Tuesday, March 23, 2010

How my sucide bomber date lost her teeth.

Wacked out, fundamentalist, bitch ass, Islamic ass clowns are apparently now becoming more tolerant of women. They are beginning to accept them as human beings by letting them blow themselves up. Reports around the world state that women are being accepted in the Muslim/Islamic world to be trained as suicide bombers. However, it is not clear to me if they get 70 virgins when they get to paradise. Maybe they just get their clits back. Who knows?

Actually I’m less concerned about that than I am the possibility of these women infiltrating our society. Let’s face it; Americans are all about getting laid so it’s quite possible some clean cut, harmless, innocent, all American kid can get mixed up with one of these bitches on a first date. With that in mind I’d like to submit a few helpful steps to out these crazy ass bitches on a date.

1. While ordering dinner, try to make concrete plans to watch "American Idol" on TV the following week. If she backs out or claims she doesn't watch American television, she's probably planning a suicide operation. Immediately drive a thorazine-filled syringe into her eyeball and check her for explosives. If you find some; kick her in the teeth and call the authorities. If you don’t find explosives act as if you are performing CPR when she comes to and claim you just saved her life.

2. When you are enjoying live music at the local club, casually whisper to her there are Infidels present and ask her how she would like to proceed. If she suddenly walks toward her handbag, tackle her immediately and kick her in the teeth.

3. When you are getting romantic, give her a little casual sniff when she isn't looking. If she smells like fertilizer or rocket fuel, hog-tie her and then call the authorities but don’t forget to kick her in the teeth. If she smells like anything else, it's totally your call.

4. Show her your brand new video camera and ask her if she would like to say any last words to her family. After she begins her speech in Arabic, hit her with a conveniently-placed hammer and then send the tape to authorities for translation. Also kick her in the teeth.

5. After dinner, initiate a playful game of "peek-a-boo" with her. Show her your belly and then insist she show you hers. If she hesitates or declines, she's probably hiding an explosive belt. Immediately drive your dinner fork into her sternum and diffuse bomb with a pair conveniently placed wire cutters. And of course kick her in the teeth and as an added bonus remind her that the majority of American women enjoy sex and are encouraged to have it….all the time….as much as possible…any way they want…when ever they want…like now….Uhhhhh, sorry – I digress.
I’m certain these steps will help and thanks for being on the look out for ignorant ass Islamic bitches.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Why you're weird.

Late last night I was reading something I wrote a little over a year ago. I’m not going to post it here but it speaks of how things can become mottled and discolored right before our eyes, and yet, basically unnoticed. It moves on to explain that, through understanding, we should not judge ourselves or others on our past works.
Honestly I think it’s one of the best things I’ve ever written. Or at least I appreciate it the most because it has so much meaning.

I’m not sure why, but after I read it I was reminded of the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. I know…that’s weird.
The principle is applied to physics and its premise is that the more precisely you locate the position of something, the less you know about its path.

That’s a hard enough concept to grasp and since I’m damn sure no physicist I began to think how this principle could apply to people, personalities, situations, relationships and the like.

I think that there is no thought, intention or ideal that can be precisely established.
In other words, nothing is certain. There is risk in everything.

We all feel compelled to move in a certain direction and I applaud that but there are many times I have followed that compulsion in which I failed to measure the potential cost of my direction. The cost was revealed later. I am not saying one should blatantly question a given path but we should all consider: Is what we move towards more valuable than what we have?
Then again, nothing is certain. But by that logic, why would we move at all?

I think I just gave myself a headache.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Boy George and Holy Wilford.

I had a dream the other night where I killed an abortion protestor. It was OK, because I was just doing the Lord’s work. If I didn’t kill the abortion protestors, they would eventually kill abortion doctors. Thus, I saved lives by stopping murderers from murdering... by being a murderer.

Oh sure, I was dragged into dream court, but it didn’t matter to me. I told the Judge that the only verdict that mattered to me was God’s verdict. He had spoken to me and I did his bidding. Nonetheless, the jury found me guilty and sent me to dream prison. There, I was immediately killed by my fellow inmates because my shrill proselytizing annoyed them.

Then, with great anticipation, I arrived at Heaven’s Gate and was met by the Lord Himself. Imagine my shock when the Almighty Father read me the riot act for killing people. Here I was expecting to be rewarded and praised but it turns out that whole, “Thou shalt not kill, violence begets violence, vengeance is mine and mine alone” stuff, applied to me, too. God looked me in the face and said I was a raging moron for even thinking He had spoken to me, let alone hired me as a hit man. When God said He wished people would quit thinking they were getting messages from Him, I felt really, really, stupid.

Then God, who looked a lot like Wilford Brimley, personally escorted me to the gates of Hell. Taking me inside, the Devil, who looked a lot like Larry King, laughed as he showed me where the rest of the religious kook-killers sat. Culture Club was playing and I began to panic. That’s when I woke up. Thank Wilford!