ChuurchOfFailure Blog

May 1, 2008 - I received the following letter from a deeply troubled young man, and using my worthless skills as a meaningless life coach, likely didn't help him him one bit. Thought I'd share:

Father,

I is young man frmo Turkey and is Christian for 7 years now in the reborn method. I have big problem maybe you help me as life coach?

I marry woman 5 years ago because my priest say to me that I must get married. But I don't like woman. I want to have sex with a man. I know its wrong but I only feel sexy with men. I know its a sin but what can I do. I pray to God to make me have sex with my wife but I still want only men. Please help me.

I also feel very bad about myself. I feel I am very ugly when I look in mirror. I cry everyday. Why am I ugly God, why am I a gay. I also sometimes hit my wife and say she is fat bitch, slut. Why am I like this? Can you help?

- Agmat

Dear Agmat,

The bad news is that God carefully arranged all the events preceding your direful birth to make you this way simply to satisfy his sick, juvenile sense of humor. The good news is that he has allowed you to contact me seeking help, possibly signalling that you are not meant to suffer like this your entire life - should you heed my advice.

First, so you're queer. So what? It's okay to be gay. In fact, if you're as ugly as you say, being gay could be a blessing since guys have lower standards in that regard and tend not to face one another when they're fucking. Secondly, though I must refrain from condoning your beating your wife for legal reasons, I can't say as though I blame you from the sound of her.

Lastly, and most importantly, leave that church with its pedarist, hypocrite priest and join the Chuurch of Apathy, where you can smoke as much pole as you like. We couldn't care less.

- Bob

Denounce Me? I Will Denounce You!

April 29, 2008 - Just a warning to any of you who might someday get it in your dumb head to run for president: Should whatever past affiliation with this church bring you negative publicity and scorn from the millions of nitwits in this country your newfound ambition has obligated you to suck the collective ass of, I will not go down without a fight, and I will fight my hardest to bring you down with me.

Sure, there's hope. And there's a bushy-bearded god in the sky who loves you. Yeah, and the United States isn't an imperialistic country whose legacy of imperialism doesn't have at least something to with it being the biggest target of terrorism on the planet, doesn't import drugs and export guns and trained killers, put more black kids in prison than college, and never conducted radiation experiments on its own citizens.

Ooh, look at me! I want to be President of the United States!

More like king of the shitheads.

You Are All Being Punished

April 22, 2008 - I just got back from checking my web stats, and I must say that I am not happy. This site is still not even averaging 500 page reads a day, and it is all your fault. I considered the possibility that I was to blame, that maybe the content of this site isn't as ridiculously awesome as I think it is, but an abrupt shift back to reality quickly disabused me of this fallacious notion.

The truth is, it is your insolence, your lack of loyalty, and most of all your laziness that is behind my stagnant traffic stats. Instead of posting links to these pearls of html wisdom all over God's green cyberspace, you're sitting on your ass, scratching your balls (or vaginas), and letting me the fuck down.

In light of this little ongoing problem, I am punishing all you by posting this little blurb about hemorrhoids in lieu of a new blog entry. I sincerely hope I don't inadvertently help any of you assbleeders.

Your Hemorrhoids and You - The term hemorrhoids refers to a condition in which the veins around the anus or lower rectum are swollen and inflamed. The most common symptom of internal hemorrhoids is bright red blood covering the stool, on toilet paper, or in the toilet bowl. However, an internal hemorrhoid may protrude through the anus outside the body, becoming irritated and painful. This is known as a protruding hemorrhoid.

Symptoms of external hemorrhoids may include painful swelling or a hard lump around the anus that results when a blood clot forms. This condition is known as a thrombosed external hemorrhoid.

In addition, excessive straining, rubbing, or cleaning around the anus may cause irritation with bleeding and/or itching, which may produce a vicious cycle of symptoms. Draining mucus may also cause itching.

Jerks.

I Popped The Question During The Game, And She Said...

April 15, 2008 - Browsing the internet the other day, I happened upon another story about one of these guys who got down on one knee in front of 30,000 people at a major sporting event to profess his undying love to his blushing girlfriend and ask for her hand in marriage. She said yes, and I was inspired in the way most people are inspired anymore - by seeing someone else doing something they ripped off from someone else to rip off themselves and recylce for the millionth time in order to obtain some desired end they're too lazy or uncreative to think of a new, original approach to achieving.

So anyway, while watching the Dodgers game at home on my couch, I yelled into the kitchen where my wife was putting away some dishes or just intentionally slamming and banging and making shitloads of noise just to annoy me and asked for a divorce, but she said no.

So, figuring that the missing component was the 30,000 people - after all, with that many eyes and ears waiting to hear the answer everyone's expecting and hopes to hear, it's near impossible to say no, I thought about calling Dodger Stadium to make a few inquiries, but realized there'd be no chance in hell my wife would ever go with me to the game even if the Dodger brass would go for it, so I said fuck it. Moving's a huge hassle anyway.

No More Grocery Store Check Out Small Talk, Please

April 8, 2008 - If elected President of the United States, many people would be in a rush to do something that somehow involved the war in Iraq. Others might address the mortgage crisis or global warming. Not me. If I were president, my first order of business would be:

Forcing grocery stores to introduce "No Small Talk" check-out lines. Because I'm sick of that crap, and I'm sure many of the checkers are too. I mean, sure, if you really have something important or neat to say, fine, but these poor people at the Trader Joes I go to (and some other places, but especially TJs) are so obviously trained to pick some arbitrary item I've chosen to purchase to ask some random question about like, "Oh, is this good / have you tried this yet?" as a primer for a frivolous little chat, and, personally, I find it a bit annoying in its phony-baloneyness. And ESPECIALLY since the few times I think of something really clever to say, like a total gem of a hilarious observational quip type thing, they never fucking understand or acknowledge it, which just adds to the aggravation of the entire miserable experience.

For instance, last week I bought a bottle of vodka and two bananas. That's it. So, not seeing much potential in asking me about having ever tried eating bananas before, the guy asks me about the brand of vodka, so I say, "Yeah, it makes my commutes fly right by," which is at least kinda funny, warranting more than the catatonic grunt it received. Bullshit.

I Have Seen The Light

April 1, 2008 - Some of you who have grown fond of checking this page from time to time to derive some sort of depraved amusement from the terrible calamity that is my life might be disappointed to hear this, but things are suddenly looking up, and I believe my days of kvetching on this stupid website are over.

It all happened this morning. I don't know if it was the way the sun was shining or the way the birds were chirping, but I had what some people choose to call an epiphany rather than a revelation in order to look smart. The words of a man who recently sent me a seven page email detailing how certain paradigm shifts could turn my life around suddenly fresh in my mind as if they were the subtitles of a lucid dream from which I'd just awoke, I felt reborn.

I now realise that not only is my life not all that bad, but that I have the freedom, and yes, the potential, to make it much better thanks to the God I know not only does exist, but loves me.

Rolling over to gaze upon my overweight wife as she continued to snore like a baby moose, her agape mouth strung with saliva like a trap for catching flies to sustain her insatiable appetite during her dormant hours, I even felt a tinge of something approaching affection.

Happy April Fool's Day.

Please Take Your Muscular Dystrophy Shamrock And Kindly Shove It Up Your Ass

March 25, 2008 - Although I don't completely dismiss the possibility that people with Muscular Dystrophy are the rightful heirs of the crippling genetic defects they suffer from as a result of some karmic retribution for a previous lifetime spent raping old ladies or being Mormon, I have nothing against them, per se.

What does bug me, however, is the fact that, for the past six weeks I can't seem to go to the grocery store, drug mart, gas station or fast food joint without being asked if I want to give a dollar to Jerry's Kids in exchange for a paper shamrock bearing my name to be displayed on some wall amongst a bunch of other cretins who were too spineless to look their swindling tool functionary in the eye and announce loud and proud for everyone else in line behind them, "No, I would not care to give one red penny. Fuck Jerry, and fuck those granny raping Mormons!"

Yeah, they wouldn't see that coming. From the looks of things, it seems their sleazy, emotionally coercive bullshit fundraising scheme is paying off just as they drew it up - put people on the spot in front of a small group of their fellow consumers, ask if they wouldn't mind giving one measly dollar to help ease the suffering of a bunch of horribly afflicted children, and watch the cash roll in. Well, fuck that. Especially when it's a dozen times a week. I pay my taxes, and I didn't vote for Bush, so let all those morons who enabled him to toss $2 trillion into the big gaping stinkhole that is Iraq pony up for that shit, because I gave online.

Or, at least that's what I tell the checkers at the store. Sadly, I don't have the balls to say that other thing.

Famous Last Words

March 12, 2008 - A lot of people have died over the 30,000 years or so since man evolved from the apes, but few, whether it be for a lack of imagination, coherence, or fame, made much of an impression with the final words they uttered before succumbing to the great unknown.

Indeed, for every Oscar Wilde who quipped lastly, “Either those drapes go, or I do,” Voltaire, who, encouraged by a priest to denounce Satan in his dying moments, chided him: “Now, now, my good man, this is no time for making enemies,” there are probably a billion others who say something entirely forgettable, like, “You shot me”, or, “Garrrgh.”

I don’t want to go out like that.

So, I’ve been thinking about what I want my famous last words to be, only to encounter the same standard aggravation that every other endeavor seems to engender on this planet. For instance, it seems some gay British filmmaker named Derek Jarman already used my phrase of choice, “I want the world to be filled with white fluffy duckies,” before dying of AIDS, and though I’d love to have the casual observation, “That seems like a rather friendly tiger” be my last words before clambering into the tiger exhibit at the zoo to have my essence become assimilated by an animal of such majesty and grace, I fear my actions would precipitate the peremptory destruction of the beast’s life by the morons who work there.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’ll probably end up getting creamed by a speeding SUV anyway.

From the Inbox: Fan Mail

March 5, 2008 - Contrary to what you might believe, this site does receive the occasional email, not all of which is entirely negative. A sampling:

If Everything sucks why don't you just end your own life, and quit
promoting your own brand of poison.

Do you honestly have a good reason why you haven't done us the favor yet?

Kyle D.

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Reverend my ass!

Anyone who operates in the shadows and does not give their full name and location IS the true DEVIL!

Fuck you back to hell you bitch!

Rob H.

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After wasting 5 minutes of my life checking out your website, I can say with the utmost certainty that the world will be a better place the day you die.

Fuck you.

Paul T.

Thanks guys! Keep 'em coming! - Bob

Random Ruminations on Recent International Events of Import

February 22, 2008 – So with Fidel Castro stepping down, I guess the people of Cuba are one step closer to passing through the pearly gates and golden arches of the western world. Cheeseburgers! Coca-Cola! 60 hour work weeks! Gated communities populated by neighbors who only speak to one another when the lights go out! Oh boy! That is, that might be the case for the average Cuban if they lived in a country that was at the top of the food chain like all of us lucky enough to have been born in the United States. As it is, if Wall Street gets its way, Cuba could look forward to becoming like their neighbor Haiti – a floating labor camp run by Wal-Mart and governed by a mass murderer trained to get on his knees and lick Condoleezza Rice’s snatch at the snap of her fingers. Fuck those cheering idiots in Miami. There’s no such thing as freedom in a capitalist country if you’re broke, so either these assholes are still sitting on a nice little nest egg of casino money from the 50s, or they’ve been watching too much CNN.

Speaking of freedom and democracy, congratulations to Kosovo, the world’s newest country since Montenegro also split from Serbia in 2006 (seems nobody really wants anything to do with those guys – I can only wonder why). Let’s just hope they meet some nice new countries and don’t start talking about getting back together with Serbia six months from now, arguing that their abusive former republic has changed and that no two states could love each other as much as them.

Then there’s Pakistan. In a country whose high rate of illiteracy compels the government to turn their ballots into the political equivalent of a Denny’s menu by using pictograms like bicycles and candles to represent the main parties, President Musharraf was reportedly upset when he found out his party’s picture had been downgraded from ferocious tiger to pussy cat. And this country has the bomb. What a world we live in.

My Gnome is Home, a Homo

February 12, 2008 - As you can see from the headline, my wayward garden gnome (apparently named) Donald (see full blog for the whole saga) has come home. Perched upon my doorstep, the little bastard held in the crook of his arm a dishonorable discharge notice from the Army listing "Illicit Homosexual Activity" as the cause of his release, but I know this to be utter bullshit. Not just because I've never heard of an asexual lawn decoration being gay before, or would have something against my ceramic garden supervisor taking it up the rear, but because I know for a fact that the military is so desperate for cannon fodder these days that you could get caught blowing a four star general's half-retarded brother in the shithouse and not get sent home from Iraq. So nice try guys.

Stolen Gnome Update:

February 5, 2008: Again, as some of you know already, some godless lowlife stole my garden gnome and is sending me correspondence in his name from his supposed travels. The latest:

Bob,

Last week, while meditating near the Pyramid of Khufu at Giza, I came to the decision that it was high time I give something back to my adoptive country for all she's done and provided for me. As you can probably tell, this epiphany has led me to Iraq, where, to my mild surprise, the Army accepted my offer of service on the spot and assigned me to an infantry platoon near Karbala.

Now I know your position on the war differs from my own, but I hope you don't begrudge me my chosen course. Although I concede that the objectives and means chosen to achieve them in this war are foggier than others, I am firm in my conviction that I am doing the right thing, and that however small my contribution, the virtues of freedom and democracy are being served.

Have to go now, it's scorpion death match night.

Please don't worry,

Donald

My Pick For The Big Game

January 30, 2008 - I know you've all been waiting for my Super Bowl pick, and I apologize for the delay, but a game of this magnitude takes a lot more time to ruminate on as far as all the ins and outs, X's and O's, strategies and counter-strategies, strengths and weaknesses, mental, emotional, physical, metaphysical and astronomical factors that constitute the intricate web of football analysis one must navigate to pick the wrong team, but I've finally done it, and that team's the Giants, so give the points and take the Patriots, because I've got $50 on New York.

Update: Trust me. I'm as surprised as you. Naturally, just my luck I didn't take the moneyline...

If There Was An Anti-Viagra Pill, I'd Take It

January 24, 2008 - If it wasn't for my penis, I wouldn't be married or have two of the worst children ever conceived. My penis has ruined my life. In my dreams, it mocks me. In my waking hours I swear sometimes I can hear it giggling down there. My penis is an evil penis, and yet no matter how hard I resist, it maintains an undue amount of influence over my life.

Last week while channel surfing, I went by one of those scrambled porn stations when my penis perks up and starts nagging me to jerk him off. I try to argue the ridiculousness of the thing since, despite being able to hear the audio okay, you can barely make anything out through all those jumping lines, and what flesh you can see is tinted psychedelic colors, but as usual I gave in knowing that if I didn't he wouldn't leave me alone.

So after a few minutes of rubbing him down, I realize I'm whacking off to two guys humping. The lack of a female voice didn't give it away during the obligatory blow job lead-up since her mouth would've been full, and I don't know, I guess when the two started to fuck I maybe subconsciously assumed that two men were double-teaming a mute chick, but then the picture cleared and I kicked so hard that I almost broke my foot on the coffee table. Swear to god, I didn't even know they showed that stuff anywhere on cable - pay per view or not.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure masturbating to gay porn doesn't make you gay if it was an accident, but I'm still pretty pissed about the whole thing. Seriously, why these douche bags with "erectile dysfunction" or whatever don't appreciate their blessing and actually pay good money to throw it all away is beyond me.

More Free Money

January 16, 2008 - In case you don't know the drill by now, this is how it works: I, being the cursed, miserable, luckless motherfucker that I am, share the teams I'm betting my hard earned money on in the big games this weekend, you bet the opposite, cash in, then come back here Monday to laugh at my update vainly hoping you die.

San Diego (+14) vs. New England - New England
NY Giants (+7) vs. Green Bay - New York

And I hope you all die in advance.

Update - 1-21-08: HA! I won one! Eat me.

Monday Morning Blues

January 7, 2008 - This morning, like so many other Monday mornings that have preceded it, I woke up feeling pretty rotten. Another weekend full of torment and defeat in my rearview mirror and a full five day work week of degradation and anguish staring me in the face, I cowered beneath the sheets, contemplating my options. The idea of making love to my wife one more time before blowing my brains out occurred to me, but then it dawned on me that she wouldn't let me fuck her even if I really wanted to, which I really don't, and that I don't own a gun. So I thought maybe I'd just jack off and stick my head in the oven, but my wife was in the bedroom, my daughter was in the bathroom and my son was in the kitchen, so I said the hell with it and just went to work.

Can't Win NFL Playoff Picks

January 2, 2008 - In the spirit of holiday goodwill, and in light of my record of ignominious ineptitude in the field of sports gambling that has cost me a small fortune in recent years (see blog entry from 11-14), I thought I'd share my picks for this weekend's NFL wild card matchups. Simply bet the opposite and watch the money roll in.

Washington (+3.5) at Seattle - Washington
Jacksonville (-2) at Pittsburgh - Jacksonville
NY Giants (+3) at Tampa Bay - Tampa Bay
Tennessee (+9) at San Diego - Tennessee

Update 1-07-08: Enjoy your money, assholes.

Apparently I’m Quite Good in Bed

December 19, 2007 - So I had quite the fascinating encounter yesterday when I ran into the guy who recently bought the house next door to mine at the 7-11 down the street. He had a sheepish look on his face which I at first attributed to the fact that neither of us had bothered to introduce ourselves to each other since he moved in three weeks ago, but that wasn’t it.

It’s kind of a ticklish situation, he says, his voice lowering to insure discretion before getting to what was on his mind, “But your bedroom seems to be right across the way from my 8 year-old daughter’s room, and I was just sort of wondering if you and your wife could keep the volume of your love making down a little, or at least just tug that window shut before, well, you know...”

So I told the guy 'sure thing' and apologized, though I haven’t had sex with my wife in nearly two months.

Merry Christmas! - Bob

Meteor Showers are Stupid

December 13, 2007 - So the obligatory piece of ass on my local news channel informed me last night that tonight will be the night for the latest big meteor shower. She said it should be the most magnificent nocturnal astronomical spectacle of its kind this year. Big deal. That's like saying the last time I made whoopie with my wife was the best sex I had in the past year simply by virtue of the fact that it was slightly less boring, no more pointless and involved less complaining from a member of my family than the other four times I've mounted her in the past twelve months.

Meteor showers are stupid. Why would anyone in their right mind leave the house to go see a bunch of alien turds streak across the sky? For starters, in case you haven't noticed or live in the southern hemisphere, it's fucking cold out there. And nonetheless, millions of idiots will do just that, even drive dozens of miles to escape the city lights to watch singular white dots move across a black background every ten minutes or so. Well count me out. If you need me I'll be on my couch watching Deal or No Deal, because the only thing that gives my flagging ego more of a boost than impugning the intelligence of perfect strangers with differing viewpoints than mine by calling them idiots on the internet is calling those idiots they filter from pools of lesser idiots who might not act like as big of idiots on that idiotic TV show idiots while I gorge my fat ass with about a pound of Nacho Cheese Combos.

Stolen Garden Gnome Update -

December 5, 2007 - As some of you already know, some spineless puke stole my garden gnome and is sending me correspondence in his name from his supposed travels. The latest:

Greetings from...

Egypt!

Yes, the glitz and glamor of Las Vegas was fine and good for a couple of days, but after five, it got really old. Especially considering the fact that there is in actuality a lot more fat, buffet fed, dead-eyed chain smoking retired telephone operators squandering their meager pensions down the greedy maw of a slot machine one quarter at a time within dying distance of drunken used car dealers haggling with prostitutes than glitz and glamor anyway. And all the phony facades and recreations of the world's most venerable places were sort of cute, but really they just fed my desire to see the real things in all of their glory, not as cheap facades on the boardwalk of some tacky Disneyland for the physically mature yet mentally and spiritually arrested. Balls!

So yes, given the options the various hotels along the strip brought to mind - Paris, New York, Venice, Egypt, pirate ships or outer space, I went with the oldest and most spiritual. Fuck it's hot though. And me without sweat glands.

Donald

My Boss Probably Thinks I’m A Heroin Addict of Some Kind by Now

November 30, 2007 - Warning: The following blog entry contains graphic descriptions of bodily functions some might find unnerving.

A contributing factor to my somewhat petulant disposition towards life is the fact that I developed hemorrhoids a couple years ago, and as anyone afflicted with this malady can attest, it is absolutely impossible to project a cheerful demeanor to the scum sucking godless world during an outbreak of these piles. There’s nothing funny about them, which is why it’s a damn good thing I’ve mastered a few tricks for keeping the beasts mostly at bay. Primarily, after making a number 2, my anus is a little stubborn about going back inside its cave, which is bad because, when it comes to buttholes, the open air is what turns cute little Gizmos into Gremlins. So after months of giving them the bum’s rush with my finger, which always proves to be a savage fight, I discovered that I could coax the little fuckers back into their nest simply by lying flat on my back for a minute or two.

Which is exactly what I was up to during an unscheduled away-field dump in the handicapped stall (because it’s long enough to stretch out in) at work this afternoon. Only I guess I was a little too tired and got a little too comfortable there on the floor that I fell asleep, to be awakened some time later by the voice of my boss shouting my name. Utterly bewildered, he asked me what I was doing sleeping on the bathroom floor. I told him it was a “long story”, and taking advantage of his temporary discombobulation, got the hell out of there without further explanation.

So on top of my laid back approach to work, his witnessing me vomit into a grocery bag in my car a couple of weeks ago, and now this, my boss probably thinks I’m some kind of heroin addict by now, which could be a problem. Employers tend not to look upon the abuse of hard drugs by members of their staff too favorably, so I’m thinking about actually telling him the truth. Not about the vomiting, since that was actually brought on by a combination of herbal acid and beer the night before, just the roids.

At Least Five Things You Have To Be Thankful For If You Have Any Brains

November 21, 2007 - If you have any brains at all you bet the farm against the football teams I picked to cover last week (see entry below), and have five things to be grateful for on this eve of Thanksgiving after I, in typical fashion, only managed to pick two winners out of nine (with 2 pushes). Add to that the likely fact your garden gnome wasn't recently stolen by some dickless finger-sniffing jackass who keeps sending you stupid emails with plainly photoshopped pictures depicting the "travels" of said gnome, and that's another thing. As for me, I have no brains and six things to be pissed about.

Get Your Free Money Here!

November 14, 2007 - They say that when it comes to gambling you can’t beat the house, and nobody can attest to the validity of this general truism more emphatically than me. According to my most recent account statement on the online sportsbook I patronize, I’ve gone 17-52 on the NFL games I’ve wagered on so far this season – a debacle that, however shocking in its defiance of common metaphysical decency as well as all the most fundamental principles that govern the universe on its way to scorching a $550 hole in my bank account, is dwarfed by the fact that my cumulative record since signing up in 2005 is 55-204.

So in keeping with my philanthropic nature, I thought I’d share with you my super-duper can’t-win, non-lock picks of the week for this coming Sunday and Monday. Just pick the opposite, and you’re sure to win big. As for me, don’t worry – if I keep losing my wife might leave me, whereas if I don’t, not only will I still be poor, I’ll still be married.

Kansas City (+14.5) at Indianapolis – Kansas City
Oakland (+5.5) at Minnesota – Oakland
Cleveland (-3) at Baltimore – Baltimore
Arizona (+3.5) at Cincinnati - Cincinnati
Miami (+10) at Philadelphia – Miami
NY Giants (-3) at Detroit – Detroit
Washington (+10.5) at Dallas – Dallas
New England (-15.5) at Buffalo – Buffalo

Monday Night: Tennessee (+2) at Denver - Denver

A Halloween Dilemma

November 1, 2007 - Despite living in a neighborhood full of children, fewer and fewer trick-or-treaters came to my door the first several years I lived in my current home until the year 2003 - the first Halloween we received none at all. Now, I don't dislike children, not all children anyway, but I will say that I haven't minded not having to buy candy or being rousted off the couch every two minutes by a parade of cheap dimestore Harry Potter imposters and 12 year-old hookers the past few October 31sts. In fact, I've gotten a bit used to it, which is why I was more than a little surprised - and unprepared - when I went to answer my front door last night and was greeted with a meek, squeaky rendition of the familiar, "Trick or treat" refrain.

Looking down, I saw a little boy draped in a white sheet tentatively holding out a pillow case and I asked, "What are you supposed to be, a bed?"

"No," said the boy, "I'm a ghost."

It was a pretty crappy costume, and not having any candy, I considered making a reference to Charlie Brown and tossing a rock in his bag, but figured that would go completely over his head, and pondering further, thought that maybe his dad, who I saw lingering down around my front lawn, might not find it funny either. So thinking fast, I told the kid the pair of stamps I remembered having in my wallet were temporary tattoos and dropped them in his sack.

Anyway, whether the boy was genuinely satisfied or merely too perplexed or shy to put up an argument, he scuttled off and left me alone.

Smoking In The Fire

October 25, 2007 - As the self-proclaimed most apathetic person on the planet (go ahead and disagree with me, I don't care), I have rarely experienced the emotion of shame, but as a smoker residing in the southern California area, I haven't been able to help feeling like a bit of a tool this past week.

Specifically, voluntarily exiling myself to a parking lot in order to put on full display the nicotine addiction I continue to allow to dominate my life with any number of other losers every hour or so hasn't really bothered me up to now, but doing so when a nearby brush fire has turned that parking lot into something resembling the inside of a wood-fired clay oven that just got done cooking Sunday's newspaper is pathetic enough that even I'm vaguely embarrassed.

The pinnacle of this mild shame occurred yesterday when, as I was puffing away on a Marlboro Light alone under a charcoal gray sky filled with ash and soot, a coworker happened by and quipped, "Not smokey enough for you?" and I responded, "Yeah...", like some kind of moron.

I suppose if those were tobacco fields that were on fire I could save a few bucks, but just my luck they're not - kind of the way at least somewhat witty retorts like this never occur to me until at least 60 seconds after the opportunity to say them have past.

The Baseball Playoffs - The Most Magical Time of the Year

October 15, 2007 - You can feel the fall classic, even in July. You've memorized the moments. The catches. The misses. The pitches. The faces. You get it. You're a fan - watch like one. There's only one post-season, there's only one fall classic, there's only one October!

Sage words from perhaps the most deeply insightful comedian of our time - Dane Cook. After all, what could be more thrilling than watching a bunch of fat men beat the hell out of a ball with sticks? Could there be any cause more deserving of the investment of your heart and soul than the cheering-on of an arbitrary assemblage of men signed to million dollar contracts by a local billionaire to represent your home franchise as they compete to step on a rubber pentagon more often than their opponents?

Cling to the edge of your seat as the Dominican who joined your team two months ago and will be long gone next April scratches himself in right field. Marvel as your shortstop asks for a time-out to step out of the batter's box and spit in the dirt.

If you're lucky - if your players catch and hit and throw the ball better than the other players, they'll win a championship everybody from outside your city stopped giving a shit about since their own team was eliminated from contention weeks ago, the illusiory, ephemeral significance of which will vanish completely the second the first pitch of the next season is thrown a few short months later.

On the other hand, if you're not so lucky, and your team doesn't win the big one, you'll experience the bitter taste of vicarious failure - inducing you, if you're a real fan, to become visibly sullen to those around you, inducing them, if they're reasonably intelligent people, to think you're a complete idiot.

Deep Thoughts on Columbus Day

October 8, 2007 - Everyone who isn't stupid knows by now that Christopher Columbus was an evil bastard of the highest order whose ruthless, vicious approach to diplomacy with the Native Americans set the standard for the ensuing centuries of genocidal treachery by the equally pious eurotrash settlers to follow. Columbus and his horde of thugs went so apeshit enslaving, dismembering, raping and murdering the people of Hispaniola, his first stop in the New World, that those who weren't directly killed or worked to death took to committing suicide and mercy killing their babies in such numbers that the native population shrunk from 2 million to 0 within 60 years.

That being said, if my employer were to give me the day honoring the anniversary of his maiden voyage off, I'd take it. But they don't. The sacrilegious, fascist, ingrateful fuckheads.

Stolen Garden Gnome Update -

September 26, 2007 - As some of you already know, some dickless coward stole my garden gnome and is sending me correspondence in his name from his supposed travels. The latest:

Dear Reverend Bob,

Greetings from Las Vegas, where so far the lore of glamour and excitement for which the town has been associated continues to elude your (hopefully still) favorite ceramic garden supervisor. Sadly, since hitchhiking our way here four days ago, my new friend Trish and I have known nothing but hardship as our naive optimism has been dashed by a combination of bad luck and harsh reality. Arriving without a penny to our name, Trish hatched an idea of turning a twenty dollar bill acquired through unknown means (she didn't say, and I was afraid to ask) into a small fortune that proved ill-fated as I watched our nest egg disappear with one spin of the roulette wheel through splayed fingers from my position nestled in a potted plant situated between a retired used car dealer vapidly depositing his life savings into a slot machine a quarter at a time and a forty dollar hooker guzzling appletinis.

Though I am grateful my inorganic composition makes me immune to hunger, I must confess I have grown anxious over what the future holds as Trish has fallen silent, possibly contemplating another plot I fear might find me becoming part of the landscape of the garden of some family of obese Mormons in the blighted suburbs of Salt Lake City in exchange for a ticket granting access to gorge at the troughs of one of the many all-you-can-eat buffets around town by morning.

Still Undaunted,
Donald Q. Gnome

Other People's Children Stop Masturbating When Caught In the Act

September 18, 2007 - Behind closed doors, shielded from peer perception and judgment, the police and the public decency laws they're paid to enforce, whom among us doesn’t let their hair down a little - and perhaps their pants - to indulge in the fantastic liberating freedom that consummate privacy affords? Perhaps you jam along to a favorite song on a guitar that isn’t actually there, or maybe you whack off to that certain hot somebody from work or school. Super. But what happens when your fortress of solitude is suddenly breached by an unexpected intruder who catches you in the act? Is the normal, appropriate response not one of abrupt cessation of the clandestine behavior, followed by some sort of exhibition of moderate to profound embarrassment? Maybe for 99.9% of the human race, but not my son. Case in point: I walked into his room last night (after loudly knocking several times), and there he was, rocking out with his cock out, banging his head to Pantera and choking his chicken. The simultaneous combination would qualify as strange enough for any teenager, but it’s what my boy did and didn’t do after seeing me that would really trouble the average parent: he shot me a pair of devil horns, made a noise like a Japanese soldier popping out of a trench, and didn’t skip a beat beating his meat.

Holy Christ, this kid.

Some Rotten Shit Stole My Garden Gnome

August 28, 2007 - I received the following email from some inbred turd with a major death wish this morning, and sure enough, when I got home and looked in the backyard, my garden gnome was gone. Anyone with any information regarding this pigeon-hearted robbery, please email me. And as for the guilty party - I will catch you, and when I do, I'm going to rip your fucking lungs out. - Rev. Bob

Dear Reverend Bob,

As I'm sure you've already noticed, I have vacated my post in your garden for new horizons. I am sorry for this dereliction, but I do hope you understand and pray there are no hard feelings.

You see, not that standing around that neglected patch of crab grass and litter you call a garden every day being slowly devoured by weeds and rubbish hasn't been terribly fulfilling, but lately I've become overwhelmed with a desire to go out and see the world.

From the accompanying picture you can see that the first stop in my travels has been San Francisco. Wonderful city. I've spent four fabulous days here, but am now off. Where to? Again I apologize, but for my own peace of mind must abstain from saying lest you should assemble a search party. Rest assured however that I am safe, and for once truly happy.

Your's Humbly,
Donald Q. Gnome