Monday, July 31, 2006


God, I hope this is right. At the pub yesterday some of the regulars were having a continued conversation that I wasn't privy to the beginning of, but the gist was that the trend of the metro-sexual was coming to an end. (And this is Austin, people, the bright blue spot in a big red state)

For those not up on the vernacular a metro-sexual is a (supposedly) straight male with the (supposedly) best features of a man and a woman. A guy with the style sense and sensitivity of a gal (or homsexual man). Think male fashion plate, think Barbi's ex, Ken. Think Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

Apparently the retro-sexual is the older, out-dated (re-dated?) man's man. (NOT the SanFran definition of man's man, but a MAN'S man... Uh, that is I mean... Oh for cryin' out loud...) The tough guy, the Marlboro man, the no cryin'-hard workin'-beer drinkin'-unprimped-unpreened-unpampered-winning actually is everything-has a 5 o'clock shadow at 10am-real man, or as I like to call him... Me. A guy who is not afraid to hide his feelings. A guy who will not threaten to punch you in the mouth, but will just actually punch you in the mouth. A man not afraid to take a beating. Me, me, mmmeeuuuh... well sometimes me.

I don't know if this is true or not, but the women in the group seemed to think it was, and that's good enough for me. Remember folks you heard it here first... And guys, throw out your gels, your facial stuff, your shiny ribbed skintight shirts, and act like a man, damnit.


Thursday, July 27, 2006


Read this. That's all I gotta say.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

De Inimico Non Loquaris Sed Cogites

OK, show of hands. How many of you out there even bothered to translate the latin?


"Don't wish ill for your enemy; plan it"

Friday, July 14, 2006

Sinner's Prayer

Every Friday, Elisson gives a list of what his ipod is spewing forth, and ask's the burning question, "What are YOU listening to?" I usually give lyrics to a song that I've heard in the last 24 hours that I like, or find apropo. The song I chose this week was Sinner's Prayer by Slaid Cleaves, a song I always liked anyway, and then I reread the lyrics as I put them in his comments... Well...

I'm not living like I should
I want to be a better man
A sinner's prayer upon my lips
A broken promise in my hand
I know that there will come a day
A heavy price I'll have to pay
I keep pretending to be good
But I'm not living like I should

I'm not living like I should
I've let the mystery slip away
The night goes by in dreamless sleep
I'm chasing foolish things all day
I walk this town just like a ghost
I don't know what I miss the most
I'd believe in something if I could
I'm not living like I should

When people see me on the street
They think they see an honest man
They don't know what lies beneath
But some of them would understand
They know the soul and what it hides
You sometimes see it in their eyes
A guilty man where a child once stood
I'm not living like I should

I'm not living like I should
The wolves howl, the robin sings
The world keeps spinning round and round
I wait for mercy's angel wings
Another day another year
Death keeps whispering in my ear
I say a prayer I knock on wood
I'm not living like I should

I'm not living like I should
I want to be a better man
A sinner's prayer upon my lips
A broken promise in my hands
A squandered gift, a wasted day
Time chases life away
I just wanted to be good
But I'm not living like I should

...It could be true.

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Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Fact and Fiction

I posted a short story of mine recently, and got a little feedback. I know some people are shy about posting comments... (Let's not get into THAT again) So here is a way to tell me what you think and still remain in the shadows, so to speak.

As far as short stories K-Nine should
Write more about the charicter from the last story
Write a completely different story
Stick with commentary and Naked Lunch Specials
Quit bothering people and shut down this crap site
Free polls from

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Happy Birthday America

Happy Birthday America. I remember the bicentennial, vaguely. I was only six, almost seven, a small town kid. we went to the grade school to see the fireworks. The first time I really remember seeing them. American pride was at a premium, something that's slipping away now.
Everywhere I go, everywhere I look, people are telling me that America needs to become part of the global community. One world. Think globally, act locally.
Read almost any regular publication and you'll quickly learn how much the rest of the world hates and fears us. We seem to be the bullies of the planet.
Yeah, OK. How dare we send you money and food and have our soldiers die to protect you. We are horrible people. We mercilessly allow other peoples to illegaly enter our country, and then provide schools and medical care for them. We ruthlessly send aid to nations in need and then force the natives of those lands to hate and curse us. We unrepentantly don't obliterate nations that threaten us with a few nuclear warheads, when we have more than enough missles and bombs to go around. On top of all that we blindly hold on to our sovrenty, the thing that makes us America.
And yet, as terrible as we are, thousands, nay tens of thousands of people want to come here to live. Why is that? Because we ARE America, the greatest, most powerful nation on earth. If we become like the rest of the world, where will the rest of the world go for help?


Monday, July 03, 2006

Hootie Who

I used to be a part time bouncer and full time drinker at a bar called the Attic in Greenville, NC for a little while. I'd come in early or on my nights off and help set up stage or whatever. I met Dave Matthews, (No one came to see him. I mean NO-ONE), Carrot Top (yes, he's a freak in real life too) among others. Imagine my surprise when sitting in front of the idiot box one day I heard a familiar voice on TV. Its a Burger King commercial, and there's a black guy dressed like a 40's country star in a red suit singing about hamburgers to the tune of Big Rock Candy Mountain. Darius "My name is NOT HOOTIE!" Rucker, the lead singer for Hootie & the Blowfish hocking burgers and fries. It was him, trust me, I never forget a lead singer that buys me beer. More recently, he's been singing "Big Huckin' Chicken" to the video of a guy in a chicken suit doing stunts on a dirt bike. Suddenly I feel the need for a BK broiler.


Just A Little Prick

My good friend Sean just called me. Turns out that our old boss back in Greenville, NC just passed away. Boss spelled backwards is double s-o-b and that's twice as bad. I'm not one to lightly speak ill of the dead, but he knew it just as well as we did. His ex-wife supposedly said "Rick's #1 fan was Rick." I'll buy that. He was good to me from time to time, and pretty damn hateful others. He could cuss me in the morning, take me to lunch at noon, and threaten to fire me that evening. He was 47 (I guess that means his late 30's when I worked for him) and maybe 150 lbs. I'd personally seen him take enough purple xanax to kill me and my 200+ lb frame.
He'd come in to work with a cup of coffee, that ever present cigarette, say good morning to everyone, go in his office for 30 minutes, then come out and fire EVERYONE. The whole store. If you got fired, you had to show up the next morning on time to prove you wanted your job. Really. I swear.
He could be funny sometimes, in a nasty, perverted sort of way. One of the things he used to tell women-friends on the phone was "If you can guess what I've got in my hand, you can have it." Twisted bastard.
He got pissed once and posted one salesman by each door and me by the phone at the back desk (thus insuring that I wouldn't get an "up") The back desk, and by extension the phone was near the TV section. Since the phone wasn't ringing, and no customers could get past the cordion of salesmen, I started watching TV. He came over and said, "I'm gonna hang a mirror over those TV's so you can stand here and watch yourself starve to death." (commision sales)
He took rude to a whole new level. Once one of the salesmen came over (with the customer) to ask some pricing. "The customer is not ready to buy right now, but wants an estimate on a package deal" Rick replied "Not buying now? why don't you drop them and go get a customer that's worth a shit?" Right there, out loud, in front of God and everybody.

So, here's my favorite Rick story. Be advised, there is some foul language here that I don't normally use, but this story is verbatum... And I have witnesses in case you dont believe me... Multiple witnesses.

Weekday. Mid afternoon. Sales desk in the center of the showroom floor. All the salesmen gathered around the desk, Rick gives a motivational speech. (I swear on my mother this is true) He starts in...
"Uh, Ya gotta want money, more than ya want pussy or ya ain't no fuckin' good to me. Cause if ya don't want money more than ya want pussy, you ain't sellin' no (product) and you can FUCKIN" LEAVE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!" Yep that man was a class act all the way. In the middle of his sales meeting, one of the salesmen's wives brings in a brown bag lunch. So while he's grabbing the bag from his wife Rick continues... "See (salesman) over there? His little wifey all lovey-dovey bringing him lunch. Well let me tell you, the first time he don't pay the bills, she's gonna leave his ass. You know why? Because his wife is a gold-diggin' bitch. (pointing around the circle) Your wife is a gold-diggin bitch. Your wife is a gold-diggin' bitch, and your wife is a gold-diggin' bitch." It kept going on and on like that... I pissed off the other guys, because I kept baiting him, (I told him I wanted to be a history teacher) but that was pretty much par for the course.
I actually even worked for him twice due to a stagnant job market. Between Sean and myself we could write a book on his "motivational technique".

So, Goodbye Rick, I hope you get better than you deserve in the hereafter. I was surprised to find that I was a little sad when I found out that you had passed, but I suppose what I feel for you is appropriate... Just a little prick.


Saturday, July 01, 2006

The Silver Sun

OK, just in the spirit of "the rest of the story" I updated "The End of Imortality" post. Now if you click on the picture, you get to see how big a dumbass I really was... Or here... Up, up fair bride! and call thy stars from out their several boxes; take thy rubies, pearls, and diamonds forth, and make thyself a constellation of them all. - John Donne

Honest Abe My Ass

I firmly believe that Abraham Lincoln was the first of the modern American politician. Promising everything to everyone with no real intent of delivering any of it to anyone. He wanted to preserve peace in the union by calling up volunteer troops. The reason Fort Sumter was fired upon by the Confederacy was because Lincoln (contrary to promises) was trying to resupply it by sea. The Emancipation Proclimation was a political ploy to rally the abolitionists to the war. In effect it only freed slaves that he had no power to free, the ones in southern territories, territories that were now a seperate nation. A nation with its own government, its own laws, and its own president. The document did not, however, free any slaves in the north, the only place he had the actual power to do so.
Abe was also a man of fickle alliances. Show of hands, How many of you out there knew that Andrew Johnson was not Lincoln's first Vice President. Hannibal Hamlin was. They didn't agree on a few things including the war, so a change was made.
Commanders of the Army of the Potomac changed almost yearly. Everyone remembers Grant, the man who finally fed enough poor union boys into the grinder to stop Lee, but what about the timid McClellan, or the union general at Gettysburg: Mead?
I know I have failed to convince many of you, especially those north of the line, but maybe this will help.

July 1, 1862. Congress gave the go ahead to the tax-centric Revenue Act, the legislation that became, you guessed it, income tax. Lincoln signed it into law to finance his invasion of the southern states. Originally a three percent tax on incomes of $600 to $10,000 and five percent on incomes above 10k, was collected by the Bureau of Internal Revenue. Now the Internal Revenue Service takes 30+% of my money every payday, and God forbid they decide that you owe them more, then they screw up your life, charge you interest, and dare you to fight them. Thanks Abe.

Side Note: One year ago today was the very first post of Dead Dog Walkin'. It was
a picture of the design of one of my tattoos, and a little welcome. Thanks for
hanging around.