mind expanding nonsense

Archive for March, 2014

Food Fornication

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Sometimes I get a great flash for a title, and then have to dream up a bunch of filler for subject matter. Well, Food Fornication was as good as it got one night while listening to the Doors.  Grossly inappropriate?  I prefer to think I have a rich imagination: food with a sex-life.  First thing I thought about was serving meals in provocative poses: German sausage smothering in sauerkraut served on a sliced bun.  But in a moment of clarity, I got to thinkin’.  Hell yes food has a sex-life  When we eat it, most of our food is dead, but before we killed it, food was screwing its brains out.

My garden is full of plants pollinating and being pollinated.  Even bees join in for a three-some of fun.  And meat.  You better believe meat was sexually active.  If it wasn’t, we would’ve run out of animals to consume a long time ago.

I’m a liberal kinda guy, and really don’t mind if my food had sex or not.  I just don’t want my food fucking me.  Food is supposed to make you healthy, nourish your body, and not make ya sick.   But there is a major American agricultural giant, we”ll call it Monsanto, that is involved in some major food fornication, creating genetically modified organisms (GMO’s), that like Doctor Frankenstein’s monster are creating all sorts of problems.  This isn’t like breeding plants and creating hybrids.  It’s screwing with a plant’s DNA, splicing certain genetic characteristics into most of the corn, soybeans and sugar beats grown in the USA.

12-13-13 004Here’s where it gets a little crazy and starts to make me paranoid.  These plants are genetically modified to be resistant to herbicides, while containing a protein of Basilius Thuringiensis (a naturally occurring bacteria which causes paralysis to the digestive tract of certain caterpillar/worm-like insects).  Sounds good for the farmer.  He can spray his crops with Round-Up herbicide (made by Monsanto), grow plants (seeds courtesy of Monsanto) that will kill pests upon eating, but not save seeds for next years crop because Monsanto owns the intellectual property rights to those seeds and will sue your ass for doing so.  [I thought God owned all the intellectual property rights to His creation, but I guess Monsanto bought Him out.]

Some would say, and the “experts” assure us, that there is no harm in eating GMO foods.  Maybe so, but I’d encourage you to checkout the Non GMO Project and decide for yourself.  But any plant that can withstand one of the most powerful herbicides around, and be poisonous to bugs is not something I wanna put in my body.  Monsanto can go screw itself, not me!

He’s Back

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Sometimes a man feels like actin’ like a dog.  I do.  But The Wife doesn’t let me very much.  She keeps me on a short leash.  And rightly so, who knows what would happen without my every action being evaluated, criticized and commented on?  It’s one thing acting like a dog, and another thing altogether ending up in the dog house.  No way I wanna put up with that shit, so I keep my canine instincts in check.

But Hot Dog Man sure as hell doesn’t.  Ol’ H D sorta went under cover (but not under the covers) for a while.  But he’s back howlin’ and doin’ all the things ol’ Hansi would never do.  Like leave the toilet seat up.

HDM 003I don’t know why it’s such a big deal with the females of my species.  Hey, I gotta lift it up.  You can lift it down when nature calls.  All I can figure is it must be some sorta old wives tale (the only tail I’m getting) that you never look before ya leak, and take it on faith that seat is gonna be down so ya won’t dip you fanny in a cold bowl of toilet water; yellow for those of us suffering through a drought in California and tryin’ to conserve water with fewer flushes. [That could be nasty].

Unlike Hansi, Hot Dog Man doesn’t have to watch his diet, and can pig-out on whatever he wants.  He also doesn’t have to watch his mouth, and can say any goddamned thing he fucking wants.  That’s why I’m glad he’s back.  I need him.  It’s not me doin’ all this shit. It’s all Hot Dog Man’s fault.


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Hey.  My eleven year old grandson drew the picture above.  The fruit sure don’t fall far from the tree.  The boy’s got talent (thank you superior genetics), but not only that, he’s already developed an interest in trashy lookin’ women.  A chip off the old block.

And while we’re on the subject of trashy lookin’ women, that old country song that said “I like my women a little on the trashy side,” was spot on. [I hate that term.  Sounds like someone lame, tryin’ to sound hip.  “Right on” had more soul]  Anyway, I’m so a-twitter with all things trash, that I thought I’d regurgitate one from the Archives.

This begs the question, and gives me the opportunity to be equally offensive to one and all, if a woman can be trashy, what can a man be.  I know we are pigs, and when not that, just plane swine.  So what do ya call a trashy lookin’ man?

Loser comes to my mind  What thinkest thou?

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Pain In The Ass

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Don’t cha just love that term?  So descriptive.  A  great euphemism (having nothing to do with euphoria) for an irritant, or something you’d rather not do.  I rarely suffer from pains in my ancient ass; generally, all my aches and pains are from the knees down.  But sometimes, things cause my buttocks to boil.  Having to go to work everyday was a major pain in the ass.  Now it’s having to do a bunch of chores around the house before The Wife jumps in my shit, that’s a pain.

scribbles 037It’s funny how ass pains, although located in the same area, can take on a variety of forms, from a variety of causes.  About a year and a half ago, The Wife and I decided to remodel our fifty year old kitchen.  So we went through the whole number.  From floor to ceiling, everything new.  Even added a dishwasher, a great machine for relieving ass pains.  Thank god that’s over and done with.

But the problem is:  Home remodeling is like a highly contagious disease (Herpes and Gonorrhea come to mind), which spreads like wildfire.  That doorway from the dining room we had widened, well, that left a big space of newly plastered wall exposed, which in-turn made the 30 year old wallpaper that was separating at the seams look like hell.  So, while staying in the general vicinity, my ass-pains migrated from the kitchen (right cheek) to the dining room (left cheek).

scribbles 038Well, like deja-vu again, once more our house was sectioned off with plastic sheeting and drop-cloths, with construction guys who liked Mexican music, moving walls around.  Nothing like trying to watch your favorite day-time shows with power tools blasting away.  But thankfully, it’s done, and lookin’ good.  And the good part about ass pains is, they’re transitory in nature and don’t last very long.   Unless you’re still working full-time.

Post Script:  Actually, the dining room job turned out well, and has inspired me to move on into the living room (another chanker sore flaring up), which needs a paint-job desperately. I found that by breaking the dining room job in to small tasks, and taking my time with, that it was totally doable.  Gone, are the days of trying to do a major job like that on a weekend because ya gotta go to work on Monday.

Waiting For Jesus To Return.

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Well, it’s quite obvious that the world is about to end, which signals the ever eminent return of Jesus.  ObamaCare is up and running.  Marijuana use and sales are now legal in Colorado. And people are marrying whoever they choose.  One thing is sure…You can bet your sweet ass that everyone is watching Colorado waiting to see how well legal weed is going.  Cause if it goes well, there’s a shit-load of money to be made by taxing and regulating the hell outta it.  No more Mexican cartels.  The only criminal element involved will be your local Legislators.

3-17-14 002I couldn’t believe the pictures of people lining up around corners waiting to get into a newly opened marijuana store.  All because it’s now legal, so if ya wanna buy a joint and smoke it, that’s your business, and you can do so without the fear of arrest.

A lot of folks are getting high these days.  Maybe there’s too much suffering going on around them, and they just need a little relief.  There won’t be any suffering after Jesus returns.  Just good vibrations, no more war, and people treating their neighbor as they would themselves.  [If there’s not gonna be anymore suffering, and therefore no further need for relief from suffering, I wonder if He’ll re-criminalize Pot?  I’d sure hate to serve time in The Lake of Fire for taking a bong hit].

Maybe Colorado will give us a taste of what it will be like when Jesus returns.  We’ll see.

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I like the feeling of contentment.  When I enter it, there’s a sense of well-being, joy, and a happiness with things just the way they are.  Getting there is the hard part.  Excessive effort won’t get ya there.  Nor will lethargy.  I guess it’s something you just arrive at.

Try this:  Sit down.  Relax.  Let all the tension in your body flow outwards, through your limbs, down to your fingers and toes, and let them shoot out from there like lightning bolts raining down on evil-doers and non-believers.  Well, maybe you could leave out the last part.

When fully relaxed, reflect on all the good things in your life and how wonderful they all are.  Everything is perfect.  Not to worry.  You’re there.  Hope you are content with the content of my contentment.

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I follow this British Blogger who calls herself a scribbler.  Actually it’s “Scribblah”.  I guess English English is different from American English.  But I know what she means.  That’s because I watch Doc Martin every week and now understand half of what they’re saying.  And, I don’t have to have the sound turned up as far as it will go.  That hurts the ears.  But then again listening to vinyl records from the sixties full-blast ain’t exactly an exercise in stillness.  What is a trip sometimes is watching Doc Martin with the sound off, and instead, listening to old records.  “Sitting On The Dock Of A Bay” strangely works in Port Wenn.  Although Louise-er in no way could ever come off sounding like Aretha Franklin demanding a little R E S P E C T from grumpy ol’ Martin. [When will he ever get his shit together?]

scribbles 033Anyway, setting short-term memory loss and an inability to focus aside, I started scribbling just like Rosie (who is quite an accomplished artist), and here’s a few of my efforts.  Actually, very little effort went into them, because by nature, scribbling is fast, free and expressive.  Just like when my five year old grandson was three.  He’d “draw” up a storm.  Mostly up and down movements cause he had no fine motor skills.  We’d praise him  for his ‘art-work’, even though it sometimes looked like crap.  Hey, you can’t be negative with young malleable minds.  They could grab all the guns ya got laying around the house and go shoot-up the local school.  Don’t want that!  But then again, one wants to be as heavily armed as the law allows.  You never an tell when you gotta “stand your ground*” because some ass-hole is pissin’ ya off and playing his goddamned rap music too loud.  At times like that you need as much fire-power as you can get, especially if he’s unarmed.

The government really doesn’t care about how many guns ya have.  The more the better.  It’s kinda like smoking.  Everybody knows that tobacco kills thousands of folks annually.  But there’s money to be made by taxing it to death.

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All they drawings posted were done with a pen I stole from work, on scrap paper scrounged from an art store dumpster.

* For those of you who don’t live in the good old U S of A, “Stand Your Ground” is a Florida self defense law that gives individuals the right to use deadly force (shoot someone) to defend themselves without any requirement to evade or retreat from a dangerous situation.  Like most American laws, they work well for some (heavily armed red-necks), and not so well for others ( African-American youth).

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