Tortured Soldier

I see the faces flash across my eyes, young faces, smiling faces.
Their eyes have dreams and hopes for the future, but not now my
friend.

They are casualties in a war that does not exist, a turf war, in which
neither side wins anything. Victims of a wrong sign or color, they are
dropped, left cold and dead on the street. Left to be a statistic,
like all their friends.

Behind each statistic I see two eyes, one family, dozens of friends
and one future all lost. All destroyed. Destroyed by the selfish need
for love, love at all costs, by any means necessary. The love, too,
does not exist. There is not honor among thieves or love among
murderers. Only hate, hate disguised as love.

The numbers and bodies continue to pile up, destroying all they held
dear. The war does not exist, but the casualties are countless, the
war does not exist, but the bullets are flying.

This is not about money or land, this is about love and acceptance,
the foolish need to find them and the horrid ways thereof.

Maybe in death these soldiers, these tortured soldiers, will find
their love. Maybe in death, but I don't see it happening any other
way.

It was once said, "to sleep, perchance to dream". Dream again tortured
soldier, invisible warriors, condemned souls, dream again, in death, I
shall see you, in death you shall stay.

Shades of Gray


It's only natural, for the human mind, in it's infinite quest to make
things simple, to try to reduce complex and intricate problems into
black and white issues. But the truth remains, as hard as it is to
swallow that there is no black and there is no white, just a million
shades of gray.

Look at the terms we use, good and evil, conservative and liberal,
light and dark, right and wrong and even mine and yours. No issue is
so simple it can be summed up in one single word, no human so
transparent that a one-word moniker such as evil can even come close
to describing them. But yet we try to, we try to avoid seeing the
complexities of life for whatever reason it is.

Maybe it's because our minds aren't capable of seeing in so many
colors. Maybe seeing things in black and white helps us stay sane.
Perhaps, we do it to avoid taking our share of the blame. After all,
if we saw everything in it's infinite shades of gray we would realize
that we are all at fault for the things we try to blame on others.
Suddenly we might see our own fault and things in which we pushed
squarely on the shoulders of others would once again fall at least in
small part, on our own backs.

But perhaps the most compelling reason, the one that is the most
likely culprit is that we are simply, as a race, too lazy. We're
comfortable with our black and white world and it would take a lot of
time and focus to view things as they are. Why should we expend all
that energy just to make ourselves more uncomfortable and to make life
more complicated? At least that's the excuse we use.

However, it's our duties, the intellectuals of the world, to stop
thinking in such a fashion. We must at least try to get the full
picture, to see the details and to see things as they really are. If
we don't, who will? I challenge everyone who reads this, everyone who
understands this, to try and see the grays in an issue that to the
world seems cut and dry. Try to find the hint of light in the sea of
darkness.

Because if we don't, the world will forever be a 2-D, 2-color planet.
Where the edges are sharp, but the minds are dull...

The Blind Man


There is an old adage about a blind man groping in the darkness for a
light switch that simply isn't there. It's how the answers we seek are
typically no answers at all. How the way we attack a problem is often
no attack at all.

As humans we seek simple solutions to complicated problems. The
everyday issues of "I'm not happy" or "I don't have everything I want"
are often answered with silly counters. Sometimes these solutions
drive men to slave away in useless directions or hold idiotic and
often dangerous beliefs.

It's easy to blame someone or something for a problem, especially when
they can't defend themselves. This leads to scapegoating, racism, and
wasted hatred in general. Rather than picking apart the complicated
problem and seeking an equally complicated solution, people look
outside and find conspiracies and other fools who they have never
known and things they have never seen to blame their troubles.

Then the solution becomes simple. Destroy the cause. This often brings
much-needed focus into one's life and pushes them to extremes. But
soon it's clear, it's all just a useless and senseless quest. This
leaves the fool empty, hollow and no closer to solving his problem and
the failure just sets him on another quest to find another scapegoat.

But have to wonder, should that blind man every find that light switch
and flick it. When he discovers that he still can't see, would he
blame the light bulb and assume it broke, would he think the wiring
went bad or would he look inside himself and see that maybe there
isn't something wrong with the world after all, and it's really just
him.

To that, there is no easy answer.

Chess


I pity those who don't play chess. It's a game that's centuries old
but as timeless as a good love poem. It's a game of intellect and
emotion, strategy and tactics, offense and defense and of speed and
patience.

But mostly chess is a game about people. Like life itself, when all
else is stripped away there are just people standing on the playing
field.

We have the pawn, slow, dumb but dangerous in numbers. We have the
knight, valiant, brave, unorthodox and willing to leap over the
tallest obstacle to save the day. We have the bishop, righteous and
true with far-reaching powers, but only along the strait and narrow
path his philosophies allow him to take. Then we have the rook, the
brave and bulky defender who will plunge ahead into combat at any time
to defend his king.

Then comes the pieces that make the game what it is. First, there's
the queen, sexy and wise she reaches to all fields of play
effortlessly slaughtering much stronger men with nothing but her wit
and her guile. There there's the king, weak, slow and frail but
ultimately the most important piece of the game.

It's odd that the king is the one the game pivots on. One can lose
their other precious pieces but then through a brilliant attack take
their king and win the game. It's not a matter of how much you kill or
how much damage you do, it's who you kill that counts.

But then again that's the way life is, with it's important figures we
must protect. That's why it's fair to say that the world must stop
when the king is in check because the world will end if the king is in
checkmate.

Little Things


There was once a child who went for a long walk down a busy beach.
That child must have walked for miles because he passed stirngs of
sea-side shops, a huge amusement park, a dozen or so lemonade stands
and the best hot dog kiosk on the coast. He marched past young couples
in love, miles of surf and a dozen or so kites flying high in the sky.
He walked and walked as far and as fast as his legs would carry him.

But suddenly he stopped.

He looked down to the ground and spotted a conch shell half-buried in
the sand. He sat down, folded his legs underneath him and pulled it
out of the ground. He sat there in the sand listening to the ocean in
and running his hands over it's edges. He played with that simple
little conch until his parents came, got him and made him put it back.

There is a little of that kid inside all of us. A little boy or girl
who enjoys the little things in life. The simple joy of a scented
flower or wonder of a good story. A child with eyes wide in wonder
never feels empty or hollow, just glad to have the things he or she
does. If only we could each get in touch with that young person again.

However, growing up we're told to abandon him, lock him up inside a
small cage within our hearts. It seems being an adult means leaving
behind the joys of life, the drive to become successful overpowers the
need for fulfillment, the almighty dollar replaces the simple smile
and the rat race of adult life takes the place of the care-free world
we lived in as children.

It's sad really, how no one can let that child out and enjoy
themselves, it'd be nice to shed our suits, for just one day, and play
in a pond or splash in a puddle. I have to wonder if psychiatry exists
only because people can't be fulfilled anymore the way they were as a
child. I wonder how much happier the world would be if we could all,
if just for a while, get in touch with that child again.

But as long as the world turns and as long as young boys grow up to be
young men and young girls grow up to be young women, we'll still feel
an emptiness inside of us, an emptiness that could easily be filled by
the little things in life. The little things that we can no longer
enjoy.

Conformity


What do we have if not ourselves? Of all the people on the planet the
only person we are each obligated to spend the rest of our lives with
is indeed ourselves. While others may die or leave unexpectedly, we
are stuck with ourselves and who we are until we meet our own ends.

It's a gross injustice that people feel compelled to ignore who they
are just for the sake of acceptance. Worst yet, it's the most fleeting
kind of acceptance they seek, the acceptance of peers and society as a
whole. There is nothing more apt to change than the attitudes of
society and nothing more set to leave you cold and bare than the whims
of those around you.

Yet I watch in horror as people sell their souls, piece by piece, in
hopes of finding some kind of pseudo-friendship in the here and now
rather than working for true friendships in the future.

I am who I am, I can not change that and would not if I could. I dress
as I dress, talk the way I talk and act the way I act out of an
understanding that if I stay true to myself, then only those who will
remain true to me will be willing to stay close.

If the world has a problem with me, that is fine. It's the price of
not selling out to the lower authority. I will not tone down my act
and niether should anyone else. Because even if I don't like you or
the way you are, I will not hold it against you, unless you deny your
heart.

So go forth as I have and spit in the face of the world, lynch the
nazis who see individuality as an unprofitable venture and do what you
do best, be yourself. After all, the individual, the non-conformist,
the iconoclast is the greatest threat of all. Any man or woman ready
to stand on his or her two feet is the enemy of the world, and in the
end, my best friend.

--------------------------------------------------​-----------
Check it out
--------------------------------------------------​-----------

While I'm the first to admit that I really hate everybody, I'm starting to
develop a new, deeper hatred for cashiers. Now don't defend them and tell
me that they're young. I have children working on my stories and
they are all more alert and enthusiastic than the average check out girl.
Yes, there are car batteries attached to their nipples but those are only
used once or twice a day.

Let's have a little smile check out girl, is that so much to ask? You're
not in a dark, dank subterranean vault with a car battery hooked up to
your nipples, you're in a Wal-Mart; the happiest fucking place on Earth.
Cheer the fuck up.

Are you bitter that the game show thing didn't pan out? No one wants to
buy your original jewelry creations made out of chewing gum and old tampon
strings? You will definitely not be appreciated in your own lifetime. You
should kill yourself, but first ring me up.

Could you move a little slower? Because this is where I want to spend my
day. I don't run several successful Fortune 500 companies. I have tons of
free time. This beats lying on my private beach. This is like getting a
soothing hot river rock massage. This is better. I can see if there's any
new candy I'd like to try; I can browse the tabloids; I can strike up an
intelligent conversation with the 300lb Indian woman wearing her nightgown
who's standing behind me who has apparently rolled in dog shit and vomit
before coming in.

Oh, you're going to go on break now before ringing me up? Don't you need to
actually do some work before you can take a break? Because you just spent
ten minutes talking to that toad on register four about her genital warts.
Maybe she should stop participating in the gang bangs down at the homeless
shelter?

Could you smash everything I just bought, by being less careful when you bag
it? I definitely want those bowling balls on top of my Flora Danica
porcelain fruit basket. There's still room in the bag? Well by all means
jam some more stuff in it. God forbid you should use a second bag so
someone other than a personal trainer can lift it out of the carriage.

But don't worry he doesn't have to hold it for long. Since you couldn't be
bothered to double bag it, the entire contents of the bag are going to tear
through the bottom and scatter across the parking lot accompanied by
shrieks of delight from the retard collecting the carts.

And high end stores are the worst. You snotty cunt in your knock off suit,
and pleather pumps. You don't own this store and unlike me you can not
afford to shop here. Lose that superior attitude and ring me up, bitch
before I test the strength of that display case by slamming your head into
it repeatedly to see which one cracks first.

When I was a kid there were actually buttons on the cash register and people
actually paid with cash or even checks! A cashier had to be able to read
and do basic math. Now if you can wave an item over a scanner you can be a
cashier. Everyone pays with credit cards so there's no money to deal with.
The only requirement to be a cashier is the ability to wave an item. Your
job has been reduced to waving. I've got news for you: the retard in the
parking lot can wave, beauty pageant contestants can wave... the fucking
palm trees on my lawn can wave if there's a stiff breeze!

Cashiers, if you think you are miserable now, wait until you are replaced
by robots. They will be stupid, miserable, lazy robots and they will be an
improvement.

My Generation


Line us up orderly
Make us neat and pretty
And take away everything we hold dear
Strip us of our pride
And kick us when we're down
Because we're all just corpses that never stopped breathing
And everyone one of us is doomed

Tune our brains to MTV
Make us all think alike
And tell us exactly who we are
Mass-produce our individuality
And scar us with our differences
Because we're all just corpses that never stopped breathing
And everyone one of us is doomed

March us to our cubicles
Lead us to mediocrity
And tell us it's the best life to be had
Gouge out our eyes
And wipe away all our thoughts
Because we're all just corpses that never stopped breathing
And everyone one of us is doomed

At ninety words per minute
Turn us into human cash machines
And sell pieces of our pride all the while
Make us the machines we were meant to be
And replace us when our time has come
Because we're all just corpses holding our breath
And wishing that we were doomed

--------------------------------------------------​------------------------------

So nerdy they are hip
Think of coolness measured as points on the circumference of a circle.
Zero coolness (complete nerd) is right next to 359 coolness
(completely hip). Achieving complete nerdiness is probably a lot
easier than achieving complete hipness. So if you make it a point to
get very very close to complete nerdiness, you might end up fooling
people into thinking you're extremely hip (like the band Devo :).


--------------------------------------------------​------------------------------

So stupid they are genius
Same as above, using a circle for measuring intelligence. Zero
intelligence (complete studidity) is right next to 359 intelligence
(genius). Achieving complete stupidity is probably a lot easier than
becoming a genius... So if you make it a point to get very very close
to complete stupidity... you get the idea. (Note this circular idea
can be applied to almost any sort of measurement.)

--------------------------------------------------​-----------
Valentine's Day Massacred
--------------------------------------------------​-----------

I feel bad for you lonely losers on Valentines Day. Personally, I have a
brightly colored tissue box stuffed full of Valentines. I'm also in
several, meaningful relationships, as well as a few purely sexual ones; not
to mention one fairly abusive one with the 14 year old runaway chained
up in the basement.

OK, feel bad is probably too strong a term. I could really care less about
you. But my job is spreading joy so that's what I'd like to do.

Valentines Day always reminds me what a stupid place full of suckers the
world really is. I don't understand why they have a holiday dedicated to
love. They should have a holiday dedicated to hate. Hate is so much better
than love. Love is bullshit. Most people go their whole life without being
loved by anyone, and without loving anyone back. But hate is just the
opposite. Everyone is hated, and everyone has tons of people that they
hate.

Everyone is always confused about love. Do I love him? Is it puppy love or
true love? I love you, but I'm just not in love with you. Who do I blame
for this? I blame Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant. I think they should be
drawn and quartered in the town square. But then they should sew them back
together but scramble up the parts so they would be these two crazy
patchwork one breasted/half dicked/half pussied Julia Roberts/ Hugh Grant
creatures. That would be awesome. And while they're at it they should hack
up Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves. Just hack them up and feed them to the
kids.

But back to the hate. Hate is so beautiful and so pure. There's no
confusion, there's no question. Do I really hate him? Yes, you do. Is it
puppy hate or true hate? It's true, true, deep hate. I hate you, but I'm
not in hate with you? Oh you're in hate with me alright you stupid mother
fucker. If ever something deserved to be celebrated, it's an International
Day of Hate.

I propose Yadsenit N'elav, the anti-Valentine's Day. I think we should
make Nora Jones' birthday, March 30th, an international holiday to celebrate
hate. A day dedicated to telling everyone you hate to fuck off. On
Yadsenit N'elav you do not send people cards. Fuck you Hallmark, you're
not getting a dime.

Do I have to teach you people how to hate? On Yadsenit N'elav you don't
give people anything. Instead, you take something nice from the people you
hate. It doesn't have to be expensive; perhaps you take something of
sentimental value. Is there anything better than seeing someone you hate
unhappy?

What about the flowers and candy you say? Valentine's Day has flowers and
candy. Fine. Go to the yard of someone you hate and dig up all of their
flowers. Happy? Eat a box of expensive chocolates and then stick your
finger down your throat and Mary-Kate that chocolate right back into the
box. Give that to somebody you hate. Pour it out in their car.

The best thing about making a holiday about hate is it's a great way to
avoid getting in trouble for being the miserable cunt you truly are. When
your boss, or your teacher, or the police start to give you problems, you
just tell them, "I'm celebrating my holiday you fuckbag! What are you the
fucking Taliban?" Nobody wants to be compared to the Taliban and they will
let you go on your way.

So go find Cupid and shove his quiver full of arrows up his ass. If you
can't find Cupid, any winged baby will do. Just be sure and go out and
spread the hate. You know you have plenty to go around, so don't be stingy
about it. I leave you with this soon to be traditional Yadsenit N'elav
expression:

A Hate filled Yadsenit N'elav to all of you. You all suck.

--------------------------------------------------​-----------
Kids Are People, Too? Too Bad
--------------------------------------------------​-----------

I hate kids.

I yearn for a world without any children. It would be a world of quiet
airplanes, restaurants, and movie theatres: a world without playgrounds,
circuses, and child proof caps. Drug dealers could ply their trade wherever
they wanted, without having to worry about wandering into a school zone.
Adult book stores would just be called book stores.

Nobody wants kids for the sake of having kids. Women want kids to prove
that they have working vaginas. Having babies is the one thing us women
can do, besides field hockey, which no man can do at all, let alone do
better.

Ladies, if you want to impress people with your gash then shoot ping pong
balls out of it; or use it to pick up a stack of quarters. Do you want to
dazzle them? Then combine these two tricks as you sail through the exact
change lane on the turnpike.

Men want to have kids because they were picked last in gym class. Or worse,
they were captain of the high school football team and led their team to the
State Title. But then a freak masturbation accident cut their college
career short. Either way, they are determined to create little champions.
So, they put creatine in their kid's Captain Crunch, and dose their juice
boxes with anabolic steroids.

I don't care if your kid can jump over your house: it doesn't change the
fact that you're still a loser. Now finish pumping my gas, and lick those
bugs off my windshield if you want a tip. Your kid needs a pair of Adidas
1s doesn't he?

People have kids in the hopes that they will take care of them when they get
old. Fat fucking chance. Take the money you would have spent on
orthodontia, college, and rehab; and put it into a nice no-load mutual fund.
You'll be able to retire to a tropical island in your early fifties. Then
let someone else's teenager bring you fruity drinks and give you a poolside
happy ending massage.

If you have kids now, it's not too late to get rid of them. If you're still
living at home, it's never too early to leave and give your parents a chance
at happiness. Sweatshops and street gangs are both excellent options. Both
offer a child the opportunity to learn a trade, and room for advancement.
Both offer lifetime job security. How many people have that? If you're
afraid you'll miss your kid buy a PSP I hear they're awesome. They play
games, movies, and music. Your kid can't play music and they had 5 years of
piano lessons.

Do you know what would happen if everyone stopped having kids? Nothing.
Nothing would happen. The last generation would enjoy seventy years of
peace and quiet. Human civilization would end? So what? Why do you care?
You'll be dead either way. I hear that ferrets are pretty smart let's give
them have a chance to run the planet. If you're the last person on earth
just remember to turn out the lights.

Customer Disservice
--------------------------------------------------​--


"Hello and how may I provide you with excellent customer service?" Do these
words strike fear in your heart, too? There's nothing worse than trying to
get something done over the phone these day. And nothing sets me on
fire faster than when some oily stammering goat herder in New Delhi wants to
start off our conversation with something we both know is complete bullshit.
If they just had the courtesy to begin by saying, "how may I provide you
with barely acceptable customer service" at least we wouldn't have to start
off on the wrong foot. If you need to handle something over the phone, you
better pop in a porno and pack a lunch because it will take all fucking day.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. At this point you're nowhere near talking
to a person, yet. One time I went so long without getting a person on the
phone I ended up talking to a bloody volleyball. Unless that was Tom Hanks.
Yes, I ended up talking to Tom Hanks. Bor-ing. Anyway, before you get
any help you have to navigate through 35 levels of voicemail.

They always start with the same question. "For English, press 1: nachos
Espanol, sombrero numero dos." How the fuck did this happen? Last time I
checked this was North America. And in North America, no one speaks
English, but they're certainly not all jabbering in Spanish. And
besides, how many
people in North America actually have a Spanish phone with a numero dos on it?

Nice job setting up the voice mail by the way. God forbid you should press
'1' to get customer service. '1' is always some department that no one
could possibly want to speak to like, 'Resource Market Development'. How
do they get to be first? I blame the Yankes.

If you do manage to get the right department, then you have to punch in
every number associated with your life. Your 48 digit account number, your
social security number, your birthday, how many inches is your father's
cock, how many inches can your father take in the ass?

When you're finally through this maze; you used to get a human being. But
now you get a robot. Like I'm supposed to believe this robot wants to help
me? That sweet sounding robot just wants to find out where I live so it can
tear out my heart and stop me from fulfilling my destiny of leading the rag
tag army of human resistance fighters.

Never talk to the robot. Never do what the robot tells you to do. They
will eventually let you speak to one of the last humans tucked away in the
back: the ones they're saving for their robot zoo.

Although the human is generally no more help. Apparently, the robots have
lobotomized the humans so they can only read from a script. They're
waiting; slowly eating their steaming bowls of curry. They're waiting for
you to mention one or two key words so that they can give you directions on
something completely unrelated to what you asked them.

This is him: "Hi this is Steve (or some other phony American name). How
may I provide you with excellent customer service?"

This is me: "Hi Saptajit, thanks for helping me out."

Him: "Out? If your cable is out, please turn off your cable box."

Me: "Wait a second."

Him: "Second? If you'd like to add a second cable box you need the Sales
department. Please hold while I connect you.

Me: Damn you Saptajit! Don't make me kill your cow!

When they put you on hold they do one of two things. They play some
horrible easy listening music. This is a complete misnomer. This music is
anything but easy to listen to. They should call it "stab yourself in the
ears with an icepick to make it stop" music. Or, they play some
advertisement for the company (over the same crappy easy listening music)
telling you how happy they are to have some of your money and why you should
give them the rest of it.

When they transfer you., they always give you the phone number of the person
they're connecting you to, in case you're disconnected. It's 2005. How are
we still getting disconnected? There is no giant switchboard where they're
plugging and unplugging the lines into little holes? The telephone was
invented in 1876. I think transferring calls should be ready by now.

I eventually manage to get back to the Billing department. It's the same
guy. He now has no idea who I am. He needs to ask me all of my information
again. And then the dreaded question: what is your password?

That's right: five years ago when you signed up for this service, you
created a password. Now, I'm just trying to pay my bill. I know they have
to be careful in this age of identity theft and other nefarious schemes; but
are there really a lot of people impersonating me trying to settle up my
unpaid balance? Just wait until the West Africans get their hands on this
sweet scam. They'll use their unclaimed millions to pay for everything!

I never know what I used for my password and they won't give you a hint. So
now I'm giving Saptajit the passwords to every account I have. Now he can
read my email, access my bank account, and rent movies online. I find that
if I start insulting them at this point, instead of guessing passwords, they
eventually give in.

Me: "Hmmm? Is it, 'you suck?' Is that my password"

Him: "No."

Me: "Shitbrain? You're brain dead? Your head is full of sand and fleas?"

Him: "No, none of those."

Me: "You sister is the dirtiest slut in Calcutta whose cunt is filled with
the broken off penises of all of the lepers who've fucked her?"

Him: "(Sigh) It might be your mother's maiden name."

Me: "See? Was that so bad?"

Him: "Bad?" If your reception is bad you need Technical Services. Please
wait while I transfer your call."

I was going to go to India and kill Saptajit and his cow. I would tie him
to four different rickshaws and tear him to pieces. But there was a
problem with my ticket and I'm not going to call the airline. Soon
Saptajit, soon.

The whole gay marriage issue is all about letting homosexual couples
express their love publicly, right?

People will only marry out of love, and they would really put those
nasty ol' breeders to shame with their longevity and faithfulness?

All those examples of the next step being polygamy and polyamory,
incest and straight roommates (and other friends) simply getting
married for tax purposes would never happen, right?

Well, better rethink that last one.

Bill Dalrymple, 56, and best friend Bryan Pinn, 65, have decided to
take the plunge and try out the new same-sex marriage legislation with
a twist—they're straight men.
However, all is not coffee shops and rainbow sprinkles…

Words of warning came from Toronto lawyer Bruce Walker, a gay and
lesbian rights activist.

"Generally speaking, marriage should be for love," he said. "People
who don't marry for love will find themselves in trouble."

Whaddaya gonna do, Bruce? Pass a new law that bans marriage unless
people really love each other? Oh, wait…

Walker isn't personally insulted by the planned Pinn-Dalrymple union
because he believes in personal freedoms and rights.

"If someone wants to do something foolish, let them do it," he said.

So, a gay rights activist thinks two men marrying each other is
foolish? Glad to hear it.

As another year will shortly be a memory, my heartfelt appreciation goes out
to all of you who have taken the time and trouble to send me "forwards" over
the past 12 months. Thank you for making me feel safe, secure, blessed, and
wealthy.

Extra thanks for the ones that I have to open 15 times to get to the
message. Special thanks to whoever sent me the one about rat crap in the
glue on envelopes 'cause I now have to go get a wet towel every time I need
to seal an envelope.

Also, I scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason. Because of
your concern, I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet
stains. I no longer drink Pepsi, or Dr Pepper, since the people who make
these products are atheists who won't put "Under God" on their
cans.

I no longer use Saran wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer.

I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked
with a needle infected with AIDS.

I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water
buffalo on a hot day.

I no longer go to shopping malls because someone might drug me with a
perfume sample and rob me.

I no longer receive packages from, nor send packages by UPS, or FedEx, since
they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise.

I no longer answer the phone, because someone will ask me to dial a number
for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore,
and Uzbekistan.

I no longer eat KFC, because their "chickens" are actually horrible mutant
freaks with no eyes or feathers.

I no longer have any sneakers -- but that will change once I receive my free
replacement pair from Nike.

I no longer have to buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus, since I now
have their recipe.

I no longer worry about my soul, because at last count I have 363,214 angels
looking out for me.

Thanks to you, I have learned that God only answers my prayers if I forward
an e-mail to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.

I no longer have any savings, because I gave it to a sick girl who is about
to die in the hospital (for the 1,387,258th time).

I no longer have any money at all - but that will change once I receive the
$15,000 that Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in
theirspecial email program.

Yes, I want to thank you so much for looking out for me that I will now
return the favour!

If you don't send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 7
minutes, a large pigeon with a wicked case of diarrhea will land on your
head at 5:00 PM (EDT) this afternoon. I know this will occur because it
actually happened to a friend of mine's next door neighbour's
ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician.


Smile as this is sent without prejudice. Seasons Greetings and Have a very
HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Well, it's that time of the year again.

Time for everyone to be merry and rejoice. Time to be jolly and
spend your hard earned cash with the rest of your fellow man.

Well not I, I won't stand for it. Christmas is a Christan Holiday
to start with; as it stands I happen not to be Christan, nor am I
thinking of crossing over to join. They're as bad as capitalists and
twice as nasty about pushing their ideals and religion as Jehovah
Witness. Sorry if that offends you but that's my view.

Christmas is also a capitalist's wet dream, spending money to give
other people cheaply made, essentially meaningless gifts so that they in turn
give the same gifts. People also try to top each other to see who can
spend the most to get the biggest best present.

Was this what God or the Almighty (if there was or is such a
entity) meant to do by
sending his child to earth, later to let him be killed? I mean
there're some good things to Christmas; lets you spend time with your
family, but that's only good if you can stand them, then have to spend
more to feed them. Can you say Capitalist ideals?

What I think we should do, is all gather together, late as the
moon is starting to rise, strip maybe just to our undergarments (to be
closer together, don't you know) and Reflect on the passing year on
what we already have: then the children can go on and have a large
feast together while the adults have an orgy to celebrate the year.

Or maybe ritualistic suicide: Drink the eggnog, leap into a
writhing mass of sweaty naked bodies for your last few moments of
life. Maybe what we really need is a solution that doesn't involve
and orgy.


The only part of this year that can be respected is New Year's,
celebrating the ending of one year and bringing in the start of a new.
But I ask why so many people must start their years in the ruins of
last year, drunk curled up around the toilet? And resolutions, you
know that for the most part you're going to break them before the
month's out, why not start easy for example: top using your
husband's/wife's toothbrush to clean the toilet, or stop watching
reality TV.

So in conclusion, this is one young man's jaded view of at least
this holiday. Thank you for taking the time to read it. Remember drink
the eggnog, rum will help hide the aftertaste of the poison.

Don't forget to vote in the elections. Or else the election
fairies will come chew off your nipples.



Happy New Year's


And now I show you one thing I'm thankful to have this year 24 hour
editing. Thanks to John at sev. for taking the time to reread my
sodomization of the english language.




Truly Autotounsorialist,
J.P.M. Scruffy