mind expanding nonsense

Archive for December, 2010

The End Of The World

Well, here it is ; almost 2011. And you know what is just around the corner. Yep. 2012! That’s when the world is supposed to end and everything turns to shit. Don’t scare me though. I figure how much worse can things get?

Back in the mid 70’s I was a member of the Worldwide Church of God. Now those guys had the end of the world thing nailed. God was gonna unleash some nasty-ass shit on the world, and then send his son to take over for a thousand years. That was in the days when regular Christians were trying to get to know Jesus. [I knew Jesus. He has the gardener who sometimes worked down the street and played some really lousy music, with too many trumpets, way too loud for anyone else to enjoy. But he preferred to be called Hey-Zeus instead of Gee-sus as I often called him. Being a loyal WWCOG member, I could never call him Hey-Zeus, cause that who be like saying hello to Zeus, and Zeus is a false god and I wasn’t no idolater worshiping sinner.] I was off my meds during that time, which goes to show you, yet again: the need for proper medication. I’ll never go off my medication again, too much weird shit happens. Boy, I sure learned my lesson.

Anyway, now all the regular Christians are talking about the end of the world, and even hoping it comes soon. That’s what I thought too, cause when the shit starts to rain down from Heaven, I sure want someone to give me an umbrella. The regular guys think they are all gonna avoid ‘holy shit’ ( see there is actually an approved usage for that popular expression of dismay, which is not gross or blasphemous) by getting raptured. When I first heard the term raptured, I though some hare-lip was really trying to say Ruptured, which reminded me of all the adds I’d seen in 60’s Mens Magazines which asked: “Are you Ruptured?”. Back then I was even unsure what ruptured was let alone raptured (which I now know is a mid-air evacuation of all of Gods’ favorites back to heaven); looked like from the picture that your testicles some how got sucked up into your stomach which now had two pronounce protrusions, and the only solution was to wear a special belt. Come to think of it, there is a common denominator here: The only way to avoid some real pain is to gird up your loins. Preferably with Jesus (not Hey-Zeus).

I don’t know where I going with all this. Guess I have no choice but to live in fear. But wait a minute! Don’t go filling your britches with fear. There’s good news. People have been predicting the end of the world and setting dates for years……and they have all been wrong!

So have a Happy New Year…..might be the last one we’ll ever have.

Don’t call me an Idiot, you Imbecile; I’m a Moron!

Don’t call me an Idiot, you Imbecile; I’m a Moron!

That’s right! I’d take great offense at being labeled an idiot by anyone, and have to insist that rather, I am a Moron. Might sound like a lot of fun-with-words gobbledygook, but there is a big difference.

In early 20th century psychology, an “idiot” was a person with very severe mental retardation. During that time, Dr. Henry H. Goddard proposed a classification system for mental retardation based on the Binet-Simon concept of mental age, and were ranked as follows: Idiots, the lowest you could go, had a mental age of less than three years, and I.Q. Of 0-25. Imbeciles. a step higher, had a mental age of three to seven years, with I.Q.’s Of 26-50. Morons, the highest level yet, had a mental age of seven to ten years and I.Q.’s between 51-70.

At this time, an applied science called Eugenics was being popularized by progressives. It advocated practices aimed at improving the genetic composition of a population through selective breeding of individuals. The movement fell out of favor after WWII, when the Nazi’s took the whole concept to its logical, precision engineering extreme. Interesting how certain concepts lose their popularity, and rapidly fall out of favor when actually tried.

Well, along with the fall of Germany, so too fell the psychological communities’ usage of these terms. But us laymen picked em up right away, and started using them as great insults. Imbecile being popularized by the Three Stooges. Only Idiot is commonly used today, and has it’s own hierarchy of rankings. Goddamn Idiots and Fucking Idiots being examples. According to Eugenics though, you never want to call anyone is a “Fucking Idiot”. They are the last people on earth you want sexually active, and certainly don’t want to put any vile thoughts into their feeble minds. There’s already far too many of them breeding right now in my opinion.

So back to my point. Don’t call me an idiot, or my blog idiotic. Nope. I’m much higher functioning than that. I’m right in there between seven and ten as far a mentality goes. Moron best describes me; and Moronic my style of tried and but true bathroom humor. You can technically call my two and a half year old grandson an Idiot, but he’ll grow out of that. And you probably won’t. So there. We’ll have more on that subject later. Couldn’t resist that one, but hey…I’m a Moron.

Much thanks to Wikipedia for the details.

When is it my turn to be famous?

That’s right, when’s it gonna be my turn to be famous? I’ve been waiting patiently, but nothing’s happened yet. I know I have a multitude of people following me and my blog antics, and I sincerely appreciate all four of you, but real fame? Zippo.

Andy Warhol said everybody should be famous for fifteen minutes. Sounds reasonable, in fact, some people have had more than their fifteen minute share, and even get 30 minutes a week. Sarah Palin has had way too much fame time. And what’s she famous for? Helping McCain lose the election and then bailing as Governor of Alaska. Her new TV show was starting to take a dive in the ratings, so guess what they did? Brought in Kate Goslin (famous for too many kids and letting a marriage turn to shit, plus not being able to dance with the stars) for a visit to Wasilla.

Well ol’ Hansi be dipped in shit if that episode wasn’t on TLC last night, and guess who watched it? Before Kate arrived, Sarah made a trip to the local gun shop to pick up a bear rifle. She was gonna take Kate plus eight camping, and in Alaska you can’t be too well armed if ya encounter a bear (don’t ya know)… [In Southern California we have well armed home-boys to content with.] Sarah fondled all the weaponry in the store, trying out each one, and then merrily walked out to her van carrying a huge package. I wonder if her ratings would surge after she makes a trip to Wasilla’s XXX book store?

After a brief wilderness school with Kate, everybody takes off to the countryside. Kate and Sarah are featured sitting next to each other in a gigantic SUV, with First Dude driving, but wisely saying little. Kate just yaps away, while Sarah feigning interest, is busily texting away. Probably a steady stream of dribble to all her Facebook fans. When they finally get to the camp-site, Kate just complains and whines the whole time about how cold it was; Sarah just rolls her eyes at what a wuss Kate is. Didn’t see any bears, and I could barely stand much more so I clicked on something else.

Anyway, back to me and fame. Does two not famous for anything people make one famous person? Not in my social circles; we are all basically afflicted with the same shit: arthritis, forgetfulness, irritability and lack of testosterone. So if we are all alike, how could one of us be more famous than the other? Advanced stages of the aforementioned don’t make ya famous, just more feeble.

I could go on and on about this cause there’s so many reality shows on the tube about dumb-shits being famous for nothing more than being a dumb-shit. Kat on that Ink tattoo show. Cute girl, but what’s them tattoos gonna look like in 20 years: dumb-shit. Jersey Shore: east coast greaser dumb-shits tryin’ to get into each others’ pants. Guys who run Pawn Shops, do Dirty Jobs, or Pickers going through trash. Maybe we’re the dumb-shits for even watching all this dumb-shit.

What were they thinking?

This will be my shortest posting yet.  All I can say is “What were they thinking?”

See below

Holiday Wishes

Happy Holidays to one and all of my followers. Or maybe that should read Happy Holidays to all one of my followers. Anyway I just wanted to wish the whole world peace, joy and health for the coming year and what better way to do it than on the worldwide web. Yep, with a single click of the mouse, the whole world gets all the wishes for loving-kindness and well-being that I can muster in a single blast. Amazing what one can do with a single key-stroke, but I won’t dwell on that cause it would ruin the spirit of this posting and make ya paranoid.

What’s really important though, universal peace and harmony notwithstanding, is the debut of my grandson Branden’s art work on the web. At age seven you can already tell that boy has talent. And you know where the talent came from. Not only is old Hansi good at spreading what’s on his mind, he was pretty good at spreading his genes too. So featured above is Branden’s holiday greeting drawing. Pretty good!

Not only is Branden a good drawer [people always used to say to me when I was a little boy: “Hansi, you’re such a good drawer, you should be an architect some day.” Well I went into crime fighting instead, and the only thing I drew was the scorn and ridicule of my co-workers; those bastards….. oops, back to Branden] and he reads way above his own grade level. Maybe some day he’ll be making a posting on Grandpa’s blog.. Branden’s Uncle, Bad Deacon, who is also a good drawer, but prefers doing wood-cuts these days, took Branden to Comic Con last summer. Below is the fruit of that expedition.

Drawn by Branden.

What’s in the box?

I wanted to post this drawing because it’s the coolest one I’ve done so far. Then I started looking at it and wondered “what’s in the box?”. Now I know I drew the picture and should know what’s inside the box the guy is picking up, but I only drew the outside of the box, not the inside, so I’m just as clueless as you are.

That got me thinking’ about that old TV game-show, Lets Make A Deal. The one where old Monty Hall would yell out “Who wants to make a deal?” to his audience, and they would go berserk (while dressed in funny costumes and holding signs) just so they could come down and make a deal with Monty on stage. If chosen, you would get a gift, And, the opportunity to trade that gift for something more valuable hidden behind three doors or in three boxes.  Stuff like a fur coat or convertible car. There was also a ‘booby prize’ called a Zonk which may have been something like a goat or ten cases of canned Lima beans. So you took your chances in choosing a door. If ya picked door number one, they wouldn’t show it to you right away, but rather show you the contents of door number two or three. You really had a choice to make: either keep the unknown door you had, or trade it for another more valuable door instead. Then the wheeling and dealing started, with greed and fear taking over, and old Monty really screwing with peoples’ minds.

Unlike Wall Street, this was all done in a spirit of fun, except when ya chose the Zonk, and like an idiot, won a goat. What a loser. But in a place like Afghanistan, the goat is the most valuable prize you could win. What are ya goona do with a fur coat? too hot and the girls couldn’t fit it one under their Berkas. A convertible in Afghanistan? There’s hardly any roads, and if you could find a place to drive that wasn’t littered with land-mines and roadside bombs, your Taliban buddies would think you sold out to the Infidels and sniper your ass from some mountain top. Goat….much more functional prize.  What a show.  Better than the crap on TV these days, which is just about bunch of people running around willing to do anything for money.

So what’s in that box in my drawing? I don’t know….but I’ll gladly trade it for what’s behind door number two.

Visions of sugar-plums are filling my head

Visions of sugar-plums are filling my head. And this year I think I got it bad. Of course, I was much more afflicted as a youth, when little Hansi would secretly peal away loose ends of wrapped gifts to see what might lay therein. Christmas is the strangest time of the whole year. It happens around the time of the winter solstice; the time when the sun hits its lowest point, rests there for three days and then starts it’s wintry return from the grave. Hey! That sounds like someone I know…. but I can’t think of His name. Now the sun really doesn’t move lower, this whole thing has to do more with rotation and axis of the earth in her orbit around the sun. But seeing that I am the center of my universe, I prefer that the sun rotate around me and not visa-versa.

Anyway this whole solstice thing has morphed into something totally different. Gone are the days when a bunch of ignorant savages would light logs on fire and cut down fur trees and decorate them with lights and fertility symbols, with the hopes that this would appease the Sun-god, and hasten his return by tempting him with all these bright shinny objects. Well he fell for it every time (we guys still fall for the trashy look), cause sure as clock-work, he came back year after year. Why mess with success.

Now it’s Santa Claus, and where did he come from? Aside from living at the North Pole, I don’t see any way he could effect the sun to return. Actually Santa started as Saint Nicolas, a guy in Germany who gave away stuff to people, but also kept tabs on em too . The American Santa doesn’t care so much about your behavior, except when it comes to spending money. You may want a White Christmas, but Santa wants a Black Friday even more. So Santa is filling us all with visions of sugar-plums, tempting us with bright shinny objects, hoping we’ll return to his outlet stores. Boy, things sure got switched around. And just as we used to trick the sun into returning, sure as shit, Santa keeps tricking us year after year.

May your Holidays be filled with visions of sugar-plums, and a hallucination or two.


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