call them Bubbly and Perky, escorted us back to the locker area and told us to get naked. They gave us two small packages that looked like those plastic rain hats from the 60's and pointed us to the bathroom. Inside were warm robes and warm slippers. We stripped down and opened our little packages. I'll call them underwear because that is what they closely resembled, only it was like having a thong made out of two back ends. They were made of some plastic/paper kind of material and the minute I put mine on, my butt ate it. Alissa's fared a little better.

So we go into this room that has two beds made up and a bar-b-que cooker looking thing sitting on a table. Neither of these girls were real sure about the process. They needed to measure us before the wrap. Perky measured everything from neck to ankle, making small pen marks wherever she laid the tape measure. Then Bubbly opened the cooker and took out steaming hot rolls of gauze.

I've never been mummified, but it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Maybe because I didn't have to have the whole jam-a-stick-up-your-nose-scramble-your-brain thing beforehand. They wrapped everything but the breasts, (we didn't want any shrinkage there). I looked like a bad porn mummy. Then Bubbly brings out this rubber suit that I have to climb into. Note: try putting on a rubber suit with arms and legs that won't bend without looking like an ass. It's hard to do.

Alissa went through the whole thing and they laced her up in this light blue dough boy suit that tied at the neck. She didn't have to bend her arms! For the next forty five minutes we lay there with cold packs over our eyes listening to sounds of the rain forest. Each new sound made me want to pee. The unwrapping wasn't as pleasant, I was cold and wet when Perky measured me again. I lost two inches from my waist and abdomen. My wrists gained half an inch. Alissa lost in her tummy, too.

They told us to drink a gallon of water during the day. We trooped on over to Dierberg's and got two gallons...as well as a 24 pack a Bud Select, a bottle of champagne, a tub of strawberries and some yummy yogurt dip. Then we went back to my place to collect the clothes.

My husband made a reservation for us at the Cheshire Inn and Lodge. He reserved a fantasy suite but refused to tell us which one it was. I didn't mind, but it was driving Alissa crazy. The Friday before he had sent her an email with details about the room. It read, "The room has a floor, four walls, a jacuzzi, a bed, a bathroom, and a ceiling."

We did a little shopping and then stopped at a Mexican place for some margarita's. (Side Note: a gallon of water can go through the body at an amazingly fast rate.) Check in was at 3pm and they meant it. We arrived at the hotel around 2:59pm. Seeing us unload the car, you'd have thought we'd be there a week. Water, beer, dresses, suitcases, purses, shoes, and beauty products--we took up the whole elevator. We got the card key to our room and raced down the hall to see which one it was.

The Captain's Quarters. It's the same room I stayed in on my wedding night. It is a gorgeous room. Everything is wood, you have to take your shoes off before you can even enter the room. There is a fireplace with two Queen Ann chairs facing it, a marble table, a bar, a huge armoire, a leather steamer trunk that held the phone with two chairs, the King bed on this huge platform made of marble, mirrors on the ceiling, another desk with a huge mirror, a hammered brass table by the bed, and sitting in the corner is a big, black two-person jacuzzi. We were naked in twenty minutes enjoying that thing.

We popped open the champagne and ate the strawberries. The cab was coming to get us at 7pm. By that time we had put a pretty good dent in the 24 pack and were ready to eat. Alissa had to go to the car to find her bank card, so I headed toward the entrance to see if the cab was waiting. See, we didn't know where we were going. My husband had made dinner reservations as well and didn't tell us where. I saw this guy sitting on a chair in the lobby, but I almost ignored him as I hurried by. I'm married, I don't need to look.

Good thing I did, it was my baby! He was all dressed up in his suit looking so nice. I was so surprised, and Alissa nearly fell out as well. She's never seen my husband dressed up. He drove us to Bar Italia where we had a wonderful dinner. The wine was just right, the food was sooooo good. Around 9pm the car hubby ordered showed up and we said good night. I was sad to see him go.

Will, our driver, was the nicest guy. We told him to take us back to the hotel so we could change clothes. Alissa mentioned that she was getting a headache, so while we were changing Will drove to a store and got three different types of pain relievers. What a guy. We got back in and drove across the river to Larry Flint's Hustler Club.

Ladies - If you want to go out with your girl friends and not be hit on by guys yet still have a wild time, go to the strip clubs. We had the greatest time. Aside from the drink prices being a bit elevated ($10 for one martini, and it ain't no big martini, either), we found ourselves sitting front stage by the pole. Women loved us. The guys watching the women loved us. I've never really realized that the female body can be so soft. Some of these girl's were amazingly talented, I'll just leave it at that. Before we knew it, it was almost 1am. We left the club, thanked Will, retired to the jacuzzi and didn't get out until we were pruned.

Sunday morning wasn't as ugly as we thought it would be. We even felt like eating breakfast. It was sad leaving that beautiful room and going back to reality. Alissa dropped me off and went home. I took the best nap. My husband pampered me for the rest of the day. I was in bed by 10pm. I had the strangest dream, though. I was looking for my cat at Larry Flint's, only the whole place was filled with gray tabbies. None of them were mine. Hmmm, my pussy was lost at the strip club. Analyze that.

Some People SHOULD Die

I am not a proponet of road rage, but there are some instances where stupid people should be run off the road and beaten to a bloody pulp.

For example, when someone is sitting outside the turn lane blocking traffic because they want to turn. There is a whole lane just for you. It's not a special lane for emergency vehicles, it's for you! See, you get inside the turn lane and then you don't block traffic that wants to go straight.

Or people who put their brakes on when they approach a traffic light that is green. It's green. Green means go. Why are you slowing down? Why are you breaking? Yeah, it's going to turn red, but there is a yellow light first. It doesn't go from green to red, making you slam on your brakes before cross traffic slams into you. That's the reason the yellow light was put in the middle, see? It's green, GO!

These people really annoy me: They are in the left hand lane and want to make a right. You know your turn is coming up. You know you want to turn right. Why are you waiting until the last possible moment? Now you have to stop, blocking traffic behind you, and try to cross 2 or 3 lanes of traffic on the right.

We as a species should be allowed to murder off those of us swimming in the shallow end of the intellectual pool. People who drive stupid are the ones causing all the accidents anyway. Those who drive while talking on cell phones should be shot on sight. If you're weaving, you're too dumb to handle two tasks at once, hang up.

And you little soccer moms driving hummer's and SUV's like they're made of Nerf need to be flogged in public. If you cut off a smaller car, it's still going to hit you. Just because you have three tons of metal surrounding you does not mean you are invincible. Get a freaking clue already.

Oh, and remember, once you get out of that thing, I can kick your ass all over the parking lot.

Oh, You Poor Little Babies

I overheard a conversation yesterday that was really unbelievable. I was headed to the cafeteria for lunch when I heard two students talking about smoking. I'll spare you the details and just skip to the end.
"Soon enough, we'll only be able to smoke in our house or car."
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

All I can say is, "GOD, I HOPE SO!"

I have heard enough smokers whining and bitching about their rights being trampled. How dare you talk about people's rights when you, the smoker, trample my right to breath clean, fresh air everyday. Cigarette smoke makes my eyes water, my throat itch, and my stomach nauseous. That's just the way it is. It's an involuntary response. I have paid for meals that I could not eat because some asshole can't understand he's sitting in a NON-smoking section. I have had to bail out on girls night so I can go puke in the parking lot. I deal with cigarette smoke everyday and I hate it.

I come to work, get out of my car, and pass through a haze of cigarette smoke on my way to my building. Why? Because the construction workers are taking their break in the garage, sitting on the tails of their pick-up trucks puffing away. On any given day my office will fill with the putrid smell because the students in this building are too stupid or too lazy to walk to the other side of the building to smoke. Instead, they stand right by the air intake on our ventilation systems. Thus, their smoke gets sucked into the fans and distributed around the building. It doesn't happen every day, but often enough to really piss me off.

If I take a walk to anywhere on campus I will pass through an average of four clouds of cigarette smoke...sometimes there isn't even anyone around! Yeah, that's right, smoke doesn't just disappear into the air and go away, it travels. At the end of the day it's back through the garage. Now that the weather is nice, I like to roll down my car windows. I can't tell you how many times the asshole in front of me blows his smoke out his window and directly into mine. I'm sitting in my own damn car, people, and smoke is coming into it. I have to roll up my windows just to drive home. And your rights are being trampled?

I don't go to clubs or bars because Missouri refuses to institute an anti-smoking law. It's bad enough that I have to sit in a restaurant with smoke filtering through. (Why, oh why, can't you people figure out that plants and furniture do not keep non-smoking separated from smoking. You need a wall and one hell of a filtration system.) I can't go anywhere, and I mean ANYWHERE without having smoke in my face. Public parks, nature preserves, amusement parks, concerts, trade-shows, auctions, water parks, grocery stores, malls, you name it. I am constantly surrounded by smokers and I can not escape the smoke unless I go home and isolate myself.

It's about damn time you smokers feel what it's like to be me. I hope you have to stay in your home with your door and windows closed. I hope you have to roll your windows up in your car. I hope you have to stay away from public places for fear of retribution if you light up. I want you to become as much of a prisoner as I am. My freedom of clean air has been taken away from me. Your freedom of ruining it should be taken away from you.

(Note: There is only one person in this world whose smoke doesn't bother me, and he lives in Savannah, GA. Maybe it's because he doesn't smoke those heinous Marlboro.)

Bad Poetry

I am not a poet by any means. I don't understand most of what I read, and I've written very few poems. However, there is a person in my Literature class who inspired this little ditty, so I jotted it down. I was going to give it the title "Mr. Know-it-all", but that just didn't work. I really have nothing else to say today, so enjoy.

I Know Your Kind
I know your kind.
You sit there and spew clever banter,
Dropping pearls of humor like animals drop droppings.
You spider, how many make it out of your web?
How many carcasses dangle in the breeze,
Their clumbsy thumping music to your ears?

Oh, you're quick with the compliments and heavy on the compassion,
But your words manipulates in a mind-numbing fashion.
What can you do for me,
What can I use?
How far can I push you,
How much can I abuse?

I fell victim to one like you before.
It shames me.
But because I stood so close to the fire,
My cobwebs were burned away.
I've seen the show.
I know your kind.

Thank you, thank you. I hope your eyes didn't bleed. Stay away from serpents with smooth tongues.

23 Freaking Miles

That's how far I rode on Sunday. My husband and I participated in the "Spring Chicken Ride" held in Bu-fu, Illinois. It was such a nice day. We got up early, donned our maxi-pants and bike gear, loaded it all into the car, and drove an hour into corn country. When we arrived the place was crawling with bike enthusiasts. I've never seen so many people who all looked the same so excited about physical exercise.

We paid our fee and prepared to start the ride. I made sure to go to the bathroom beforehand because there was nothing but open, flat land from start to finish. My chain fell off my bike before we got started. My husband put it back on, but just as we started riding it locked up on me. I should have seen the signs, they were right in front of my face, but I ignored them and went forward.

The first half of the ride was pleasant. I got a little winded in the beginning, but once I found my rhythm I could actually breath and take in the scenery. I was wearing my camel back, a backpack that holds a lot of Gatoraide with a "straw" right near my mouth, and drinking pretty well. People passed us, we passed others, it was nice. I asked my husband how far we'd gone and he said "about 8 miles." Hey, that wasn't so bad. Maybe I could learn to like this.

Uh-huh.

We made it to the first stopping point and took a break. My husband introduced me to Gu. It's an energy....well, it's the consistency of snot, really. I had orange snot while Hubby had chocolate. We washed it down with water and got back on the road. Here we encountered a huge gradual incline that made my legs burn, but the rewarding downhill coast was pleasant.

Then my body said "screw it, you're on your own." I asked my husband how far we had come. "About 13 miles." Great, more than half way. I could hang on. We turned onto a road that looked flat, but it was another gradual incline that required constant peddling. About then any body part touching my seat went numb. My wrists and arms started getting stiff. My legs kept pumping up and down, but it was only because my feet were locked in.

Another two miles and all humor left. Hadn't we reached the top of this damn incline already? How can a road keep going up and up? Where the hell was my husband? Oh, he was that orange dot waaaaaaaay ahead of me. I'm sucking on my camel back like it's oxygen. I have snot coming out of my nose and my eyes are starting to water. Those body parts touching the seat have gone from numb to on fire. And why are we still going up!?

I...can't...keep...going...on. I'm trying to go as fast as I can, but a toddler could waddle past me. 18 miles, almost there. The hurricane-like head wind isn't helping, either. By my calculations, we should be ending this damn ride soon, but all I see is open farmland and all those perky, colorful riders. I've come to hate them all. 21 miles. Another two miles and all I can see are the hateful pink dots painted on the road telling me I'm still going in the right direction. I catch up to my husband and he tells me, "less than a mile, honey."

My husband needs a SERIOUS distance class, because less than a mile turned out to be three more. We passed by the town diner and the smell of fried chicken nearly made me hurl. We finally got to the car. I tossed my bike on the grass with every intention of leaving it there. My legs were rubber, my arms and ass were on fire, and I couldn't stop hyperventalting. The only thing that stopped was the mantra "Who do I kill to make this stop," that had been going through my head for the last half hour. By my calculations, we rode 28 miles and someone, SOMEONE was going to pay for it.

Then my husband tells me that he lied to me. When I asked him how far we had gone, he tacked a few more miles onto the number. I don't know what the hell he was thinking. All he did was give me false hope that the ride would be over sooner than it was. I felt I had been screwed by the organizers. When I thought I only had two more miles to go, I actually had five. Thanks, honey, for doing that to me. I can't tell you how much I appreciated it. If I had had the energy to break your nose, I would have. Don't you EVER lie to me again, got it?

I was in bed by nine, but only after I had eaten everything in the house. This morning my neck and shoulders were killing me, but surprisingly, not much else. I won't be riding next weekend, I don't care how nice it is.

H.R.1440

People, we need to get off our asses. Congress is doing evil things behind closed doors and it needs to stop. Already, Congress has passed a radical bankruptcy law that makes it harder for people to erase their debt. As found on iwon.com:

"The bill marks the second major change in law to benefit business (benefit BUSINESS) since Republicans fattened their House and Senate majorities in last fall's elections. Bush said he was eager to sign the bill to curb abuses of the bankruptcy system. Opponents say the change would fall especially hard on low-income working people, single mothers, minorities and the elderly and would remove a safety net for those who have lost their jobs or face mounting medical bills. At the same time, they say, the bill fails to restrain aggressive marketing and high rates charged by credit card issuers."

So let me get this straight, Congress passed a bill that protects the credit card companies while screwing the poor people. Yeah, that sounds about right. But, that's nothing compared to what Congress is trying to do now.

As found on Bernie Sander's (I-VT.) website:
"The US. House of Representatives overwhelmingly approved legislation that seeks to exponentially increase fines broadcasters and performers pay for violating the nation's indecentcy laws. On a 389-38 vote the lawmakers brushed aside criticisms by some Democrats that the increase would chill constitutionally protected speech."

Bernie was on Howard Stern this morning and told him something I could not believe. The FCC and Congress wants to pass a law that will allow them to censor satellite radio and cable TV. That means they will decide what is indecent and what is not, and they will fine whomever they want when they feel they have broken the law.

"Pooh," you say. "If they tried to do something like that, we'd hear about it." Oh yeah? Did you hear anything about that bankruptcy law? No. And why? Because congress feels they have the right to control our lives without us having a say-so in the matter. The right-wing conservatives feel they have the right to run this country as they see fit. I don't know about you, but it really pisses me off.

People, we PAY for cable TV and satellite radio. We have the right to listen to anything, or watch anything, we want. Congress and the President have NO RIGHT telling us what is indecent. We are intelligent beings, we are more than capable of figuring it out ourselves. They are trying to take away our RIGHTS, and the majority of us are sitting on our asses letting them. Put down your Enquirer and pay attention.

"But, what can we do?" you ask. I'm glad you asked, here's what you do. Call, email, or write your local congressman and tell him to support H.R. 1440, a bill that Bernie Sanders wants to pass that will STOP congress and the FCC from censoring cable TV and satalite radio. Tell him/her that is his/her job to protect your rights, not take them away. They work for us, people, not the other way around.

Freedom of speech is our constitutional right, given to us by the men who founded this country. What right does Bush and the FCC have to disregard the constitution just because they don't like what's on TV? They don't. Take a stand, or loose freedom like you've never imagined.

For those who live in St. Louis: Kenney Hulshof is our congressman. He can be reached at (636) 239-1987, or visit his website at www.hulshof.house.gov. Also contact Jim Talent (Senator), at (314) 432-5211 or Kit Bond (Senator), at (314) 725-4484.

Freedom is not just another word.

Spinning Out of Control

I took my first Spin class last night. My husband's boss won a free class for up to twenty people and she asked us to go along. Now, I'm not a novice. I know what a spin class is despite never attending one. I was not looking forward to it by any means but, hey, can't lose weight if you don't exercise. I strapped on my still new sneakers, slid on the maxi-pants all bikers wear and we headed off to the studio.

We were the first to arrive. The building is small and reminds me of a half-completed construction warehouse. There is music dully thumping from behind a closed door and no one in sight. When we approach the counter, a boy as skinny as a rail and all of 14 asks us to fill out this form. It is your typical "We can not be held responsible for your bodily harm, injury, or death," form. Great, what have I gotten myself involved in if I have to sign away my own death? I was feeling a bit apprehensive.

Then the others showed up. These people all ride on a regular and sometimes maniacal basis. I knew most of them on a "Hey, how you doing?" basis. NOT on the kind of level where I am comfortable seeing all the men, and I mean ALL of the men, hanging out (pun intended) in their bike shorts. One boy, whom I have never met before, takes off his clothes right in front of me. I didn't know where the hell to put my eyes. I'm not prude, but it's not polite to stare at someone's penis when you first meet them. The class couldn't start soon enough.

Then the perky instructor showed up. With a salad. Her name was Nicole and she had just completed another class at a different facility. Now she was munching away and getting ready to instruct us. I hated her on sight.

Finally, the door opens and a brothel of big, sweaty, red-faced people pour out. These are not the kind of men and women you see everyday. Usually, they are in a ring with colorful tights throwing each other around. If they are huffing and puffing, I don't stand a chance in hell. I quickly ran through every contagious disease I knew and tried to pick one the others would believe. Can't ride with you if I have malaria, right?

Too late. We entered the small room full of bikes and talk... about... funk! Nicole asked if she could open the two bay doors and met no resistance whatsoever. She checked everyone in the room and made sure our seats were at the right position, our handlebars, and the pedals were all correct. I found myself sitting behind mostly everyone. Ass as far as the eye could see.
My husband took a bike on the other side of the room.

Perky Nicole started the class and I started peddling. The little knob in front of us was our "gear shift". We could add or subtract as much resistance as we wanted. I turned mine all the way down to no resistance whatsoever. Hey, this wasn't so bad. We peddled fast. We peddled slow. We stood up. We sat down. Man, this really was a great work out. Then the bitch says, "Ok, that's all for the warm up."

She proceeded to torture and abuse our bodies in every way imaginable for the next hour. Each and every time I was sure my heart would explode, she'd say "Go up a gear." Are you kidding me? I lost feeling in my legs twenty minutes ago. The only thing that wasn't numb was my ass. The mattress in my bike pants wasn't enough at all, and the fact that it was slowly becoming a thong didn't help matters, either. I would have gotten off, but my feet were caged in. Oh, she was clever. I began to get sweaty and the open bay doors were the only thing keeping me conscious.

Images of Nicole roasting over the open fires in hell were the only thing keeping me going. Finally we reached the end and did some stretches. I was so happy. Then I got off the bike and my legs damn near buckled. My knees were on strike. Walking away was like wading through jelly. People talked, but I could only hear the rapid hammering of my heart. My face was red. Somehow we made it to the car and finally to bed. The only other person who had it rougher than me was my husband. He almost puked.

I'll stick to real cycling, thanks. It's a lot less strenuous and has a much better view.

Just Thinking

Bush's approval rating has taken a dip to 44%. Why? Raising gas prices, that little war in Iraq, and the Terri Shiavo case. The only thing lower than his approval rating is Congress' approval rating. Seems these republican fucks can't handle power. It hasn't even been a whole year yet and over half the country wishes Bush would have lost the election.

I watched this documentary on a woman who is a dwarf and has no arms raising a child. I thought I had problems. A little cellulite on my butt is nothing compared to that. More power to her, raising a kid is hard enough with arms, I can't imagine doing it without. Me, well, I'm not going to do it at all.

Yesterday was my sister's birthday and I went over to her house. Her boyfriend had done a great job cleaning it. My nephew was doing his best to destroy it. And his room! My god, it looked like a crack house for kindegardeners. I know kids are messy, but I can't remember our rooms ever being that trashed when we were kids. If made that kind of mess, we ususally got a red ass and then had to clean it up. Immediately.

I work for a University. Every year the Frats and sororities have a carnival. They build little booths and have rides and cotton candy and so on. It takes them a month to build these things and a week to set them up. I was walking around campus today, trying to get rid of said cellulite-ridden ass, when I came to a blockade. Now, I'm all for keeping other students away from your hard work because other students can be selfish, destructive, and rude. But I'm an employee and until you pay my salary, you can't tell me what to do. The little twit who tried actually went to grab my arm.

I am a master of evil looks. I can give a look at twenty paces that will make hair fall out. I reserve my meanest, nastiest, most evil looks for people who truly deserve to be threatened. Oh, and it is a threat. I can't give that look without having the will to back it up. So when this turd's hand started reaching for me I looked him straight in the eye and sent him a plethora of deadly intentions. Promises to hang him from fish hooks and filet the skin from his body, and then squirt lemon juice on him once I was done. To disembowel him slowly and make him eat his own organs. That, and I'd enjoy it. Once he was dead I'd go home and sleep like a baby. All this I packed into that look.

The kid backed away and left me the hell alone. I was pleased. I hadn't used that look in a long time, glad to know it still packs a punch.

That's all for now.

St. Louis, You Suck!

You dropped the ball. You didn't do your job, St. Louis. If you had, Nikko Smith would not have been voted off American Idol last night and that fat, pudding-headed, can-eat-a-whole-chicken-like-a-tic-tac, narcissistic mother fucker would have gone home like he was supposed to. What's wrong with you? The phone call is free. All you had to do was dial one little number. Are you that damn lazy?

I realize that American Idol is by no means an important issue in our daily lives, but damn, how can two sucky-ass, talentless singers stay while a talented, entertaining guy goes home? Anthony Federov, aka Trach Boy, and that conceited slob Scott have sucked balls on a consistent level. One has a bad attitude and one can't find a pair of pants to fit. You figure out which is which.

I'm so disappointed. All I hear today is that "Nikko shouldn't have got voted off." Yeah, well, did you vote? Oh, you didn't, well I guess that answers your question, huh. For those of you who have never been to this fair city, St. Louisans are the biggest apathetic bunch you'll ever meet. We sit down at concerts. We don't support the arts. We don't participate in groups. We don't hold rallies or protests unless beer is involved. We'd much rather sit on our back porches drinking a Bud complaining about the world than get off our fat asses and do anything about it.

As well evidenced by last night... I'm sorry, Nikko, we let you down.

Pope on a Rope

I heard the Pope wasn't embalmed. Excuse me? You have parishioners and Heads of States paying homage to a literally rotting corpse? How is this spiritual? If you're going to lay a guy out for a week, you have a responsibility to do it wisely.

Pope or no Pope, human bodies decay when the blood stops being pumped through it. (Contrary to popular belief, the Pope was flesh and blood just like the rest of us.) I hope to God no flies have gotten into the church. It's going to be hard to explain to the masses why maggots are crawling out of the Pope's eyes. And let's not even talk about gases, okay. They build up, no matter if the body is in the woods or lying on a table dressed in finery. Those gases are going to have to come out sometime. Usually, they follow the path of least resistance and go through a hole that's already there. However, if that hole is, um, blocked, they'll find another route. Usually, by exploding through the stomach. WHat's going to happen when they move his body? KA-BLOOEY! Yeah, let's have that happen. Let's not even go into what happens to skin when one dies. I know the Pope was old and leathery, but it is just barbaric to have his face rot off in front of spectators.

This is 2005, people, not the middle ages. Embalm the guy already. He's dead, he doesn't care. But to subject hundreds if not thousands of people to the dangers of a rotting corpse is asinine, even for Catholics.

Now We're Really Screwed

As seen on iwon.com.

"Officials Urge Renewal of Patriot Act: The Bush administration's two top law enforcement officials on Tuesday urged Congress to renew every provision of the anti-terror Patriot Act. FBI Director Robert Mueller also asked lawmakers to expand the bureau's ability to obtain records without first asking a judge...asking Congress to expand the FBI's administrative subpoena powers, which allow the bureau to obtain records without approval by a judge or grand jury."

WHAT?! You're telling me that the head of the FBI wants complete control in pulling records of anyone he damn well wants to without any checks and balances whatsoever? Hell no, do you know what that means? That means the FBI could arrest, detain, interrogate, and imprison anyone they want to without so much as a peep from the real world. They can come into your home and take you, just snatch you right up, and no one would know about it. What rights would you have? None.

Luckily, not every person in the senate has their heads up their asses. The article continues, "Sens. Larry Craig, R-Idaho, and Dick Durbin, D-Ill., planned to reintroduce legislation designed to curb major parts of the Patriot Act that they say went too far. 'Cooler heads can now see that the Patriot Act went too far, too fast and that it must be brought back in line with the Constitution.'" Oh yeah, that flimsy piece of paper that gives citizens rights.

Here are two things the current Patriot Act allows:
* The "library provision" allows secret warrants for "books, records, papers, documents and other items" to be subpoenaed from library's, bookstores, hospitals, and gun sales. Since the PA has been in place, 35 such subpoenas have been filed. NONE for library's, bookstores, hospitals, or gun stores.
* The "sneak and peek" provision allows delayed notification warrants. Those warrants allow federal officials to search suspects' homes without telling them until later. Since 2001, there have been 155 such warrants.

Does anyone remember Hitler? He didn't take over Germany in one day. He slowly hacked away at the laws that did not allow him complete control and replaced them with laws that did. He convinced the people that he was doing so for "their own good." He told them he was "protecting" them. We all know what Hitler did once he had complete control, don't we.

I fear for this Nation, I really do.

You heard it here first

What did I say? All those nice people who donated money and time to the Terri Shiavo case are getting thanked by what? Having their names and addresses sold to a marketing company by the very people they supported. What a shitty-ass, cold-hearted, corporate thing to do. Oh, but don't get them wrong, they only sold the list "for Terri."

Hey, um, you might not have heard, but TERRI'S DEAD.

Never have I seen such blatant disregard for humanity. If anyone doubted that Terri's parents didn't give a fig about their daughter and only wanted the attention her case brought, here you go. Gotta stay in the spotlight, folks. Gotta get that media airspace. The next time you see these poor, grieving, heart-broken parents, give them a big, loud "Boooooooo!"

I Knew It!!

Sure enough, Terri Shiavo's parents are bitching about how they weren't with their daughter when she died. I'm sorry, hypocrites, but if you cared so much about being with Terri, why didn't you visit her on Easter? Why did you leave her alone more and more as the media attention grew? The only reason they are complaining now is to keep media attention on themselves. They've lost their cash cow, so now they have to find another. They disgust me. Now we'll have to hear about the dueling memorials. They'll fight about what to do with her body. They'll try to sue whomever they can for whatever reason they can, and all the while tout that they are doing this "for Terri." Don't be fooled. They are doing this for themselves. One can't be surrounded by sympathetic protesters if one just goes home.

She's dead, leave it alone already. Pick up your lives, get one with them, and leave the rest of us the hell alone.