Tagged: women
Shocking GOP Confession: New AR Underwear Political Tactic Gone Wrong
On Wednesday, in what can only be described as a stunning and devastating admission, GOP leaders took full responsibility for the recent controversy last weekend’s release of “Anti-Rape” underwear caused. The party, clearly in no position to risk alienating women voters, is yet again doing an about-face after choosing the wrong side of an issue. This time, however, the demand for an explanation has elicited an even more shocking revelation than simply owning up to having created the controversial AR underwear itself.
Speaking under anonymity, one leader shared, “Times are tough. The rules seem to be disappearing. We just care so much about America that we were willing to try anything. We made a mistake.”
Karen, a local feminist leader, went so far as to claim, “The creation of AR underwear is the single largest setback in the struggle for gender equality. Ever. Rape is not a woman’s fault. Period. Historians will record this as the straw that broke the GOP’s back.”
The details are still sketchy, but we now know that the GOP is, in fact, the creator and sole financial backer of the AR underwear. Constructed out of blade-resistant materials, the AR underwear is nearly impossible to remove without knowing the combination to a special locking mechanism in the waistband. Had the public blindly accepted them at face value the story might have ended there. Unfortunately for Republicans everywhere, the public didn’t accept the underwear. Public pressure mounting, one of the creators finally came forward with an explanation yesterday.
A high-ranking party member confessed, “You want to know the truth? The truth is we need liberals to stop breeding. That’s it. It’s a numbers game. To achieve this, we created a ridiculous pair of underwear that can’t be removed. Everyone involved loved it–until we realized we still needed to give liberal women a reason to wear them.” Clearly agitated, the informant then bemoaned, “Liberals are so damned captivated by the infantile desire for a life without consequences that we thought this “Anti-Rape” marketing campaign might be a winner. Boy were we wrong.”
The informant further lamented, “Everyone knows we’re desperate. We were thinking of our children. We had to try something to put them back in the majority. Regrettably, it looks as though this will be the final nail in our great party’s coffin.”
In what seems little more than a swan song, the informant assured this writer that all remaining GOP congressional and senate salaries will be donated to organizations dedicated to reducing sexual assault in America.
Why I Hate Blogging
“No, ‘hate’ is not too strong,” he said, raising his voice. “I think it is perfectly descriptive. I. Hate. Blogging.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause it gives me hope,” he lamented. “I hate that I sit there, typing away on those loud keys, pouring out myself in words, and afterward I discover a few other humans ‘like’ or ‘follow’ the blog.”
“Not makin’ sense friend.”
“Okay, let me put it this way,” he continued laboriously. “I feel alone in the world sometimes. You know, the whole ‘misunderstood’ crap people talk about? Yeah, that’s how I feel sometimes-”
“We all do, dude.”
“-Right. But there is a difference. I can write. I can communicate myself to others. I can waive a flag letting people know ‘I’m alive. If you are, too, let me know.’ Not everyone can do that. So I started writing. I started putting myself out there–no holding back. I even wrote a post which taught some of my senior-citizen followers a new curse-word, which I have since made private because it was so shameful.”
“The ol’ ‘fucktard’. I remember that one.”
“Yeah. Anyhow, every once in a while people respond favorably. I was shocked that people responded at all. So, you can imagine how it feels when people respond favorably. More than favorably, sometimes people will comment in a way that shows they got it. And in getting it they get me.”
“I see, Pete. I see. You hate blogging because it gives evidence that there are people out there who get you. But, you think this doesn’t really count, because you only know this via the computer. And this digital evidence, as it were, downgrades it to little more than hope.”
“Exactly. See, that’s why I’m telling you this. You get me. I get you. But I don’t feel like there’s many others out there. And so this blog, then, is little more than the force that propels the emotional pendulum which swings from ‘Hey, life’s great. It’s filled with people who live on this planet’ to ‘how is this world even self-sustaining?'”
“Well, as you know, I don’t know what to tell you. Cheer up. I like reading your stuff. It makes me laugh.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Thanks.”
Come See My New Blog!
I can’t lie. I’m pretty excited about this. I’ve recently decided to create several new blogs.
While WordPress is great, I’m going to employ other hosts. Slightly different from this one, my new blogs don’t have a dedicated URL, but I think it might actually be better this way. To find them, you’re going to need to visit either OKCupid, eHarmony, or Match.com. Now, other people blog there too, so you’ll have to search for me. Since I know you like my writing already, at least a little, I’ll give you my screen name to make it easier: meanknowitall2637864473. (It’s the same for all three sites).
You’ll find that the posts will be a bit different than you’ve grown accustomed to. To be blunt, they’ll be more personal. I guess I feel this “Captain’s Log” concept is a little too lofty at times, and that that loftiness limits me from being, well, me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going anywhere, I just also want to create posts where I can really paint an accurate portrait of myself for the world to see.
Oh, and pictures. I can’t figure out how to post pictures on here, so that’s another reason for the additional blogs. On these sites you’ll be able to see pictures of me. Trust me, they will be recent and not taken from too great a distance. Along with pictures, another new feature will be a safe way to contact me. I feel like sometimes some of you would like to send a personal note, and as of now, the only way to contact me is via the not-exactly-private comments section. So there’s that to look forward to.
I guess, I’m being a little vague about the content of these new blogs. The new content is going to be written for a singular purpose. I am going to write posts that I believe will attract women to me. The posts will attract women to me so fully that they will never want to leave me–even after they discover I have major imperfections that I view as strengths.
If this is something that interests you, but you’re not a member of these sites, don’t worry. While yours is the more difficult path, all you have to do is demonstrate your devotion to me through good ol’ fashioned creativity. What do you think? Do you have what it takes?
Regardless, I’m overly flattered that you read this, though, I have to admit it is pretty good. Maybe see you soon.
Netflix Laughs Out Loudest
Groggy only began to describe his morning. This was confusing because this was the morning after he was given the gift of time. One whole hour to use as he saw fit. Like any good American, he used the time to watch movies he’d already seen. Not movie, movie-zz. He had just read Joseph Conrad’s seminal Heart of Darkness for the first time on Friday, so afterward he was motivated to re-visit Francis Ford Coppola’s seminal Apocalypse Now: Redux. Unfortunately, he didn’t possess the staying power to make it through the additional 49 minutes this version contained Friday night, so last night was the night to finish that off. Next, he felt like regretting that his relationship with his brother wasn’t that great, so he turned on Warrior. It worked. And it gave him hope that maybe someday he and his brother could have some metaphorical fight which causes them to live happily ever after until the credits scroll. Wanting to immerse himself deeper in hope, he decided–for a reason he’s never going to explore–to run with a desire for more Tom Hardy and naturally began watching TDKR. (Mother: that’s the latest Batman movie–you know, the one that came out on my birthday last year). Taking great pride in his level of discipline, even before the caped crusader made his first appearance, he realized it was late, and went to sleep.
Opening the laptop this morning then, he stared at Netflix’s homepage. Then it happened. Nirvana. The sound of his jaw hitting the floor was the only thing that brought him back. Excited beyond belief, he saw staring back at him in Netflix’s personalized “Top Ten for Pete” category Miley Cyrus and Demi Moore’s LOL. How does Netflix do it? He didn’t even know LOL was out, and yet Netflix knew to place it where he couldn’t miss it. Immediately, though, not wanting to give Netflix too much credit–they were still just a group of flawed individuals doing their best–he began unraveling the mystery. After all, he did watch Mission Impossible’s 1-4 in a ten hour window that one night. Oh, and There Will Be Blood has streamed down to his screen more than a few times. Now that he really thought about it, anyone who has watched The Avengers is sure to have a Demi Moore poster or two on their bedroom ceiling. Now he was starting to actually reconsider whether he should so readily praise Netflix. And come to think of it, he did recently read that the people behind Mel Gibson’s latest film, Get the Gringo, were coming out with a similarly flavored mother-daughter how-did-you-become-such-a-screw-up-when-I-put-all-my-energy-into-raising-you-to-not-be-just-like-me-even-though-I-am-still-a-screw-up-to-this-day chick-flick starring two females who people actively hide their children from. It seemed there was no mystery to Netflix’s methods after all.
Resigned, he closed the laptop and took his cereal bowl to the counter. “I’ll get around to it,” he thought to himself, preempting the angel that was about to tell him to just put it directly in the dishwasher.
Falling into the couch, he shed a tear. Like every other company, it seemed that Netflix was succeeding by simple logic.
****
Incidentally, if you’re not aware, here is a link to a third party site that connects directly to Netflix and actually makes sense. www.instantwatcher.com
Life Without Money
No, he didn’t mean to conjure up some imagination-land inspired by John Lennon. He simply meant to capture some observations about life. Sometimes he had lots of money, and sometimes he had just enough money. He figured this made him similar to other people.
Of late, he found himself in the “just enough money” category.
Maybe it was just him, but when he had lots of money his problem was perfection. In both situations he spent all that he had, but when the dollar amounts were great, he took time away from some things he now values tremendously to find “the perfect” item. First, the perfect piano (really, it is amazing). Second, the perfect guns. Then there was the baseball phase. He bought the authentic Babe Ruth replica mitt. He found the greatest soft-toss machine, and accompanied it with an on-the-field hitting net the MLB itself uses in spring training. And just before the money ran out he bought the perfect motorcycles. One black-and-chrome American classic, and one dirt-cheap faux sport-bike. Not to mention the top of the line protective gear.
Had he stayed in that position, his next plan to relieve himself of money was race-car driving lessons. Yep, it was going to be great. Oh, and not that he was the boastful type, but this was on top of saving for college, having a nice home etc. But today? Today, he doesn’t plan out his expenditures. He pays for what needs to be payed for. And there’s something more. It’s difficult to describe, but for him there is a very tangible, attractive quality to the dream of returning to wealth. It’s almost as if he finds the dream of wealth more gratifying than the possession of wealth. There are times when he really, really, really hopes to have lots of money again. Sadly, though, he knows that when he does, the dream will end.
Halloween’s Terrifying Origin – What The Internet Is Too Afraid To Tell You
Terrified, he found himself surrounded by his familiar bedding. He had made it out alive. He was convinced that with each nightmare he was coming closer and closer to not waking up. But each nightmare revealed a truth, so he knew he must persevere. Upon wake-up, the truth was never immediately clear, and this morning was no different. He remembered bits and pieces. He remembered an enormous building. He remembered doors twice a man’s size. He remembered enormous symmetrical staircases.
The lighting was particularly notable. From the outside of the castle, he believed he must have been in the dark ages, but the interior was lit up like a Christmas tree. Oddly, there were no light fixtures, just floating candles emanating tremendous amounts of purifying light. Nearly blinded, he had to hold his hand up to look toward the flames.
“What is this place?” he thoughtlessly wondered aloud.
“Right this way, Peter,” said a voice, startling him out of rationality. He followed a women whose appearance was that of a nurse, though her genuine warmness caused him to doubt his senses. She led him down a corridor. He followed her silent lead and soon began noticing the muffled sounds of whimpering. He was so focused on not losing sight of his guide that he failed to perceive that along either side of the corridor were doors. The whimpering was coming from behind those doors.
“Hey, do you think you can slow down?” he questioned. She only turned her head slightly, letting him know she heard him. “Fine,” he thought to himself. He resolved to jog a bit to catch up and then pause to open one of the doors. The jog took longer than he expected, but he finally was nearly to her, when he again heard a whimper. Twisting the door handle, he braced for anything. It was a couple. They looked at him with an uncommon determination. He could tell they were there by choice, and that the whimpering was simply their conviction manifested.
A loud cry caused him to look back to the corridor and realize the nurse was barely visible any more. It sounded like a child. He ran and he ran to catch her. The faster he ran, the louder the cry became. Soon, he heard many cries. Soon, the cries became familiar. Soon, he made sense of the scene and could guess where he was. Until this moment, he had only heard about the practice he believed he was witnessing. As he finally caught up to the nurse, she slowed to a stop and pointed overhead. The sign read, “Parents, thank you for your courage. You’ve done great so far, and we’re here to help with the rest of the process. Please leave your baby here and find yourself a comfortable room to wait in. When the process is complete, we’ll bring your baby back to you.”
Recalling the delightful smile she gave as she told him the inside joke, he finally stumbled upon this nightmare’s truth. She said, “Don’t tell anyone, but among the staff, we call this corridor the ‘Hall o’ Wean.’ Tee-hee!” In that instant it all became clear. Today’s witches were clearly descended from the nursing staff. The rarely seen doctors come to us, surely, as ghosts. But most certain was the development of trick-or-treating. A smirk formed as he pictured all those poor babies being carried from door to door in search of their parents.
In the end, with medical science’s resounding defense of weaning, he could finally see that this holiday, which he previously thought to be ridiculous, was well-founded and rightly deserved memorialization.
****
Happy Halloween!
Thank The Doctor
For Paul.
Like any pilot, he feared hospitals. Any fool knew the buildings themselves were stable and not prone to injure their inhabitants, so he knew his fear must have been generated by something inside the buildings. It was. For this pilot, the doctor was the root of the fear. The doctor was the one person who could take away, without him having any say, what he worked so hard to achieve–the wonder of flight.
He couldn’t help but notice that his fear was never lonely. The other pilots feared the doctor too. More than that, he noticed that even some civilians feared entering those sterile buildings and visiting this flesh expert. “But what would give the civilians pause?” he wondered, now distracted by the thought. Quick as lightening, the horrible truth revealed itself: doctors were omnipotent.
He wondered if they knew. Perhaps they did, then again perhaps they didn’t. Prior experience told him that this wasn’t exactly the kind of information that should be shared lightly. Who could he tell? If doctors didn’t know their power, upon being told, they might begin to abuse it. But if they did know? Wow. What a benevolent group of individuals they were!
More than soldiers, more than policemen, more than politicians, more than clergy, it is doctors that hold this life ransom.
“Take this,” they say, knowing full well its a crap-shoot.
“Do that,” they command, never feeling resistance.
“You’ll live,” they pronounce so matter-of-factly that the recipient of even the worst boo-boo’s spirit is lifted.
“You’re going to die,” they deliver, never betraying whether this is good news or bad.
Truly more powerful than the caped crusader himself, these lab-coated demigods hold all of life’s keys. With a sure-grip they hold humanity’s heart in their stable hands. And yet they choose not to squeeze too tightly.
He realized, then, that it’s okay to be afraid. But he knew he should also be grateful. He should be grateful that these quiet professionals choose to meekly implement their duties with reserve. He wouldn’t allow himself to consider the other option; it was too terrible.
So go on being afraid, it’s justified. Just the same, never forget to thank the doctor.
The Building Block
Greetings! How’s everyone doing this morning? It is great to see you today. Let me say that I know you’re taking a risk by attending the first-ever sermon of this church. Thank you. Before we get started, I want to take stock and simply remind you that I love you and I’m glad you decided to show up this morning. What’s that? Yes sir, even you.
I love you because you are.
Alright, I feel pretty good today. How’d you like the music? Pretty great, no? I love those songs we sang today. I love that we always sing four songs. Did you notice how the first three songs crescendo’d and then we ended on a slow one? Yep, that’s on purpose. The music director put a lot of effort coming up with that formula. Oh, I suppose that’s not entirely true. He’s just doing what he grew up doing. The point is, it works. Who isn’t in the mood for a message of hope?
Okay then. How much time do I have? By my guess you’re expecting about 30-minutes in your seats, you’ll be happy if I wrap-up in 20, and you’ll give me a 10-minute grace period if I’m on a roll. Sound about right? Okay, now that we’re on the same page, let’s get to it.
Jesus. The reason for the season as they say. History tells us he existed. At least as much as any person of history existed. The truth is, though, there’s not much support for his existence outside of the bible; John the Baptist actually receives more pointed attention. Oddly enough, this strengthens his message in a way. That’s the beauty of it.
Okay, before we can go anywhere, the inescapable question each of us must answer is this, “Can I trust another person?” Like all of you, I was born a trusting human. Then one day I was hurt. One day someone broke my trust. I don’t remember who did it or any specific moment that it happened, but I’d put money on it having been one of my parents. Or maybe both of them; it’s really just a numbers game. People hurt each other. The people we’re around most will likely be the people who hurt us the most. In either case, for many years afterwards, I unconsciously, then consciously, chose to not trust anyone else.
“Can I trust another person?” Like any great question, the best part about this question is that you are the only one who can answer it. No one can answer it for you.
So I’m going to continue talking for a bit up here, and I’m hoping you don’t think it is a waste of time. More than that, I’m hoping that you find that you’re glad you came. I say this to emphasize that in the end you determine you’re level of involvement. These are big questions; questions that are not to be taken lightly. You’re an adult. No one can make up your mind for you.
Do you know that I’m not even going to say anything new today? That’s right. There’s nothing new to say. You’ve heard the message many times before. I just happen to be part of a group of people who think it is worth repeating. And by your being here this morning, I take it you don’t mind hearing the good news again either.
So what do you think? Can you trust another person?
I’m going to take a risk and tell you that I believe that if we’re all human, if we’re all made of the same parts, then the way I feel must be similar to the way you feel. And if you’re like me, that means that you are silently screaming out in answer, “Yes! There’s nothing I want more than to be able to trust other people again!” That’s what goes through my head most of the time. The remaining time is spent longing to be able to trust myself again.
Today, to start this relationship off right I simply want to share with you that I believe there is hope for us. I believe there is hope for us, but like a fire, this hope needs fuel. This hope-fire won’t start unless each of us deliberately carry some wood to it. Any boy scout will tell you that a fire needs three things. Fuel, oxygen and spark. We need to bring the fuel. Now, nobody needs to do any heavy lifting; instead like any fire, this fire must begin with tinder. Tinder is the smallest of fuels: twigs, leaves, lint, paper, mostly twigs. And the metaphorical twig that you need to carry is making the decision to trust a certain someone.
I know. I know, I know, I know. Believe me I know. 2000 years is a lot of time. The people who have professed Jesus to be trustworthy have really mucked things up. I also know that today, there are still beliefs circulating in His name that strain an educated mind. That’s not what I’m talking about right now. Right now I’m talking about sifting through the entirety of history until only Jesus of Nazareth remains. What did he say? What did he teach?
He taught that people, each of us, make mistakes.
There are a whole lot of synonyms for “mistakes”, like “sin”, that carry a lot of baggage. Maybe in the end it will prove valuable to keep the word and the baggage. Today, I’m asking you to let go of the baggage.
We make mistakes. And we’re going to keep making mistakes. But Jesus taught that if we simply acknowledge our imperfect status, we will inherit what he called “the kingdom of heaven.” Stay with me for a minute. Remember, this is a man who really walked the earth. He lived in a context. The people he preached to understood what that phrase meant. Today, it is not so simple. Is there a heaven? Is there a hell? Fun questions, but not appropriate to today. Today, I am concerned with another part of this “kingdom of heaven” that he talked about. He taught that it exists both in the future and right now. Right now, here in the present, the kingdom of heaven is attainable.
So what is the kingdom of heaven? I have no idea. I don’t. Jesus had a hard time defining it. He’d use parables. He’d use metaphors. Here’s my favorite. “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.” I love it because I can’t figure out why the man would hide the treasure after finding it. Every once in a while I get glimpses of why he would do that, but I’m sure that I would have just taken it and ran.
Speaking plainly, I think of achieving the kingdom of heaven as being able to transcend this life. Transcend meaning to go-beyond this life, to rise above the petty problems and realize the situation with a full awareness. But I don’t really know. All I can offer is that there is a certain peace that I have only ever felt when I trust that Jesus was right.
That’s it folks. That’s all for today. In a moment we’ll sing a couple more songs.
If there’s one thing I want to be clear about it is that this church is going to be based on action. We’re going to have these weekly services which will follow the format you’ve seen this morning: music, preaching, music. They’ll always be that format. Different perhaps than other churches is the fact that there will always be a meal afterwards. Jesus seemed to almost always be eating when he was teaching, so we’re going to mimic that. Also, to emphasize that while sharing the good news is our mission, almost equally important to me, because it appears to have been to Him, is fellowship–so I’m capping this particular church at 200 members. That’s plenty of people to fellowship with. If we get bigger than that, the way we’ll know it’s for the right reasons is because one of us else will step up to lead another version/branch. Jesus told his followers to share the message, but if people reject it, move on. If we never have more than the 30 of us here this morning, that’s fine with me and I’m not going to fret about it. This isn’t about numbers, it isn’t about buildings. It is about people.
Lastly, it won’t always be me up here. Anytime you want to share, just let me know and we’ll get you on the calendar.
This is real life folks. The only one we get. I think it’ll be more fulfilling to live it with each other. If you agree, stick around for the meal and maybe come back next week.
Music Director – lead us in something that’ll immerse us in an introspective mood.
Tomorrow’s Post
I’ve seen this technique used by other bloggers. Writing in italics let’s you know that it’s me speaking and not…me. Either way, I like it. It’s just a short post today, as I want to get to work on tomorrow’s post now. Tomorrow is for me. If I succeed, it may be for you too. I’m going to challenge myself to be vulnerable in a way that I have never been. It is my version of ‘be the solution, not the problem.’
As some of you can tell, recently I have been attending church. It’s the first time in nearly a decade. I never stopped reading and thinking about the whole concept while I was away, and now that I’m back, I’ve discovered that there are some tenets that are difficult to accept. In voicing my criticisms, I feel like a whiner, a critic. That’s got to stop. Tomorrow’s post then, will be my ideal sermon. The trouble is that it isn’t coming as easy as I’d like it to. I have realized this is a very, very personal business. How does one reveal to others one’s most intimate beliefs? I don’t know but it sounds like fun, so I’m going to try. Hope you enjoy.
(Normal posts (ha) will resume Thursday if this isn’t your thing).
What do you know?
Do you listen-in on conversations? Do you hear the same things I do? Do you hear yourself talk? If, like me, you answered “yes” to these three questions, do you ever continue down the rabbit role and analyze the conversations?
I do.
42 words and a few minutes ago I intended to write, essentially, a sermon about how all that each of us do is talk ourselves up, a sermon about how all we really say is, “I know better than (fill in the blank).” That seems silly now. Instead, I’d like to simply share.
By now, most of you have guessed correctly that I am an American thirty-two year old white male. A constant criticism I have received most of my life is that I am a know it all. While I was a hot-shot special operations Air Force pilot, I happily let my profession answer the accusation.
I’ve been without my proof-is-in-the-pudding profession for a year and a half.
How do I answer the criticism now? Yesterday I took the “integrity test” at a Labor Ready storefront in hopes of being able to work for pay soon. The fella next to me asked the receptionist if he could use his “dee-ooh-see card” as his second form of identification. Unfamiliar with whatever he just said, I looked towards him. He was presenting his wallet for her to see. In his wallet behind the protective plastic, he had a Department of Corrections ID card. The picture was of him in the orange jumpsuit that America loves to see on TV.
Until yesterday I would laugh really hard each time a friend wittily observed that too many people are “educated beyond their intelligence.”
Yesterday, beginning with the alternating tobacco/marijuana smell that infused the air as I waited with others for the receptionist to return from a break and ending with the sight of the orange jumpsuit, I confirmed what I’ve secretly suspected all along: I don’t know shit.
I do like to write though.
Captain’s Log 