This blog is pretty good, it's a little better than most blogs, in fact it might even be the best blog out there.

Friday, July 06, 2007

So...You Want to be Awesome?

What's up playazzzzzzzz with a zzzzzz, cause z's are more fucking awezome than s's. Theze guyz = awezome. Yea, zeriouzly there'z a math equation that literally meazures awezomenezz and theze the f'in chartz.

Ok, enough with the whole z instead of s thing, that was only awesome for a few minutes, it didn't have that awesome staying power the guys pictured above do.

Many people around the world struggle with a variety of things, some of them we can relate to and some we can't, like obesity, how someone could be so fat and disgusting and have generally no regard for life is beyond me, but maybe that's not for me to know? But, the one thing we all struggle with, universally, is how to be awesome.

You've thought about it before, shit, you're probably thinking it right now! "Am I going to be a little more awesome from visiting a blog on the internet?" Chances are, that unless you have your hair gel'd to a near shiv like texture, then no. But...under the small circumstance that you drove home in a souped up mustang to read this blog from your mac, then'll be a little more awesome when we are finished.

Being awesome isn't something that just us young bucks think about. Our parents often fretted over whether what they were doing was going to make them awesome. I know, seems hard to understand and grasp. How could the same person that wiped your ass and cleaned up spit-up ever be awesome? Well, if you're like me and your parents were born in the 50's, then they were even more awesome then you might realize. Ever heard of Woodstock...fucking awesome. Elvis Pressley...King Ding-a-Awesome. That had more awesome things that we could ever dream of. But, I'm not here to talk about yesteryear, I'm here to talk about how does our generation become awesome.

It's really pretty easy. Just study this picture above if you're a guy, mimick the styling of the clothes, hair, and facial expression and with just a little extra're awesome. The hardest part is going to be making those cool facial expressions for an entire day. I recommend renting "Zoolander," and freeze-framing the dvd whenever Ben Stiller shows you Blue Steel. That facial expression is awesome. Make sure to practice gel'ing your hair too. There's a fine line between awesome spiked hair and looking like a porcupine. No awesome ho likes a porcupine. I recommend spending between 15-20 hours a day in front of your mirror practicing the facial expressions and working on your hair. Please ensure that your Zune is plugged into a sweet boombox and pumping the latest from Paul Okenfold and that you turn on your overhead blacklight. That's really going to help. Once you get the look down (probably anywhere between 2-6 months later) start practicing awesome syntax like, "sweet" "fuck yea" "hold up shawty, lemme holla at ya" and last but not least "awesome." It's really important when using any of these phrases that you remember to not over-pronunciate any of the words. Proper grammar and speech is the first sign that you are a douchebag, and clearly not awesome.

So, you've got the styling, facial expression, the grammar, and the music down...what's next? Tanning asshole...tanning. You can't be awesome and be pale. Look at Casper, he's pale as shit, and you know what else he is...dead. Dead people aren't awesome, unless they die doing awesome things, like nude motorcross while drunk, high, and finger banging a midget clown. So, get out there kid-o and throw some bronzer on because it's time to get melanoma, melanoma means you are awesome. If you leave somewhere like North Dakota, sun based tanning be difficult. Thank god for tanning beds. If you aren't awesome enough to buy your own tanning bed, then try finding a local tanning salon in your town. Since most towns have an awesome to douchebag ratio of 6-1, finding an awesome person who opened a salon shouldn't be too hard. Ask about the lifetime special, if they tell you they don't offer such a deal, tell them they aren't awesome.

When a clearly awesome person tells someone who questions their awesomeness that they may in fact not even be awesome at all, it creates what is called the "awesome effect." During this effect the person who is questioning their own awesomeness will do anything they can to appear to be awesome in front of an awesome person. Bingo bongo've got your lifetime tanning pass!

So, now that that's taken care of, go ahead and hop in that superbed. You'll want to bring an awesome engineer with you the first time so you can rewire the bed to make it hotter than the sun. You won't get an awesome tan until you burn off your top layer of unawesome skin. Once ou hit the tanning bed for 6 hours a day for the rest of our life, you're almost awesome.

No awesome guy is really awesome until he finds an equally awesome girl. There's some hot spots where awesome girls hang out, like Hot Topic in the mall. If you can't find an awesome girl there, I'll give you my awesomeness!! Hot Topic's not the only place to find an awesome girl though, sometimes you can find them working the desk of your tanning salon or a shoe store like Journey's, also in the mall. Detecting an awesome girl can be difficult. The best way to judge if a girl is awesome or not is to see what happens when you expose yourself to her and say, "Suck this bitch." Her reaction will dictate whether she is awesome or not.

Once you find that special awesome girl, gather up with your awesome friends and sit in the back of your buddy Spike's pick-up truck. Drink beer, cuss a lot, yell at people, and have Skynard playing at a near deafening level, because that's what will let the other passersby know you aren't fucking around, and are awesome. If you live in a town with a square, start driving around it at 4pm and don't stop until you either throw up or the cops stop you. Driving in circles around a square is so awesome it's almost not awesome. Cops can also be awesome, so don't just think because one pulls up and starts to meat out that he is automatically not awesome. Cops have nightsticks, pepper-spray, and handcuffs, which are all awesome things. Some cops didn't graduate high school and are now taking out their pent-up frustration on people who are in a position to not really defend themselves against a cops position of power and authority and that's aweseome. Bullying people is awesome 101. If possible, get a girl pregnant, hell get three pregnant, tell them you're not the father even if paternity tests prove without a doubt that you are. Neglecting responsibility is like the first commandment of being awesome. Having a girl make you take a paternity test...not awesome and a true sign that your chick has been faking awesome for the few hours you've known her.

So, just try and follow a couple of these things and in a few weeks, you'll probably be awesome. If you're not, kill yourself. There's really no reason to live unless you're awesome.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

How To Get Rid Of That Dead Hooker

Just like the questions of, "Just how infinite is space?" "how eternal is heaven?" "if Billy Joel didn't start the fire, who did?" "if you're cross-eyed and dyslexic, can you read just fine?" comes the newest mind-boggling am I going to get rid of this dead hooker?

For years mankind has partaken in lewd acts with ladies of the night (at times men of the night or even she-men of the night). Sometimes in certain situations after said lewd acts are completed these people have to be taken care of. By taken care of, I don't mean you see to their medical needs for the endless supply of S.T.D.'s they have or care for the litter, yes litter, of children they haven't already off'd, I mean taken care of in the sense of, well Tony Soprano.

Ok, but then what? You and your friends have just had the bachelor party, bar mitzvah, or sixth grade graduation of your life. I'm talking Duke Lacrosse style or Michael Irvin and the Cowboys of the 90's, hookers are everywhere, and hookers are DEAD! Well, you clearly can't turn them back over to their pimp Pretty Boy Brown all black and blue from a good choke out. So, you've got to find a good place to dispose of the carcus.

This is the point in most novice hooker murdering deviants that the wheels come off and things start to unravel. Guilt sets in when you are forced to look at a dead hooker on your kitchen floor for hours and hours. How could it not? How do you kill a hooker and not suffer any guilt? Well, that's what I'm here to help you with.

Option 1: The Hooker Heave

The hooker heave is an old favorite of the hooker killers of yesteryear. Prostituting was big back in the gold mining days of the 1840's as males left their wives for years at a time to travel west to find gold and become thousandaires (millionaires wouldn't come around until sometime later). Enter any western saloon and you would see them lined up in droves. Hookers of all shapes and sizes awaiting a good romping from a dirty old panhandler. After a night of poker, moonshine, and sex with a hooker, the only thing to really set it off right was to kill her. So, there you are at The Spittoon (famous club of the day) with a dead hooker on the wooden floor. The greats would load the hooker onto the back of their horse, carry them to the local river, and give them the old 1,2,3 as far as they could toss them into the water. The beloved American game of Midget tossing is actually a direct descendant of the hooker heave. It is rumored that Jesse James once threw a hooker clear across the river and onto another traveling hooker killing her as well. Of course, this is just folklore and there is no real evidence.

Option 2: The Natalie Holloway

We've all been on the Caribbean cruise or beach vacation somewhere tropical and been in the need for some real R&R if you know what I mean. There you are at the local resort pool sipping on your 9th pina coloda of the day and then it hits's time to get a hooker. So, off you go into the 3rd world Mexican town to find you a .50 cent hooker and a juicy taco (sometimes found in the same place if you're lucky). You've got her! You take her back to the room, or whatever dirt alley you can find and the fun begins. Next thing you know she's dead. Hey, it's happened to all of us. Maybe you killed her, maybe you didn't...who cares. But, YOU are solely responsible for getting rid of the body, and you know it. You call your boys Depak and Johan and you take her to the nearest cliff, make a few flesh wounds on her and stuff her pockets full of fresh chum and toss her into the sea. Next thing you know your friends jaws, nemo, and flipper are taking care of the rest and you are on your way back to the hotel for some shuffleboard with the family.

Option 3: Weekend at Bernie's

Let's just say you want a classy broad, you know, one that's been tested this millenium. You hop in the car or plane and head to Vegas, home of the strip (multiple meanings) You rent a car if you flew and you drive out to the Moonlight Bunny Ranch, where the Ferrari of hookers reside. You pick out the prettiest hooker in the hooker line-up and off to the private room you go. Things are going great and then all of a sudden you go O.J. on her ass and she's dead. Again, it's happened to all of us. The meat cleaver came out and with one swoop head's are rolling (literally) Oh no, you've just killed a $1000/hour hooker. They aren't going to be too happy with that loss, or the clean up on aisle 3. Good thing you brought that human head reattachment super glue and your make-up kit though. Pick that noggin' back up and glue it back on her torso, mop up the blood, and apply a coating of make-up and everything will be just fine. (make sure you face her head the proper direction, this has cost many a hooker slayer his perfect exit, these hookers are talented, but not exorcist talented) Now then, her heads attached and she's almost looking better than when you first picked her. Put her lifeless arm around your neck and your arm around hers and pick her up. She'll be heavy, but you can do it! Now then, pretend like you are doing a three-legged race with a parapalegic and skeedaddle on out of that room. Take out to the front and sit her on a bar stool, but hold on tight bc we can't have her falling on the floor and that head popping back off now can we? Have a drink with her and make it appear everything is cool. Have three, it'll make what happens next seem more fitting. One, two, ten drinks into the evening with your dead hooker at the bar, go ahead and ask for the check. Pay up, and lay her upper torso on the bar so it looks like she's just passed out from a day/night of drinking and sex. Mosey on out and before they realize what happened your back in Peoria, Il with the wife and kids.

Option 4: The Hooker Cooker

Probably my favorite of the four options. There you are, in a foreign town with 9 of your best friends, it's a bachelor party of course. But, no bachelor party is complete without a good hooker. So, there you all are, purusing the streets. You're not from here so clearly you don't know where to find a good hooker. You finally find one with two working legs and you give her a whistle. She scurries over and knows she's about to get paid. But, what she doesn't know is that she's also about to get cooked. Oops, did we leave that out when we solicited her...I guess we did. So, there you are back at your sweet digs at the Marriot Courtyard. Go ahead and put that "do not disturb" sign on the door, because we don't want any interruptions during this party. The liquor is flowing and things are getting started. Tag team back again check it direct let's's not only playing from the boombox, it's happening in the room!! One thing leads to another which results in a dead hooker. Oops. Everyone in this room has either a wife, fiance, girlfriend, or another dead hooker at home waiting on them, we can't get burnt over some $5 hooker now can we? Good thing you brought that hooker cooker 3000 with you. Go ahead and open up the suitcase and window and start the easy assembly. In just five minutes the grill will be all set up. Once the grill is set, go ahead and drag the hooker into the bathroom. This part won't be fun, but it's necessary. Get the friend who has the strongest stomach, or best hunting background and bleed that hooker. You'll have to find a way to hang her from the ceiling, so it's best to pick a lightweight hooker if possible, but then again you might sacrifice some meat by doing so. This is what we call the double-edged sword of this situation. You do what works best for you and the group. Maybe you had krystal earlier, and this is just a little desert. Situation dictates what happens here. Anywho, I digress. Once she's good and dry take the meat (hooker) back out to where you've set the grill up. Go ahead and throw her on for 10 minutes, yes only 10 minutes. Just set it, and forget it!! That's actually another infomercial, but the concept is the same. The Hooker Cooker will do all the work for you. It's a rotessiere of prostitution! Go ahead and call room service and have them leave a bottle of chianti at the door. Once the meat looks ready, go ahead, dig in, don't be scared to get your hands dirty that's why you brought the Hooker whipes remember!! Clean-up is as easy as removing the top shelf and rinsing in the shower. Hooker meat is tender and light so there shouldn't be much leftover, and if there is stuff it under the hotel mattress, we all know no one looks there or cleans it. Next morning, you and your friends get up and off you go back to your hometowns and lives, nothing on the mind and a little extra in the stomach. Feeling good!

So, there you have it folks, one of life's greatest mysteries explained with a few simple options that you and your friends can implement in almost any city in the world!

Tune in next week for "Fun things to do with Midgets Part 1 of 45."

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Ye Ole Story of Valentine's

Few of us know the story behind Valentine's Day, but many of us know the feeling of an empty wallet following it, well us guys and a few butch lesbo's anyway. I'm here to tell you the real history behind this one day of true love.

According to

One legend contends that Valentine was a priest who served during the third century in Rome. When Emperor Claudius II decided that single men made better soldiers than those with wives and families, he outlawed marriage for young men -- his crop of potential soldiers. Valentine, realizing the injustice of the decree, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret. When Valentine's actions were discovered, Claudius ordered that he be put to death.

Other stories suggest that Valentine may have been killed for attempting to help Christians escape harsh Roman prisons where they were often beaten and tortured.

According to one legend, Valentine actually sent the first 'valentine' greeting himself. While in prison, it is believed that Valentine fell in love with a young girl -- who may have been his jailor's daughter -- who visited him during his confinement. Before his death, it is alleged that he wrote her a letter, which he signed 'From your Valentine,' an expression that is still in use today. Although the truth behind the Valentine legends is murky, the stories certainly emphasize his appeal as a sympathetic, heroic, and, most importantly, romantic figure. It's no surprise that by the Middle Ages, Valentine was one of the most popular saints in England and France.

Yea, that's all fine and dandy, but it sounds like some Hallmark card propaganda. I'll revise that story, and shoot it to you straight, the way it really happened:

I will not argue that Valentine's Day was probably started in third century Rome. Most things started in Rome, and that's why we should do as the Romans do, unless the Romans are killing their head of state, which they had a habit of doing, and doing so in the United States would result in probable death (unless you are tried by jury of Democrats). But, that's neither here nor there.

In 3rd century Rome there lived a boy named Jim. Yes, I know this is disappointing and you expected his name to Valentine, Augustine, or Lucius, but I assure you, his name was simply, Jim. Jim lived like many Romans of 3rd century Rome...poorly and fearing for his life. You see, 3rd century Rome was much like present day Iraq, full of military anarchy. Life expectancy was low, and STD's were high (usually not an apples to apples relation, but you had to get it while the getting was good) There was constant barbarian invasion, civil war, and rampant hyperinflation, all of which crippled the Roman Empire. Jim knew the outlook for the Roman Empire was bleak and that now was the time to get out.

Leaving should be easy right? I mean the empire was surrounded by vast uninhabited land and a multitude of uncharted water. Ahh, here in lies the problem...a lady. Her name was Shaunte' and she was a direct descendant of Lindsparis SpearsHilohan, Roman goddess of Prostitutes. Jim met Shaunte' during a trip north on the weekend of February 14th to see the famous Roman music festival "Caesar The Day" featuring such bands as The Mars Volta (not the same Mars Volta of today surprisingly, Venus Envy, and The Little Caesars (a band comprised of three Romans with literal short man syndrome). Needless to say, it was one crazy weekend for Jim.

Shortly after arriving at the amphitheatre, Jim saw the most beautiful woman in all the empire. Sitting on a stone chair with just the sun shining on her at just the right angle sat Shaunte'. Jim, not being shy and ready to procreate to hopefully allow his name to live on, approached Shaunte'. Jim used the pick-up lines taught to him by his ancestors:

Jim: I wanna make like Caesar and invade you.
Shaunte': (giggles, smiles)
Jim: You know, a lot of our contemporaries are having sex, and we are in fact in Rome
Shaunte': So...what does that have to do with me and you?
Jim: When in Rome...

60% of the time, it works every time. Just like that Jim had won Shaunte's heart. But, as always, there was more to the story. Shaunte' wasn't like the other ladies in Rome, she was a bit of an anomaly, a working lady. Shaunte' knew the streets of the Roman Empire better than any ruler, and as a result knew many many many of the men. Including one man that had taken a particular fondness in her and her "work" named Val Voline (yes, this is where the quick lube company got its name, I won't go in detail about how or why, but just think...quick...lube).

Val's full name was, you guessed it, Valentine Venus Voline, or 3V as the ladies called him. Val was a bit of stalker and pedophile, even by Roman Empire terms, and had been watching Shaunte' for quite some time. Never one to turn down business, Shaunte' was always very "nice" and "accommodating" to Val and his wishes, as strange as some of those might be. (It is storied that Val would occasionally request his ladies to tie him up nude, and hurl grapes at his genitals. This is where we get The Grapes of Wrath) Val took Shaunte's affection a little too much to heart, and believed the two would live together forever (or the 3 years Shaunte's diseased body had left to live).

As Jim and Shaunte became "acquainted" with one another in one of the festival tents, Val arrived on the grounds and began to ask around if anyone knew Shaunte's whereabouts. Several men said they had just "been" with her, and they didn't know where she had run off to. This of course angered Val, as he believed for some strange reason that Shaunte' was a one man lady of the night. Val went back to his chariot and got out his bow and arrow to hunt and kill the man that was deflowering (really just reaping a new harvest) his lady. Val was trained in the military as his father was a general in the Roman Empire, so Val knew a thing or two about weaponry and the art of war. Val's father, Extosee, was relieved of his duties in the military after it was revealed he had been making a secret potion that if injected would create such levels of sexual arousal, no one in sight could be resisted. In a very homophobic time and in the military, this clearly was grounds for immediate termination. Val had managed to get his hands on some of his fathers potion and as he made his way to Shaunte' and Jim's tent, he began to soak the tips of the arrows in the potion, which he planned to shoot into the heart of Shaunte'.

Val arrived at the tent of passion and tore open the doorway, there Jim and Shaunte' lie on a bed of leaves passionately ravaging one another. Furious Val pulled an arrow soaked in his father, Extosee's, potion and pulled back on the bow and fired an arrow right into the heart of Shaunte'. She dropped. Jim, staring blankly at Val realized that his love was down, and that he must defend her honor. Before he could mount an offensive, he too was short in the heart. Val, now realizing he had shot both with an arrow soaked in "arousal inducing potion" grasped the problem he would face...each of them would be equally highly aroused. Only one thing to do, stab himself in the heart with an arrow soaked in the potion made from his father Extosee. Now, all three injected with the serum and staggering, anger quickly became lust, and a three day menage a trois ensued.

Sunday, February the 14th, when the effects from the serum wore off, and the decisions they had made over the past three days became clear to the three, all looked pretty embarrassed about their actions. Both Jim and Shaunte' turned their anger and frustration on Val, and chastised him for his disregard to their love. In an effort to win back their favor, and the "love" of Shaunte', Val went to the local florist and bought two dozen red roses, to accompany the pot brownies he had already bought at "Caesar the Day." Now with a stomach full of chocolate, and a bouquet full of roses, how could Jim and Shaunte' not forgive Val?

Forgiven, Val moved on, and each and every Feb. 14th he would reminisce about the weekend at "Caesar the Day," and losing the love of his life Shaunte' to Jim. All was not lost for Val, as he would patent his arousal serum and call it "Ecstasy" after his father. Although he wouldn't live to see it, Val's weekend antics would live on through history and be what we now know as, Valentine's Day.

The end.

Friday, February 02, 2007

Barba-ric Post

My disdain for the horse named Barbaro has been made abundently clear over the course of the last few months. In fact, the posts about Barbaro were some of my more well-written and viewed entries. Well, the good times are over, and sad times are upon us. No, not because Barbaro was put to rest because he was a quitter, but rather because I have nothing more to post about him.

For those of you that might have been in a mild state of coma for the last 6 months, or the rest of you that are generally retarded and can't follow any television programming beyond Blue's Clue's, Barbaro is a horse, and a horse that broke his leg in the Preakniss.

Following this "horrific" injury, the nations heart skipped a beat and the stock exchange shut down to chronicle the story of Barbaro and his recovery. Day in and day out all you heard on ESPN, Fox News, CNN, and the Playboy channel was about this horse (I came to find out the playboy channel was referring to another horse, who ironically was not even a horse, but a human) They spoke of Barbaro as if he was Bill from the 10th floor. You know Bill, he tore his ACL in the company basketball game and hasn't been back to work since. He's on the long road to recovery, and Bill's coworkers, friends, and family visit him often and tell stories about what's been going on in their lives and on the outside world. Barbaro received similar treatment from fans, kids, and even horses.

It took me some time to decide which was worse, the stories about kids and fans writing Barbaro letters, or the doctors and media talking about how Barbaro was talking to neighboring horses and being very responsive. I don't want to seem overly cynical, but it's a can't read. It can't even be read to. When you sit beside his stall and read him his cards, he isn't retarded or injured, you are. Chin check time because there's probably some drool leaking out of your mouth, and you probably have an enlarged forehead. I know...there I go again being cynical.

If this was "Beauty" from the farm in Kruger, Ms it would have been shot immediately after the bone went pop. You would have broken the news to little Janey and Timmy and told them Beauty had gone to sleep and would be able to run forever in heaven with the other horses. But no, this was Barbaro, king ding a ling (literally probably). We can't just take him out back and shoot him like any other crippled mammal, we have to coddle him and cover him like he was breaking news everyday.

You realize that England, France, Japan, and even Mexico probably laughed their asses off when they turned on their Fox news affiliate and saw the American's covering Barbaro three months after his injury. We became the laughing stock for covering live stock.

Well, fortunately for our "great" nation that all ended last weekend when Barbaro was euthanized. Euthanized is the fancy word for 9mm to the temple. Blunt like James, and beautiful doing it.

So, is my eulogy to you, peace. Yep, short and sweet, like your meaningless 3 year life. Sure you won the Kentucky Derby, but so have hundreds of other horses. You were nothing special. They won't even make glue out of your hooves. You're nothing and won't be rememebered by anyone. The cards you received...burned. The horses that "talked" to you from their stall...all banging some other stallion. The media who covered you...on to Britney's vagina. Old news Barbaro, old news.

Good riddance.

Friday, January 19, 2007

Partly Sunny vs. Partly Cloudy

One of the universe's age old questions, besides why are women crazy and why are midgets so entertaining, is what is the difference between partly sunny and partly cloudy. Let's delve into the subject, shall we? (not one of the universe's age old questions, really more rhetorical in fact)

Each night as I unwind and ready myself for the world of slumber, I sit back and watch Tony Mastro of WJTV become Tony Maestro. The way he moves his hand across the green screen darting from Corinth to D'Iberville, from Meridian to Vicksburg, following cold fronts, high pressure, low pressure, it's almost as if he has a tv monitor right in front of him just off screen with an actual map on it. Tony Maestro, yea...that has a nice ring to it. Point is, this man controls weather, he knows it like a hooker knows chlamydia. But, does he know the difference between partly sunny and partly cloudy?

Is this question relative to the person who answers? To me, sixteen clouds might make a day partly cloudy, where as to Keith Studdard, a single circumnimbus could spell the end of the world and immediately call for a "severe thunderstorm warning." Einstein might be my source for more on relativity, but unfortunately, much like my library card...he expired.

What does the forecast of partly sunny or partly cloudy do the human psyche? Would a partly sunny forecast allow you to feel better about your day, and a cloudy the opposite? If so, you would think there would need to be a defined difference in the two. Give me a total cloud count. But then, are you, the citizen and messagee required to count said clouds? How expansive is the area of the sky that dictates whether your area is partly sunny/cloudy? You see the dileema here.

There is no conclusive research being done to my knowledge that leads me to believe we will ever have answer to this question. Much like Kennedy's assination, the location of Hoffa's body, and Tom Cruise's sexuality, it will remain a mystery beyond our lifetime. It is my hope, that with continued prodding and probing (not a joke about a human anus) someone will have to give us the answers.

As I gaze out the window now, I count well over 200 clouds. I'm an optimist and realize the sky is huge. I call this partly sunny. But, someone somewhere is looking out his or her window, and they are calling it partly cloudy.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

I Vow...

To return to this blog. Your patience has not gone unnoticed. I've been in a "career transition," which has led to some significant "off-time."

Don't worry, I still live at home and will continue to do so until I obtain the exclusive lead acting rights to Failure to Launch 2.

"I'll be back!" (c) The Terminator aka Arnold Schwarznegger aka The Governor of California

Monday, December 04, 2006


That is a picture of the scales of justice. After trials, when the jury still hasn't reached a decision and everyone is limbo the judge will sometimes ask the accused and the plaintiff to each sit on one side of the scale of justice. The side that dangles lower wins and the person(s) on the other side are executed in a public square. It seems crude, but it's worked in this country for centuries.

Unfortunately for most of, we don't have access to the scales of justice, at least not a scale big enough to way some of our decisions we are forced to make in life. And even if we did, would we really want to publically execute the losing option? And just how do you execute the choice of pizza for supper after opting to go with Abner's? See, predicaments.

I've always been told that when you are young, there's really no wrong choice. One may be more right than the other, but we learn and grow from our mistakes...allegedly. Now, those of us that don't have to wear a permanent bib and who's foreheads aren't enlarged know this isn't true. One choice is usually right, and one is wrong. But, how do you decide? What is weighted higher...happiness or money, quick career advancement or good comfortable environment, peanut butter or jelly? Choices.

I am faced with several choices right now in my life that deal with all of these, especially whether I want peanut butter or jelly. The point is, it's hard to choose things in life that when weighed out on the scales of justice would come up almost equal. Some of have their good, and some have their bad. How do you decide? It's your life, so do you really want to let it ride on "eeny meeny miney mo" or a coin flip? I guess it all depends.

So, y'all say a little prayer for baby Nathan that he makes the right decisions.