Disingenuous my black ass lung.

To get things started, I'd like for you to see the first paragraph of an article that ran in the June 14th edition of The USA Today newspaper:

By Rita Rubin, USA TODAY
In anticipation of a ban against using words such as "light" or "mild" on cigarette labels and ads, tobacco companies have lightened package colors to convey the same message, a move the American Lung Association and Rep. Henry Waxman, D-Calif., have attacked as disingenuous.


Webster's Dictionary defines "disingenuous" as "lacking frankness, sincerity, or simplicity; crafty, not straighforward."


First and foremost, this Rita Rubin is a poor excuse for a reporter. She words this as if it's something new the cigarette companies are doing in an attempt to camouflage the truth about their products. Do your research, you stupid bitch, this isn't anything new. Show of hands: how many of you didn't know the difference in the color of a Marlboro Light cigarette pack as opposed to a Marlboro Full-Flavor cigarette pack? Or, at the very least, knew there WAS a difference? Anyone? I knew it, good. Even those of you that don't smoke know there's a difference. And those of you who claim not to know are blowing more smoke up my ass than I am into the ozone.


Cigarette companies have been using different colored packs for as long as I can remember to convey the difference between full-flavor, light, mild, menthol, and even menthol lights are a different shade of green. This is nothing new, as the article would have us believe. Full-flavor Marlboro cigarettes have even been called "Marlboro reds" by people purchasing them! The entire point of the argument this stupid fuck Waxman and the ALA are making isn't about the cigarette companies trying to "get one over" on the American people, but an attempt to justify an argument that should have been made 30 years ago. There's not a single person who smokes that doesn't know a "lights" pack from a "menthol" pack from a "mild" pack. And those of you who are considering taking up the habit will learn or already know yourselves.


You may remember years ago that President Clinton wanted to ban cigarettes altogether. There's NO WAY he consulted anyone in his cabinet before making this announcement. Do you know how much money America would lose if we banned cigarettes? Billions! That a big capital B, friends! We can't afford the loss in revenue from the taxes that come from cigarettes, especially now when there's a war on (granted, a war we never should've been in from the beginning). That money helps to fund the murder spree of our former president. (Before I get hate mail, this is not a slight against the soldiers who are fighting for me and my family and friends. They can't help it that the guy who gave the order was a fucking retard.) And don't try to hand me the stand-by argument that insurance rates increase because of cancer-causing cigarettes. At least give me something new to chew on, instead of showing your ignorance by throwing THAT old bone!


So, Mr Waxman (or Representative Illiterate), who's being disingenuous? The cigarette companies who've complied with the new law and removed the words "light" and "low tar" from their cigarette packs and maintained the colors? Or a desperate, coniving fuck who claims those companies are attempting a "new" tactic? Who, precisely, is being crafty and is not being straightforward? It's guys like you that trample on the constitution and call it acting on "the greater good."


And, unfortunately, that's a cancer none of us can escape.

The Truth About Flats and Blogs

I recently made a trip to Adena hospital in Chilicothe, Ohio to have my foot examined. I'd had trouble walking on it (trouble? full-on fucking impossible, more like it), and figured if I was going to have to stand for nine hours a night, something had to be done. Turns out it was gout, which is to say I have too much uric acid in my blood. When that happens, small crystals form in the extremities, most often the feet and toes, and makes it nearly impossible to get around. Women talk about menstrual pains, and I have no doubt that's bad (I've seen the evidence), but a woman menstruating with a bad case of gout? Lock your doors and hide the knives, kiddies, 'cause you're not getting out alive! The condition is due to overindulgence of food and drink heavy in acidic content like coffee, beer, fish, soda (pop to the mid-westerners), and even ham. When the liver fails to process the acid properly, gout forms. There are a few people in this world I truly despise, but I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on one of them (I would, in fact, wish it on ALL of them). Suffice to say, it hurts like hell. Motrin and lots of water usually does the trick, but in this case my foot had swelled to nearly double it's size, so I thought the best route was to have a doc look at the damn thing and, possibly, get a few powerful pain killers so I could actually sleep. The only hospital in Roundtown is Berger, so I made the trip to Adena in Chilicothe. (No I didn't leave out the facts about Berger Hospital... those that have been there know that what I said is all that needs saying.)

Once in the ER, I had a few very nice (and, truth be told, very attractive) nurses take my blood pressure, temperature, and even gave me a laugh when I told them how much I weigh ("How much do you weigh?" "I don't know." "180, 190?" "Ha! More like 240!" To which she gave me a look of complete and utter disbelief). The wait was minimal, despite the fact they seemed fairly busy, and soon I was sitting in a hallway waiting to be seen. Yes, a hallway. This is the simplest and yet most innovative idea I've seen in a hospital. The patients whose conditions are not severe enough to warrant a room of their own or a small curtained area with a bed are put in a nice comfortable over-sized plush chair in the hallway to await the doctor. Nice idea, huh? I'm not being facetious, I really think this is a fine way to utilize the available room and minimize the wait time for patients. Ingenious! Of course, that being said, it gives someone like me all kinds of ammo for a blog about the culturally illiterate. Yay, me! Bonus, baby!

The first example of these folks came in the form of a mother and her two kids. (Goddamn, people are going to start thinking I hate kids! For the record, I have two, and I love them both dearly... it's your kids I can't stand.) The younger, a girl of maybe six, was being seen for a sore throat. Her older brother, maybe eleven, was playing keep-away with the girl's stuffed dog, or bear, or some stupid thing... it was black, that's all I really know. He was tossing it down the hall (!) and she was sick of it. She'd run after the thing and cry "STOP IT!" at the top of her lungs. Only when a nurse or a doctor would pass by did they calm the fuck down. And mom? On her cell phone. Yep. Sitting right there talking bidness to a friend about the weekend. And people wonder why we need a blog like mine.

Next a man and his daughter are ushered into an actual waiting room. Her leg's in a cast to the knee and she's walking on crutches. Literally, the minute they hit the room, dad's standing at the door waiting. And they aren't two minutes settled when he asks a passing nurse when they'll be seen. This is the most self-centered moron I've seen lately, and remember I live in Roundtown! I've been waiting patiently for fifteen minutes and this fucking jerk-off wants to be seen immediately?! I get it, the kid's in a cast, you're playing the concerned parent, but seriously... the kid has to be seventeen, she's already got the cast on, how fucking urgent is this situation? Are you late for work? Guess what? You have a kid, daddy-o, and if this is the first time you've been late for work because of some emergency involving your kid I'd be very surprised. She certainly doesn't seem any worse for wear, she's not screaming bloody murder due to the pain, so why don't you sit your dumb-ass down and wait it out like the rest of us? It's this kind of fucking asshole that makes writing the shit I write much easier.

Last but not least (by ANY stretch of the imagination), is a fellow named Uncle Pete, his wife, and their five-year-old niece. Uncle Pete is a whale of a guy, has to weigh-in at 450 pounds if he's an ounce. He's apparently slipped on his front porch and twisted his ankle something fierce. It's turned all different shades of purple and blue. Nasty. Ouch. They're done with the x-rays and are seated behind the small divider directly behind my chair to await the results. They pass the time by entertaining the wee-one in the only way a jumbo-size wit like Uncle Pete knows how: farting. He'd let one rip and then blame it on the niece, and she'd giggle and laugh and say "That wasn't me!" They say there's nothing sweeter than the sound of a child's laughter, and I'd have to agree. Except when the laughter comes at the expense of my nasal cavaty slowing rotting away due to the stench. If you've never had the pleasure of a fucking fat man's fart, it's like nothing you've ever experienced in your life. It hangs in the air so heavy you can practically taste the fucking thing. I wish this were an exaggeration. When I'd finally been seen and carted off to x-ray myself, I could still smell it on my clothes. And the attractive young nurse who escorted me there could, too. She kept her distance, and when I turned down the offer of a wheelchair you could practically see the relief on her face. When I was returned to my comfy chair, Uncle Pete and the family were gone, but certainly not forgotten. He'd left a piece of himself behind that I guarantee will take more than Lysol to remove.

And there you have it. My trip to the emergency room reinforces the idea of the spreading problem of cultural illiteracy. They're everywhere, friends, and so we must be vigilant, as always. At the ready with a stern look or a firm word of caution to help educate. Of course, it shouldn't have to be a matter of eduacating some of these fucking people. It's an issue of common sense and courtesy, as most of the issues with the illiterates. Alas, none seems to be coming anytime soon, so our best course of action is still education. (Do I sound put-upon? I was going for put-upon, did I sound put-upon?) And to answer your question, no, I didn't say anything to any of the three examples I just mentioned. This is an emergency room, not the mall, and while I'm all for speaking up (and out), I realize there's a modicum of etiquette to be followed. A time and place for everything. And besides...

I didn't know if Uncle Pete had eaten yet.

"Charlie Manson only wanted to make his house a home"- Tabitha's Secret

Let's chat about gullibility, shall we? To some degree, we're all gullible, and the reason is because we want to believe. We, as a species, are not born cynics and doubters, but trusters. Everything our parents shove down our throats from the day we're born until puberty (or thereabouts) is swallowed whole and digested as the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. But once our minds begin to mature, and we start experiencing a few "truths" of our own, the things we're taught fall away or begin to be seen from different angles. We develop our own truths, our own ideas, and our own sets of moral and spiritual values. That is, if we're lucky. Some of you still cling to the old truths, and some of you make up new shit, just because it's difficult to wrap your tiny little minds around what's real. They say there are two truths: you're born and you'll die. And whether we end up as food for worms or our spirits rise to heavenly heights or fall into the abyss, we're going to end up rotting husks. What makes you who and what you are is what you do with the time in between. And ultimately, what you do and who you are depends greatly upon your level of gullibility.

The example that sticks out in my mind is Bill Clinton (wow, I'm really topical today!). He got on camera and looked America in the eye when he told them he "did not have sexual relations with that woman." He later told us his interpretation of the definition of "sex" was wrong, and that, indeed, a nice wet blowjob is sex. Huh. It is? Let me get my slide-rule and figure this out. Your pants are off (or at the very least unzipped) and your penis is in a woman's mouth. Now let's see... pi divided by atomic number 8 times bullshit factor... uhh, yes, that's sex. If your pleasure rod is in any way being handled by someone other than yourself (and ladies, same goes for your genitalia), it's sex. Got that? Okay, BUT... some of you didn't. According to some of you, the man was mistaken, that's all. His ideas about what sex was were just a little off. Let me ask you this: before all this went down, if you walked into your house and found your husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, fiance, whatever with his/her genitalia in another person's mouth, would you be upset? Yes. Why? If it isn't sex, then why? Perhaps they're only playing "find the little man in the canoe." But you're upset, right? Of course you are! YOUR HUSBAND, WIFE, BOYFRIEND, GIRLFRIEND, FIANCE, WHATEVER HAS HIS/HER GENITALIA IN SOMEONE ELSE'S MOUTH, THAT'S WHY! Fuck, I'd be upset if my girlfriend's tongue was down another guy's throat (but not a woman's... and that's a story for another time). "It was just sex, nothing more, honey." Hmmm... is this supposed to make it okay? Yes, it's supposed to, but it greatly depends on your level of gullibility whether you allow it to be okay. It also depends on how fucking stupid you're willing to be.

This post is meant to be a cautionary tale. It seems the farther we come in our technologies and understanding of how things work, the more accepting we're willing to be of others' definitions of truths or their outright lies. We have unlimited access to knowledge via this handy-dandy little thing we call the world wide web, but we still have to be careful of what we believe. Wikipedia is not all truth, kids. Definitely NOT the place to research that final essay. Always remember that old truth (and yes, this IS a truth): If it sounds too good to be true, it's probably not true. Or, as Judith Sheindlin puts it, if it doesn't make sense, it can't be true. (There's goes my credibility... I just quoted Judge Judy! I'm kidding, she's a very intelligent woman!) Ask questions, look at things from all angles before you make up your mind. And trust your gut. Ultimately, the only person you can trust in this world is you.

Trust me.

"Kudos, my hero"- Foo Fighters

Progress! Yes, friends, there's been progress in our fight (I say "our" as if everyone's joined in... HA!). Nevertheless, I've seen it. Granted, it was only a man who was doing his job, and I'm sure it had nothing to do with what I write here (I'm not anywhere NEAR that egotistical!), but it was still a nice thing to see, and I thought I'd share. WARNING! This post is filled with the "warm and fuzzies" for the gent who stepped up, so if you only come here to hear me rant and rave, use foul language, and call people names, you'll be sorely disappointed. Well, except when I mention the fucking bitch who happens to be the antagonist in this post.

I picked up my paycheck from work and headed to Wally World to get it cashed. I have my ride park in a REGULAR PARKING SPACE because it's going on 5pm, and the parking lot's a bit too busy to let me off at the front door. Yes, I'm still in my boot and on my crutches for my foot trouble, but I, for one, realize that my time is no more valuable than anyone else's, and I don't want to inconvenience a mother or father that may be trying to get home to dinner with their family. Besides, I'm an able-bodied, strong, decent kind of guy, I can take care of myself. And I'm single. And I have papers, ladies. Full-blooded American male of Irish/German descent. Likes football (GO BUCKEYES!), long walks after dusk, reading, and indoor picnics. Did I mention single? Uhh, what was I talking about again? Oh, yeah! I was just getting to the good part...

I'm just getting the crutches under my arms when I look up and see a van coming to a stop in the "no parking" zone between the two front doors. A woman gets out of the passenger side, walks in, and the woman behind the wheel just sits there. What she doesn't see (but I do... oh yes...) is the sheriff's car, also parked in the "no parking" zone, behind her (this furthers my theory that the WMS cannot see beyond their own twisted little world). I start making my way to the front door as the sheriff exits his vehicle. I immediately stop where I am, in the handicapped spot nearest the front (nope, I don't have a sticker on my crutch). If what I think is about to happen actually does, I don't want to miss a thing! I am NOT disappointed.

The sheriff reaches her window and actually STARTLES her when he speaks! You got that? This fucking cunt (sorry, ladies, but I can think of no better term) is so engrossed in her own little world that she doesn't even see the guy with the big brown hat and the sidearm walking up to her car door! (For further information on this condition and the consequences thereto, please refer to the post "The WalMart Shopper: An Army Of One") I can't hear what he's telling her, but it's clear by her reaction ("Oh my god, EVERYONE does it!" I CAN hear this) that he's asked her to move her vehicle. And she does. And as she does, I start laughing. I can't help it! It's a win for our team! The WMS in this case has been foiled! I figure I'm going to get my own little dig in, so while I'm laughing I point! At her! And then I laugh louder! It's all very theatrical... And when she gives me that "fuck you" look, I flip her the bird. Which she returns in earnest. I hear "Sir, please." It's the sheriff, and he's speaking to me. But I like to think I saw the ghost of a smile on his lips. I hope so, he certainly brought a little joy into my day. "Sorry, sir," I say, as I proceed across the drive and toward the door. Before I can thank him for his service, he's already walking back to his vehicle. But if he's reading this, by some otherworldly chance, I'll say it now: Thank you, sir. You're doing good work.

And there you have it, friends. A little good news to begin your Friday. A win for the good guys, a loss for the scumbags. But law enforcement can't do it alone, and we shouldn't expect them to, either. When you see that bitch or that prick breaking the law, go inside and let someone know. After that, if nothing happens, at least you've done your part. And I promise to do mine, as well.

And to the passenger who couldn't find her ride when she came out: HAHAHA!!! and a flip of the bird to you, too!

Farting in the elevator doesn't count.

Whatever happened to taking responsibility for your own actions? Did it ever exist? Seems to me there's been a lot of "the dog ate my homework" and "he told me to do it" going on lately. You've got BP, who initially blamed their contractors for the explosion that's causing the devastation in the Gulf of Mexico, Jesse James (not the outlaw... well, then again...), "the most hated man in America," blaming childhood for his overactive labido, television critics blaming reality TV for the decline of network television (no no no... I blame- and praise- FOX for that...). There's plenty of blame going around, and nearly zero responsibility being taken. Why is that? Well, I happen to have a few ideas (like you didn't already know that)...

There's an old saying: "shit rolls downhill." Really? I, personally, have never witnessed this, have you? In my experience, shit's sticky. It doesn't roll. If I were standing at the top of a fucking GLASS RAMP and took a shit, it might SLIDE down, but roll? Absolutely not. Even if it did, I still have it all over my ass, that's why we make toilet paper, to get rid of the incriminating evidence (that, and because shit tends to get itchy when it dries on your bum). Even then, the smell remains. So we make air freshener to mask the smell. This is the perfect analogy for the BP fiasco.

British Petroleum took a big shit in the Gulf of Mexico, while drilling for oil. Now, BP says it was the contractor's fault, but it's STILL BP's asshole; they lease Deepwater Horizon and contracted it's workers, after all. The smell got out, and someone noticed. They yelled "Smells like someone took a big dump!" and soon the smell wafted to the CNN and FOX newsrooms, and national and local newspapers. Before BP could wipe it's ass with fluffy, quilted toilet paper in the form of press releases, the shit hit shore. Animal and plant life were covered in it. People started to complain. So, to fix the problem, BP developed it's own air freshener in the form of a metal tower, four-stories high, that was supposed to contain the leak and "fix" the problem. Their "air freshener" turned out to be the equivalent of waving a bar of soap back and forth through the air to get rid of the smell. The tower fell. And with no plunger and the toilet still running, it's like a septic tank out of control. Sea life from this disaster will be affected for years to come, which means the price of fish sticks, that staple of dietary nutrition in 99% of in-home daycare, will go through the roof. The tourist industry along the Gulf is already being affected, leaving desk clerks, waiters and waitresses, and fishing boat captains without the money they count on to make it through the slower winter months. And most importantly, the delicate ecosystem of our oceans, which we've already begun to destroy with trash dumping, pollution from huge seafaring vessels, and battles of wars past, is taking a hit that will affect future generations in ways we can't even imagine.

So, who's at fault? Ultimately, where do we place the blame for this shitstorm that all of us are complaining about? I'll tell you.

It's my fault. And it's your fault. We patronize BP and every other company, corporation, and even goverment that we have the balls to complain about. We allow them and even EMPOWER them to act in such a way as to take control over our lives, and then bitch and complain when they fuck up. And they ALWAYS fuck up. This isn't the first disaster we've seen, and I'm not even talking about in the oil industry. Enron, Fannie Mae, Lehman Brothers, and Rush Limbaugh (Elton, Elton, Elton... what the FUCK were you thinking?!), were all supported by us. I can hear some of you now: "I didn't support (insert company and/or asshole name here)!" Doesn't matter. As a member of our society, you're to blame. As am I. That's why we must do everything we can to make sure this doesn't happen again. We must learn from our mistakes. Teach through boycott. I can't believe I can still pass a BP gas station and find people lined up out front to get gas and cigarettes. PLEASE people! Wake the fuck up! This is what I'm talking about! Making a kid stand in the corner for burning a hole in your rug isn't going to teach him not to play with matches. You have to swat him on the ass, tell him fire can be dangerous, take away all of his toys and confine him to his room to make him understand his actions have consequences! That way he'll learn to take responsibility. Accept blame. This is a kid who's going to grow up knowing that if he fuck's up, he's going to pay a price. The kid who's made to stand in the corner will grow up to be a whiny little bitch, like Glenn Beck.

The bottom line is shit does NOT roll downhill. And only the unevolved fling it at others.

Happy Flag Day! Let's license people to breed!

Flag day. A holiday in honor of Old Glory, the Stars and Stripes, the most recognized symbol of freedom in the entire world. Out of the ashes of a revolution our flag rose, and gave a new nation a symbol for which to fight. The flag represents many things to many people. For myself, I look at the American Flag as a talisman to be held forward, to protect us from those who would wrong us, do us harm and bring evil into our midst. And to ward off those whose evil is already entrenched in our society (sing it with me, you know the words!): the culturally illiterate. You'd think they'd give us this one day. Just stay inside for one day, teach the l'il illiterates some new and exciting bad manner they can take with them into the world. But nooo... there are some bad manners and actions of ignorance one simply cannot teach on the living room floor or at the kitchen table. Some of their foolish bullshit has to be taught outside, among the normals (that's us, friends). And what better place to teach the little shits than (let's all say it together) WalMart!

I'd just left the emergency room (another long story for a different day), and needed to fill a few prescriptions. The nearest spot and the cheapest place to do that is Wally World. In Circleville. Yeah. I'm already feeling poorly and now I have the pleasure of potentially running into a WMS as well. Swell. We parked pretty near the front of the store (it was 10:30am, and the parking lot wasn't very full). I decided the best thing to do was wait in the car while my mother (who'd taken me to the ER) went in and filled the 'scripts for me (the ER visit was for gout, so now I'm on crutches and have this funny little velcro boot I have to wear). She hadn't been gone two minutes when I spotted the first WMS/culturally illiterate.

I'd lit a smoke and was trying to relax my foot when I saw a nice new Mustang pull around the corner. It was a deep blue with a convertible top, nice shiny chrome wheels, very sharp! I always think if you're going to have a car like that you should personalize the license plates, you know? Something cool like "MYSTANG" or "HORSPWR." So I always assume everyone thinks the way I do and look for what this wit has on the plate. Well, it's just a regular old plate, nothing special about it. It's not even one of the new Ohio plates, it's the older red and blue one. Oh, well. The car pulls into the handicapped spot nearest the door, and an elderly woman gets out. Not old, elderly, maybe late fifties (I find the older I get, the farther and farther the term "elderly" gets from me). She doesn't put a handicapped sign on her rearview, and I'd already seen the plates, no handicapped symbol there. As she's walking in I shout "That's a handicapped spot!" She glances around without stopping and proceeds inside. Look, people, I've heard this argument before, and I'm going to say it one more time: old does NOT equal handicapped. It also doesn't equal entitled. Yes, I've been told by elderly people I know personally that they've earned the right to park in the handicapped spots, they've worked all their lives and their bodies don't work as well as they once did. I sympathize. A little. VERY little, actually. I see elderly people all the time park rows and rows from the front door and limp all the way there. Good for them, they're following the rules. I had knee surgeory nine years ago and used my crutches, wouldn't dream of taking a handicapped spot away from someone who needed it. Bottom line is, if you don't have a handicapped plate or sign, you're not supposed to park in the handicapped spots. And yes, if I'd have had a cell phone (I gave my old one to my parents after I got the Magic Jack), I'd have called the people inside to let them know she had parked illegally. I've done it before, and I will again.

Here's a thought: What if a WMS and a lesser (but no more intelligent) culturally illerate decided to breed? Isn't that a frightening scenario? Well, it happens. Of course it does. The odds are too great. And suppose, just suppose, that not only do we have a mutant WMS walking amongst us... but that mutant is from our favorite Roundtown! Okay okay, enough, I'm going to end up scaring myself. But I believe that very thing has happened. And it's breeding more mutants...

A few minutes after anti-handicap left, a woman and her son, who was approximately eleven or twelve, came out with a cart and stopped at the car parked directly in front of me. The boy had a can of silly string and was spraying it on the cart, his mother's car, and the handicapped sign belonging to the space right next to his mother's car (where the cart with their bags in it was sitting). He eyed the van I was sitting in and stepped toward it, but spotted me and turned around. The whole time the silly string was flying, the kid's mother seemed oblivious to everything except putting the groceries into the back seat and getting a can of coke from the carton and drinking it. She then put her son in the passenger seat and proceeded to her side of the car, leaving the cart parked in the middle of the handicapped space. I attempted to get her attention by calling "stupid bitch," but she was paying no attention (or she was ignoring me, more likely). When she got in her car, she left her door open. I saw her bend out the door, and I looked out the window to see what she was doing. She was pouring a can of energy drink out. When it was empty, she set the can on the ground and shut her door. Again I yelled "stupid bitch!" Ignoring me, she pulled out (nearly hitting a couple of teenagers coming up the row on foot) and left. I grabbed my crutches, stepped out of the car, picked up the can and set it in the cart she left behind. I tucked both crutches under my right arm and (sort of) walked the cart to the corral, deposited the can in the trash barrel sitting there, and stepped back to the van. It took me less than a minute and a half, and I was on crutches! I figure it would've taken less than twenty seconds for the dumb bitch who left her shit behind.

There you have it. Two fine examples of cultural illiteracy. You know, people like these don't need me or anyone else to fill them in on how to behave. Most of their issues are lack of common sense, lack of common courtesy, and laziness. And stupidity. And ignorance. And it just goes to show, no matter what day the calendar says it is, and no matter what the season, for these fucking assholes, intelligence is always on vacation.

Complaining for fun and profit!

I've always wanted an alaskan malamute. If you don't know, it's a breed of dog that looks similar to a husky, but with more fur and generally brown eyes. My aunt had one when I was growing up named Duke, and they're the most beautiful, gentle, and loving dogs I've ever encountered. And they're BIG. In my way of thinking, if you have to bend over to pet a dog, it's too small. I was looking on Craig's List the other day (not really thinking I'd find one... and I didn't), when I came across an ad in the "free" stuff section. You're going to love this, and if you don't, I don't give a fuck. You're probably the one who wrote it...

I should have copy/pasted the ad, but in my druggedness (fuck if I know if that's a word, but you're sure as hell not going to find it in Webster's!), I forgot. (No, I don't take illegal drugs, I have a 'script for vicodin; and if you do not, I highly recommend getting one.) But I digress... The ad went something like this:

(Completely paraphrased) I'm getting sick and tired of people posting free animals in the "free" section! They belong in the "pets" and "community" sections, not here! I'm sick of browsing and finding a bunch of free puppies and free kittens ads! You don't see animal shelters running ads on here! (Note from Mick: actually, once in a while you do. And in the furniture section a lot of furniture outlets run ads as well. Cheap advertising, I guess.) You don't see adoption agencies posting for "free childern!" (Note from Mick: uhh... isn't that illegal?) If I see any more ads for free pets in this section, I'm going to flag them and have them removed! (Note from Mick: yeah, I don't think that'll happen, but have at it, loser.) Keep the "free" section free of animals! (Note from- fuck, you know: this seemed to be his attempt at wit. He might be half right.)

Huh... really? The ad got some responses, similar to the one I'm going to post here, which consisted of a lot of "What harm is there in it" and "You reach more people this way, so more chance of giving an animal a nice home" and the like. I'm going to concentrate on it a bit differently: GET A FUCKING LIFE, ASSHOLE! These people are right, there's no harm in what they're doing, and it does allow more people to view the ads. I mean, I don't know about you, but if I'm going to look for something on Craig's List, I generally start in the "free" section and work my way around. You just never know. I found a free pool table there once that a woman was giving away. It was her husband's, and after he moved out to be with his mistress, she decided to give it away for free. (That never fails to make me laugh!) So what if you've got to scroll a few pages only to come up empty? Craig's List is probably not the best place to hunt down that strap-on dildo you're looking for anyway. And you're going to spend a lot of time going through the ads and flagging them. If you have that kind of time, get a hobby. Go fishing. Read a book. Do SOMETHING that doesn't involve being an asshole simply for the sake of being an asshole. Write a blog!

Oh, wait... we've already got one of those...

Bottom line: if you want to involve yourself in a cause, make it something worthwhile to everyone. Join Amnesty International, or Greenpeace, or Feed The Children. I believe you're one of the "culturally illiterate" we can actually save. You've already shown you have passion, you just need to re-direct that passion. And please... quit being a fucking jerk, alright?