Things are going as planned.  I think I'll start going by "The Great Confuser" again, at least in chat rooms.

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Homeless

Today I saw the teat run dry:

82 year old man in my complex was evicted today. Some people in my complex had seen the letter of eviction posted on his door, so this morning I was outside and I saw two movers moving his stuff out of his apartment while he sat in an old chair outside of his door. I was watching from the second floor and I went over to the balcony to watch them load the truck. There was no truck. They were stacking a man’s possessions, what was left of his life, next to the street.

The landlady said, “Its business, not personal.”

Why was he being evicted? His rent just jumped from $400.00 to $750.00 a month. The alleged “custodian” of his bank account had just pilfered his funds and split. The man needs a walker, he is old and he is alone.

The County Sheriff stood next to the landlady to make sure that all of this was done in accordance with the law. What law?

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

~Edmund Burke

That phrase has haunted my soul off and on for years.

After 2 hours, two people came by, friends of the guy, to stand guard over his possessions to keep them from being stolen. County Services sent a social worker by to carry him to a home or apartment somewhere in the dingy part of town. I asked what my Wife and I could do to help. I called the manager of my old apartment and asked could he store some of this stuff just to keep it safe or something and I guess he did for it was off the street less than an hour later.

It wasn’t as though the management had a tenant lined up or anything, then maybe I could understand, but no… not even then could I throw someone away like that. Maybe I’d make a lousy businessman.  

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alas, i have run out of books to read. i must head to the library this afternoon as i have finally conquered every last book in the entire hosue (which trust me, is alot)
i got the new tvotr album yesterday after having to wait weeks for the record store to order it in. it was well worth the wait though. it's a beautiful album. i think i liked it more than their previous stuff.
i have nothing to write about but i want to write. strema of conciousness time? no, i don't think so. the automatic writing thing has been done to death. apart from sparking a few short stories about shoes and roses, it's pretty much a waste of time and just makes my brain hurt. it's like those word association games. i'm terrible at them because if someone says to me 'FROG' i jsut sit there and repeat 'FROG' in my head over and over and over. then people will look at me because i'm sitting there with a blank stare on my face and all that's running through my mind is an image of a frog on a lillipad.
i've run out of ciggarettes which is terribly upsetting as i am flat broke. i don't want a job because my HSC is coming up and i should really be concentrating on that but i need money. it's ridiculous. i guess i ahve all the time in the world to get a job. or so my mother continuously tells me. 'school years are the best of your life!' yes, yes. everyone tells me that and i believe it, but it's a little hard to focus on the good when your best friend think's she's pregnant and you yourself have a lump in your breast and she cheated on her boyfriend and he cheated on his girlfriend and that teacher gave me bad grades and i can't believe you said that and oh my god i've got the clap and holy shit she didn't invite me to her party! mostly trivial bullshit, sure, but when you're sixteen and your life revolves around your friends and what you're going to wear to that barbeque in two weeks time and whether or not you'll be able to afford to buy beer, it does seem rather important.

my head hurts. i think i'll go back to bed.

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HELLO 16 CHAPTER EXAM!

thanks, Prof.. Thanks a lot.

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State Sanctioned
I swipe my hand past the scanner.  The mechanized box-- plugged into the wall, the wall into a grid, the grid into the network-- lights up from black.  White light shines on my hand and a spinning gear whirs.  With a click, the door opens.  My door.  To my house.  Mine and everyone elses-- all the same box, lined up the same distance apart. 
I step inside my world, my prison, beyond the foyeur and into the living room.  Papers clutter the coffee table. The couch opposes the table, green with arm rests three times that of what you would need.  The home is the only place where excess is allowed.

Excess.  Like a wealthy class.  Like poverty.  We had enough of both to fill multiple Earths.  Maybe that's what they did, started Earth A: Upper Class, Earth B: Original Earth and Middle Class, and Earth C: The Forsaken.  It's not a big deal, space colonization.  My father, if you can really call those cold machines "paternal," showed me captures of the first lunar city.  His speech, staggered by contrived fragments, told me this was the beginning.  His prerogative was to, like all parental units, teach without compassion.  To train youth, detached.  As a boy, I believed in our ability to reach out into the universe and change.  Now I only see the reaching.    

Excess.  Like animals we don't eat.  They were pets.  No longer allowed.  Shipped off to the Sun, all of them. Launched, in missile caskets, to the depths of blanketed nothingness.  Maybe burned in a big heap, burried in a large ditch.  If it is possible for humans to sell out individuals from their own species, what makes dogs exempt?

Excess.  Like listing off another crime of permittance or domination, authored by the human race.

And here I am, standing at the edge of my living room, my suit still on.  There is a photo of some of my friends on the coffee table, hidden almost entirely by legal papers.  I grab it and head to the kitchen.  The papers slide over top of each other.  Some float to the floor behind me, reading "State Sanctioned" at the top.

I don't know one of the persons in this picture.  The one at the center, the one everyone crowds around.  That is me, that guy in the center, with black hair, grey eyes, and a smile like everyone else.  But I don't know him, because I've never really ever seen myself.  Not for who I am, anyway, just who I want to be.  But that's the same with everyone in this picture.  I don't really know them behind their grey and green eyes.  I just see them and interact how I feel I should.  It doesn't really go any deeper than that.  These people, my friends, are nothing more than fractal images, rearranging, shifting, combining to become absolute in their projection.

I set the staged smiles on the counter.  Eyes look back, but they don't see me.  I go to my refrigerator wall unit and type in a string of numbers.  My order to the machine is five-three-six, a rare strip with mashed red-skin potatoes.  And water.   It begins humming, replicating the biology of yeast. A molecular structure is laced within, and soon I will have a perfect copy of something delicious.  A perfect copy, just like Elz, this girl coworker of mine.  She's dead now, a copy in her place.  No one should know this, but I know this.  I am not sure why, but I know this.  Something in me, something separate from the deterministic circuits.  

I am a digital gene pasting associate for the Hub. I sit down at my desk and submit a new thinking code into the mainframe.  An evolving code.  It is telescoping, refining itself through failures, finding an efficient rhythm of progression.  Within an hour, this code will know simple addition.  Within days, it will know the self, have an ego, and think, perhaps, it should eat something.  I add a line for recognition.  If this contributes to the overall mainframe experience, maybe it will seek its creator.  My grin is brief. 

I take a break and breathe. I, God in exile, think of Elz, who left me shortly after we met.  I remember the first time I ever saw human skin on another body.  It is hers.  Inexcusable that she enter my home without express permission from the Hub! So she dies.  Assisted suicide.  She dies and they copy.  A replacement takes over and the syntax of society continues, missing not a single fabric of code.

My meal takes a few minutes for the processor to work out, so I head back to the bedroom.  I unzip my suit.  From head to toe, my body emerges from its Shell.  Shells, these suits we all wear, projecting what viewers want to see.  You might think I'm blonde, you might think I'm "white," or "black," but you'll never think wrong, because everyone is correct in perceiving.  Projections are always what you want to see.  Biologically, there's something we are most comfortable with seeing in other people.  Usually ourselves, sometimes the exact opposite.  Whatever restricted life conditions have created our desire for sensory comfort, these suits provide.  Neural pathways all networked, anchored to the shores of a bigger system.  The system of monitors and analyzation.  Assessments.  Assessments on what we need, relayed to all other suits.  In our hands, unique digital addresses bind to everything we do.  Our bodies, networked, like a microcosm of God's perfection.

The last of my suit drifts to my feet and I step out.  I look out the window, dust settling in the sunlight, and the world is everything I can imagine.  I see the steel walls that enclose this six block neighborhood.  Six houses each block.  Six neighborhoods every Trans exit. A perfect social dynamic.  Easy to witness. Easy to calculate.

My steak is done and my opaque water is cold. I set them down on some papers and pick up the important legal ones from the floor as I sit on my big couch.  It is comfortable and I am happy that this is my last meal.  A simple favorite of mine.  It feels false though.  There are no cows.

Just us. 

And them. 

I look at the last paper I pick up.  It reads "State Sanctioned."  There is a line for my signature at the bottom, right under the final letters.

Highly advanced, near-human intelligence automates information centers.  Computers.  Sorting, watching, reviewing.  Making sure everything is in place.  Make sure we make it through to reach further into the depths of blanketed, muted oblivion.  Safety and the progression of humanity is assured.  At least, for everyone that chooses to partake.  Treatments exist for those who don't.  All of them.

I sign the document with a finger-tip pen.  The LCD-paper processes my action and thus follows a delayed dance of lines and curves.  I look at my calligraphic identity under the last line.  It reads:    

"State Sanctioned Self-Termination."

Afterworld

I ride in my hearse.  It is a square cell.  My chest and upper back touch cold metal as I inhale.  The compartment hovers out of the neighborhood and down the street, passing smiling faces.  They see a maintenance vehicle.  Or a tour bus, ha!  Whatever it is, I am suffocating inside this tiny tortoise.  "Shells are there to protect you when you need them most.  Should you ever cross the road."  My unit teaches me this when I am a child.  

The hearse arrives in a large garage and rumbles.  My clamped feet and waist allow little movement.  I strain to twist my face to a grate. Shutters close behind the vehicle.  Darkness enchroaches.  One sense gone.  The hum of the undercarriage evaporates.  Two senses.  I feel a pinch in my spine.  I struggle to reach the small of my back as my arms go limp.  Three senses, and I fall to a helpless lean.  An acrid primer thins across my tongue.  A burning hair smell drifts up my nostrils.  Overwhelmed, they too shut down. My mind lingers for a moment.  I will see her light skin again, I think.  I pass into darkness.

I dream a floating conveyor in the sky, transporting my skeleton over the tip of an icy mountain.  The other side is a smeared blackness across an open canvas.  The world closes behind, consuming the conveyor, siphoning the sky.  A sutured wound.  Before me, a giant bipedal canine growls, "I am Surma.  You may never leave this place."  His tail, a hissing serpent, coils in my direction and stares. 

"You chose this chaosss, and now you will sssuffer.  Forever," Surma's tail licks, tasting the brittle air.  The belt ends and I descend into the gaping maw of God, screaming.    

I wake up naked, faint needles pushing at my back.  I open my eyes.  I look down and see my uncovered skin, dark against the hairy emerald earth.  I sit up, resting my hands by my side.  I am confused and squint in the brightness.  The sky is patchy.  In the distance, a great wall of clouds surge-- marching.  The air rumbles and vibrates from a distant wave of thunder.  I jump up and scramble for a nearby tree.  I am almost entirely exposed.  I gaze across the open field, the whole ground bent and moving in my direction.  No walls.  Nothing.  Just my tiny frame against a large tree, an open field, and a looming storm in the distance.

  Her suit unzipped and powered down, I could see through the tight translucent skin that she was pale.  She had blonde hair and blue eyes.  I had never seen such a pulchritudinous geometry.  I had never seen a nose, eyes.  I had never seen a face.

  "What's wrong," she sang, staring into my bright suit, her eyes hooked to the reel.

  "You're pale." My monotonous statement reverberated within my suit.

  "Oh, no.  This was a mistake.  Let's stop," she pleaded, her suit halfway down her chest.  Draped on one shoulder.

  "No! You. You're beautiful.  It's just that," I hesitated, but unziped my suit.  "I'm dark." 

She gasped, trembling, "You too."

  I asked her what she meant.

"You are beautiful."

At that moment, we shed our Shells and embraced.  No amount of Supplement could have enthralled us so.  Without Shells, the windows explained a crying world.  Rain pelted the window and thunder tiptoed across Earth's ceiling.  Neon flickers lit our bodies on the floor, illuminating unfettered smiles.  We became the children we would never have, elated and giggling.  Our heart beat rhythm matched-- we had never known the sinking drip of love as anything more than calculated lines and taboo.  Captures, screens, and noise. 

A round face swings into view, upside down.  It connects to a scrawny body.  The body to hands and feet.  Hands and feet to a branch. The face's tongue dangles.  Saliva oozes from the ringent gawk.  I yelp and scuttle around the tree.  Right into the trunk of a man-- two wide-spread sets of long, skeletal roots.  I stare at them for perhaps a moment longer than comfort allows.  He shifts his weight.

"They're toes," he sings.  I look to his mouth in awe.

"Dog!  It's a dog!  All fours!"  The swinging ghoul drops and waddles round the tree, hunched and panting.

"Don't mind him.  He doesn't recognize humans. This is why he is here."  He pauses, gazes across the open field, his khaki face airy and pleasant, relaxed and comfortable.  His gaze pierces the imposing storm and he frowns.  "Here.  In Afterworld.  The road to Neverwhere." 

His eyes nearly disappear in a fleshy trench as he squints.  A cone of hair drops with his chin.  And a sigh, "Come with us," he looks to me, "all iterations are of use to us.  Many are special.  But few, a handful, hold the truth."

"Seen your fur before, seen your fur," barks the ghoul.  "Seen hers too, seen hers." 

I ask what they mean.

"We will explain everything when we return to the Enclave.  We must go now."  He points to the sable clouds, "Today's test."

Alone and confused, I follow my only connections to this new world.   
 

Delirium Written

I inquire to their names.  One, the bearded watcher, is Gage.  The dog with visual form agnosia, that's Phin.  They do not ask for my name.  Instead, Gage tells me he was born here.  Born.  He was little.  No one in the mainframe is ever little.  This is why the Enclave allows Gage a name.  I ask him why Phin has a name.  Phin, who pants as we walk.  Gage looks at me and grins.  Phin bends, scratches behind his ears with his foot and continues trotting on all fours.  I nod to Gage, Phin is special. A hiccup in paradise.  

"Always hot when fury," Phin pants. 

"You don't have fur though.  You're free," I tell him.  Free from the wires. Thrall to nothing digital.  The weather here touches skin.  The wind.  Thin droplets wet my hair.  No facade.

Phin yelps, "My fur stands!  God pulls it!"  He gallops on all fours, passes Gage.

Looking over his shoulder, Gage agrees and quickens his pace, saying, "We waited too long."  Quickened pace becomes a full-on sprint.  I let them go and stare into the storm.  I am planted, transfixed.  "Newcomer!" I ignore.  Gage stomps to a stop, grabs my bare shoulder, and begins to run again.  This breaks the hex.  "Come, we run for the cave ahead!"

Behind and above, a groan mounts the air.  Charges it.    Fear floods my blood.  Each raindrop pelts against my naked body, stinging.  No protection.  I hold my genitalia lest it bounce and slow my pace.  Lest it suffer exposure. Like the tortoise, humans have a natural defense against the elements.  Logic and emotion.  We settled on only one ages ago.

A stream of light hammers the ground, blasting bits of earth in all directions.  The groaning air thins into something like a laugh and dissipates. Dust to water, smoke to air, the clouds retreat into themselves and disappear.  It reminds me of the sky in my dream, before arriving here.  A wound, stitching itself up.  The sky clears and the rumbles cease.  Nothing now but the sound of weeping. 

Phin cradles Gage in his arms, squeaking with tears.  "Why did he take him?"

"He?"

"God." 

"He refers to the Hub," a voice strains from behind.  A woman with grey lumps of hair on her head.  "We seek to destroy it.  Today."  She pauses. "Phin.  Take Gage to the burial grounds."  Desperation taints her voice for a moment.  She then composes herself and continues to speak with Phin as he passes, Gage in his arms.  "Are you ready for your job?"  She looks into Gage's eyes and closes them with a light press of her light, wrinkled hand.

"'Course, 'course I am, Elz-2," he barks.

"Elz? You work at the mainframe!  I have know you," I urge her to remember. 

Her eyebrows disagree, arched.

"Perhaps it was another iteration.  My model has failed numerous times in the system.  And look at me now.  I age.  I choose this.  Remove the chip in your hand.  Sever its ties to your brain, young one.  That is what I did, and now I see.  I age, but I see.  My eyes are free from the reel." She looks to her shoulder, her peripheral.  A crowd staggers from the darkness of the cave into the light, shielding their eyes, massaging them.  Elz-2 continues, "We plan to destroy the Bulwark first and then move into the mainframe.  From there, we will march to the Hub."  The crowd behind her, their eyes cleansed, stands fully erect, listening intently.  "Since Gage," she swallows, "cannot speak for your entrance into this realm, you must stay behind."

"I am looking for someone.  A girl.  A, uh," I hesitate,"an Elz.  She terminated herself.  Even if we are dead here, if this is a stage set for suffering, testing-- I will remain.  If it means I see her again."

She laughs, "Dead! Then you have no reason to protest, tyro.  Stay.  Find her.  I have known love, too."  She smiles, tears in her eyes, and nods to the cave.  She begins walking, passes me.  Phin returns from the cave and trots alongside. The crowd marches onward, a snake of humans from within the cave.  For a good hour of standard time, they emerge.  I sit next to the cave and watch their faceless backs.  I take a nap and awake to the tail rattling over a hill and beyond sight.  Soon, the head of the snake will reach its destination.  As this thought reaches my mind, they do. 

The ground trembles and little beams of light crack through the blue sky.  Clouds swirl to the top of a radiant blue ceiling, evaporate, and burst into water.  More and more clouds to the top.  A backward sink.  Up, up, up.  Rain begins to fall as the clouds burst.  They immediately rise passed the popped clouds and into the invisible sink.  Trees uproot.  Blades of green hair rip from the ground.  A fury of pastels reach upward.  Twisting, they blend.  A familiar groan expands and echoes through the air.  This time, there is no doubt this is a voice. 

"This is no beginning to revolution.  This is the final chapter in this world.  Gone to far.  Free will does not exist.  Stasis, all of you in stasis."  A blinding light detonates in some foothills of what could be the icy mountain I passed on my way here. 

I rush into the cave for cover.  A rock separates from the rocky wall and knocks me out.  When I come to, I am on a flat plane of grey and white, welded panels.  They stretch into the distance, upward, into a dome.  In the distance, I see a man crawling toward me.  I squint, strain my eyes, reach out with my sight.  It is Phin. 

"Phin! What happened?" 

"Newcomer!"  he runs up, grunting.  "Elz-2 made me useful.  Let me defeat Surma."  Most of the inhabitants of Afterworld refuse to give up their agelessness, and thus, they will never see the truth, if lies project.  Elz-2 needed substantiation from someone else that Surma was, in fact, not a horrible monster.  "And they said they learned of a bitch.  Pregnant.  They can't terminate them, never do.  They all stay.  Your bitch.  Your bitch and now you're trapped in here!  They destroyed the bridge.  Prevented evil dogs from catching them."

"Bitch?"

"Girl dog.  Elz.  Elz twenty-one!"  He smiles and wags his butt in the air. 

I grind my ivory teeth.  "I don't need a bridge.  I need a computer," I tell him, adding that I once programmed for the mainframe.  "If you can climb a tree, if the rain here can soak us, if lightning can electrocute us, I don't need a bridge.  I'll write one."  

"Writers can tell any tale!  Tail, I have a tail!"

"But first.  I need something to cover my body with."

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Today is MR FD's father's 91st birthday. The man has been "ailing" since he was 57 and had multiple bypass surgery in 1985.  I am absolutely convinced that he has done a deal with the devil. SisterIL took them to lunch - to Sushi Train! Can you imagine taking a 91 one year old deaf man, and an 86 year old woman in a wheel chair to a sushi train lunch? She would have done it because she had some sort of discount voucher or some way to stuff her purse full of food without paying. They are very well off and can afford far more comfortable surroundings, but that is SIL. They had barely started the meal and the old man threw up. Naturally.

We went over and took them dinner and a birthday cake. All he wanted to talk about was how he had thrown up at lunch. Luckily he didn't say if it was actually on the sushi train so I was spared that visual memory. Watching him gum his dinner tonight was enough. He is living proof that only the good die young, and the evil live forever.

Daughter 2 has done Germany and is now onto Budapest. She says she misses me, so obviously I must have done something right somewhere at some time that I am worthy enough to miss. I miss her too, but am so happy that she is seeing the world.

Apparently it is Monday tomorrow, and I must go to work. I am working a 4 day week this week so that is something to look forward to... hold the thought, hold the thought, be strong anf brave...sigh.

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Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin wrote in her line-item veto changes by hand in this copy of a 2008 spending bill obtained by The Washington Post.

By Paul Kane

ST. PAUL -- Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin, the Republican vice-presidential nominee who revealed Monday that her 17-year-old daughter is pregnant, earlier this year used her line-item veto to slash funding for a state program benefiting teen mothers in need of a place to live.

After the legislature passed a spending bill in April, Palin went through the measure reducing and eliminating funds for programs she opposed. Inking her initials on the legislation -- "SP" -- Palin reduced funding for Covenant House Alaska by more than 20 percent, cutting funds from $5 million to $3.9 million. Covenant House is a mix of programs and shelters for troubled youths, including Passage House, which is a transitional home for teenage mothers.

According to Passage House's web site, its purpose is to provide "young mothers a place to live with their babies for up to eighteen months while they gain the necessary skills and resources to change their lives" and help teen moms "become productive, successful, independent adults who create and provide a stable environment for themselves and their families."

Palin's own daughter, Bristol, is five months pregnant and has plans to wed.

"Bristol and the young man she will marry are going to realize very quickly the difficulties of raising a child, which is why they will have the love and support of our entire family," Palin said in a statement released by the McCain campaign. "We ask the media to respect our daughter and Levi's privacy, as has always been the tradition of children of candidates."

Earlier today the Associated Press reported that Sen. John McCain (Ariz.), the presumptive Republican presidential nominee, opposed funding to prevent teen pregnancies, a position that Palin also took as governor. "The explicit sex-ed programs will not find my support," she wrote in a 2006 questionnaire distributed among gubernatorial candidates.

Reporters asked McCain in November 2007 whether he supported grants for sex education in the United States, whether such programs should include directions for using contraceptives and whether he supports President Bush's policy of promoting abstinence.

"Ahhh, I think I support the president's policy," McCain said.

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(alternate title : "All the reality that is fit to print.")

There is no doubt that we are living in an extraordinarily fucked up world. We have global warming, corrupt governments, a culture growing out of reality television and Splenda seems like a good idea to a lot of people.

Religion is the opiate of the masses.
Television is the opiate of the masses.
Opium is the opiate of the masses.

The three previous statements can all be proven as true through logical argument, but what is it really that is impacting our world into a false sense of happiness?

I have no idea.

Something I have always wanted was a child. As I meet children, as I get opportunities to teach them something about the world I have a strong urge to make one of my own. I am jealous of members of my family that have children, I am envious of their opportunity to shape a mind... to clone a lasting copy of themselves to live on in this world. Then reality settles in.

Is this the world that an innocent child deserves?

People smoke despite a clear label on the package that the product will kill them.
Priests diddle children.
Amid a clear global change, we don''t change our ways.
Any idiot can have a child when it takes months if not years for someone to adopt someone in need.

I was fortunate enough to have amazing parents. Two people that allowed me to develop into the person I am today, they were and are considered by their peers as a strange anomaly, they are also envied by these same people for the friendship they have with their three sons. When they could have molded us into anything they wanted, champion golfers ( in the way of Earl Woods ) or subjected us to fame on television ( we were gorgeous children ), they instead offered us everything that this world had to offer. Exposed to every religion, every bit of knowledge in the world available ... they let us grow into the men we are today.
I am a colossal fuck up... when compared to my brothers. I'm the explorer, never content. While my younger brothers take on more noble roles in the world I sit around and write hoping to eventually reach a reasonable conclusion that will convince you the reader to not have children.

Why?

In a world beyond repair... do you feel capable of teaching someone enough that they can fix your mistakes?

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When you have no one to rely upon except yourself and even your own soul does not seem to be strong enough to bear the weight of the sad story known as your life...What the hell do you do?

No one to call upon. No one to rely upon. Absolutely no one.

*I guess this is where God fills in the blanks. shhhhh!*

Instead of asking “why me?”, in the past I learned to simply say thank you. Thank you for showing me some people and some things that were not good for me but I could not see unless in extreme scenarios.

But lately I find myself asking “why me?’ as the state of the world just implodes on itself. Everything still hurts even though I remain unharmed.

Sometimes I think it is better to deal with the harm instead of bearing witness to it.

I am starting to believe that heaven is a beautiful fairytale meant to comfort the overly sensitive.

The people that cannot help but feel too deeply and have no filter to protect their minds from their emotions.

They are pretty rare but you know one when you see one because they are: sensitive, unrealistically optimistic yet at the same time ridiculously pessimistic, social inept, childish and gullible smucks like me that will never, ever be taken seriously in the state they are currently in.   

Yesterday was silently the biggest and greatest heartbreak of all time.

Knowing that it was inspired by the actions of those around me and not by myself is going to bug the hell out of me… at the very least. My last ray of sunshine has officially set and now it is time for the vampires to come out and dine on the corpse formally known as my soul.

I think its easier to be alone when you don’t know what companionship is like.

If you get the feeling by now that yesterday was not a nice day, you’d be right. If you get an even warmer feeling that is telling you I was just dumped, you're pretty on it today!  

Congratulations! You’ve just won a warm, huge, freshly baked turd muffin!

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The Washington Post
Saturday, September 13, 2008; 10:37 PM

The following are key documents related to the Bush administration's implementation and defense of the National Security Agency's warrantless domestic surveillance program.

• Conflict Over Spying Led White House to Brink
• A Near-Meltdown
• Key Documents
• About the Series
• Wednesday, Sept. 17 at noon ET: Books: "Angler: The Cheney Vice Presidency"

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Airing immodest shows could incur death penalty: Saudi cleric
Fri Sep 12, 2008 7:08pm EDT

RIYADH (Reuters) - The head of Saudi Arabia's Islamic Sharia courts has said owners of Arabic television stations airing immodest shows in Ramadan could face execution, Saudi web sites said Friday.

Sheikh Saleh al-Lohaidan, one of the most powerful clerics in the world's biggest oil exporter, was responding to a question on a radio phone-in program Wednesday about the owners of TV stations airing programs that "offend modesty," especially during the holy month of Ramadan.

"If the evil of those who promote corruption in belief and actions cannot be held back through lesser punishments, then they can be put to death through the judicial process," Lohaidan, head of the Supreme Judicial Council said...

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• Evil is real. This is a fact. We have seen it.

• Good is stronger than Evil. This is our faith. We feel it.

• When Good is divided, it is weaker than when it is united. This is our history. We must learn from it.

• Evil purposely divides Good. This is our adversary, We must know it..

• When Good divides itself, it aids Evil., This is our weakness. We must avoid it.

• The methods of Good, applied unjustly, eventually become indistinguishable from the methods of Evil. This is the line. We must not cross it.

• Evil met with the methods of Evil always results in the survival of Evil. This is our dilemma. We must solve it.

• As long as some remain Good, Evil can be overcome. This is our hope. We must hold onto it.

• Those who would remain Good in the struggle against Evil must remain united for justice. This is our first and most vital task. We must remember it..

A great 9/11 post by Richard Schwartz.

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Rush, Rush Paula Abdul

Speaking of celeb crushes, this video made me want to be the Mineo to Keanu's Dean. And me being me, I would have had to ask Paula's Natalie, "Hey, honey! How about a boat ride?" So that the "Rebel Without A Cause"  knockoff would have played a little more like this (*spoiler* without the whole getting shot part, Beyonce hijacking a perfectly decent Des'ree tune and Big Mama being the only to mourn over me) :

Rebel Without a Cause Jim and Plato

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Doctorluau

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I've been chipping away at a very special, evil project. It will eat up any extra money I hoped to save from my raise and bonus, and it will stretch my time rather thin. I don't care. It stands poised to outgeek my T-shirt glory of earlier this year.

I'm sick of letting sickness keep me from entering all these awesome contests. So I'm going to concentrate on the only one this year that counts.

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100% unadulterated evil.  I am sure there is some purpose for this tool of satan in the ecosystem, but in my humble opinion, I'd be quite thrilled if it never existed.  This time of year this instrument of torture succeeds in making my life hell.  Runny eyes, constant sneezing, stuffed up head that makes me unable to breathe or think.  Yeah....good times.  And especially after a day out doors - I feel like death.  

Goldenrod

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I am anti-death penalty. Always have been. (Have you seen 'The Life of David Gale' ?? 'Nuff said)

However, there is an exception to every rule I suppose.... because I want this Mother to FRY.

and maybe be TORTURED first...

Joseph Edward Duncan III

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Since I have abandoned my TV (except Fox News Sunday) I miss some minor things going on in our culture.  In comments on my last article Judy pointed me to Pastor Manning on YouTube.  The video I watched was intriguing because of his strong message about Barack Obama but something in your spirit hurts when you hear him speak this way.  Seeing as how the man is a pastor and as such represents the Creator, the Counselor, and the Healer I decided to watch some of his work and see what more I could learn of him. 

My criticism of liberals, Barack or Muslims has been plentiful but has never been about race or mixed race.  It has never been about the lifestyle of parents and only on the basis of their own speech, actions, and character.  It has been about their associations, affiliations, and inspirations.  I know some will criticize my frequent use of the term Islamo-Nazis but the term is accurate and I have demonstrated this fact.  They will criticize my early and continued and now firmed up suspicion that Barack is a Muslim plant but I have always given the evidence that leads me to think so and the evidence has been mounting ever since I started.

 17for the kingdom of God ^(AB)is not eating and drinking, but righteousness and ^(AC)peace and ^(AD)joy in the Holy Spirit.

 18For he who in this way ^(AE)serves Christ is ^(AF)acceptable to God and approved by men.

 19So then ^[a]we ^(AG)pursue the things which make for peace and the ^(AH)building up of one another.

 20^(AI)Do not tear down the work of God for the sake of food ^(AJ)All things indeed are clean, but ^(AK)they are evil for the man who eats and gives offense.

 21^(AL)It is good not to eat meat or to drink wine, or to do anything by which your brother stumbles.

 22The faith which you have, have as your own conviction before God. Happy is he who ^(AM)does not condemn himself in what he approves.

 23But ^(AN)he who doubts is condemned if he eats, because his eating is not from faith; and whatever is not from faith is sin.

This passage speaks of acting in a manner which would cause others to stumble, to fall away from faith or to not accept the word of truth.  Pastor Manning, as a representative of Christ has been released from the law of Moses, but like Paul is conscripted to present himself as one separated from evil.  In today's politically correct environment to use language like nappy headed people is not acceptable and literally creates a block to many people hearing the gospel message.  I had a video of Sean Hannity correcting him on the Hannity and Colmes interview but as I was embedding it YouTube took it down.  The point is, that the general populace sees this as evil but the man's intentions are far from evil.  He genuinely loves black people and uses this speech to attract traffic to his YouTube ministry site.  In my view, the net result is negative and damages the image of Christianity to the vast majority of Americans who will only visit his sight in order to find some outrageous comment to get excited about.

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After working until 9pm (don't feel too sorry for me, I didn't get to work until 10 am, and that was after sleeping for 13 hours) I went with friends to buy party decorations for an office.  See, my friend's boss's birthday is tomorrow, so there were streamers to be strung and confetti to be flung.

However. Her boss left his computer workstation unlocked.  Now in my group, that is an invitation for an FMLA.  FMLA stands for Fire My Lame Ass and is an email that is sent to the rest of the organization to notify them that you neglected physical security and left your computer wide open for anyone walking the halls to access.  Often the FMLA mail comes with entertaining text about how much you love your job, or what a mess your office is, etc. 

So what to do?  We weren't in my group, so an FMLA seemed mean.  And it was his birthday after all.  So I put down the crepe paper and went to work.  First, he needed a cheerier desktop wallpaper, so I found a picture of balloons on the internet.  Then, I changed his screensaver to say Happy Birthday.  Finally, and in what I think was a bold move, I downloaded the video Mahna Mahna to his desktop and launched it in Windows Media Player, set to repeat.  Then, so as to prolong his early morning birthday enjoyment of the song, my friend suggested we lock his workstation.  A request I complied with. 

Once the workstation was locked, I mentioned that he would be also able to also enjoy it when he restarted his computer as I dropped the video into his startup folder too.  This I believe took it from bold to brilliant.  My friend is less than convinced of that.  I fully expect her to throw me under the bus (I can't blame her), so I may as well admit to it all here so she can just point him to my blog for the full confessional.  I kind of hope she waits until he reboots at least once before pointing him here though, or the beauty of the startup folder vector will be lost.

On our way out of the building I wrote 'mahna mahna' on random whiteboards in the halls and in offices.  Figured I may as well go all in.

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