It was the best of times...as far as you know

(Moved from my old site)


This is my first attempt at my fourth blog. All the others have died
gracefully, like the dinosaur, wandering the desert mad from
dehydration or possibly hypothermia, drinking urine and cursing God
for his dispassionate hubris. Graceful.

I chose Ben Franklin as my picture for a few reasons. First, he was a
brilliant man and one of the framers of the nation that I both depend
on and adore. Second, he invented electricity, at least as far as you
know, being that you are an idiot (if you went to public school in
this great country of ours). Kidding, he invented day-light savings
time, bifocals, the pony express and all of his children, amongst a
few other things. And third, he liked to fuck a lot. All of those
things are something that both he and I share in common, with the
exception of the first two distinctions.

However, I do live in the country he framed, and have used electricity
to reset my clock for day-light savings time while wearing bifocals in
order to get my bills on time to pay for stuff for my daughter. Also
it is my dream to have my face on the hundred dollar bill...the one,
five, ten, and twenty. Grant can keep the fifty. Grant loved to drink
alcohol, which is something he and I share in common. Also, it is said
that in my ancestry is John Wilkes Boothe, which makes me a very loose
accomplice to the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, another
correlation between Ulysses and myself. Old Abe was a good president
and would not engage in dishonesty, so on his behalf I will say for
the record, U.S. Grant was a total douche to the douche power of
douche and thanks for nothing for, fuck-head.

(I decided to hyphenate "fuck" and "head" as it is not in the
dictionary but is such common parlance that I felt it deserved the
respect of being distinguished from two separate words, but not an
obscure colloquialism undeservedly being transmuted into one word,
such as motherfucker. That's right, you heard it here first:
"Fuck-head" deserves respect.)

I chose my overtly patriotic background as an homage to the land of
the free I love, that allows me to believe this malarkey and because I
read the news and know that it would be an exercise in great
misfortune to have been born most anywhere else. Also, I have a great
number of war heroes in my family that helped raise me. Well, only two
really, but if you consider how many of our heroes did not breathe
long enough to return to their homes after being heroes, that is a
fairly large number in one family. I am proud of The United States,
our forefathers, our soldiers (mostly), our beautiful freedom and our
rights of considerably basic humanity.

I realize that the things which we should be entitled to are not so
much rights (like would be if the world were perfect. It's not, by the
way. It's the ass end of garbage. Buddha could only find Nirvana by
not giving a fuck about anything. It's true. Look it up.) which are
guaranteed but rather privileges which must be earned through great
sacrifice, dedication and so terribly often, blood. Heroes blood. Men
bled so I could talk about dinosaurs drinking pee till they died.
Seems like a waste, even to me. God bless the United States of
America! Not so much the Central or South parts though, but let's
throw them a bone. Don't want them to be boneless. Or bone-free.
Whatever.

God Bless the United States of America...and the illegal immigrants
and drugs of Central and South America! No one wants to pay $5 for a
strawberry.

In conclusion, grace is an idiom for the world wide web, drowned and
beaten to retardation with obscurity and reckless ignorance, nursed by
half-wits and less-than-half-wits, starving hysterical naked dragging
its abandoned ass on a fruitless quest for a truth that either does
not exist or wants nothing to do with it. Cold and alone, as we all
are, repenting to God in the empty hope that He is even listening,
while weeping at the grave or our purity murdered by our noses to
spite our faces. Angry for a fix. Furious for satisfaction. Bilious of
our own desires, down on our knees, vomiting at the feet of the lost
and damned corpse of the thing that everything was at one time all
about. Grace on the Internet. Nevermore.

Oh, I have a joke to tell you: Why do you wrap hamsters in duct tape?
So they don't pop when you fuck them.

On a scale of one to ten, for first blog attempts, one being the
worst, ten being Steinbeck, what do you give this? Bare in mind I
referred to you as an idiot and a less-than-half-wit. Smiley-face!