Donkey Hotey

Don Quixote

I read a post by Don Quixote recently. Well….not the real Don Quixote, because the real Don Quixote isn’t really real.  This one was a linguistic and social-engineering donkey.

He had a real hate on for the word, ‘retard.’ He posted the following definitions,
verb (used with object)
to make slow; delay the development or progress of (an action, process, etc.); hinder or impede.
verb (used without object)
to be delayed.
and still managed to call it an adverb.  This one is pronounced ri-tahrd.

The version he actually had a problem with, was
Noun
Slang: Disparaging and Offensive.
 a contemptuous term used to refer to a person who is cognitively impaired.
a person who is stupid, obtuse, or ineffective in some way: a hopeless social retard.  pronounced reetahrd.

He was obviously concerned that someone might get their little feelings hurt by being called a reetahrd. He didn’t advocate school programs, or public awareness drives.  Ignoring the valid noun and verb uses, he went straight to, he wanted to have the word ‘retard’ removed from the English language.

Shades of ‘1984.’ If there is no word, there can be no corresponding sin.  I’ve known people who were egotistical enough to want to get a word in the Dictionary.  This horse’s ass gets one arrogance point for thinking that he can take a word, any word, away from the 50% of the World’s population who speak English.  He also gets the, ‘Dumb As A Sack Of Hammers Award,’ for thinking that, somehow, the American Government has the authority to grant his wish.

He was quite upset that he couldn’t get 5000 people to sign up, so that he could officially petition Washington to outlaw the use of the word.  He’s not attacking windmills, but there’s definitely something tilted about this guy.  Maybe 5000 people know that it wouldn’t happen, even if he petitioned the Queen of England.  I can just hear her reply.  “We are not amused – you retard!”  😆

Queen

 

The Wages Of Sin

ten-commandments

I recently read a post from a young(ish) woman, titled, “I saved myself for marriage, and now I can’t have sex with my husband.” [Tough luck. Looks good on you. Oops – did I type that out loud?]

She had had a string of boyfriends since high school, but had informed each of them that she intended to remain a virgin until she was married. Perhaps that explains the ‘string of boyfriends.’  She was 26, and her husband was 27.  Maybe one or both were beginning to get a bit desperate.

She had been raised in an ultra-conservative, Fundamentalist-Christian home, and had it pounded into her, and pounded into her….and POUNDED into her, that premarital sex was evil, dirty, sinful! She suffered from vaginismus, a painful spasming of the vaginal walls which made it virtually impossible to engage in intercourse.  I find it ‘interesting’ that they did not find this out until they returned from their honeymoon in The Bahamas.

Possibly it was only the diagnosis and name of the affliction that they found out. While not ‘common,’ this problem is well-known in psychiatric circles.  It occurs in many other hyper-Christian families.  The girls are told over and over and over that sex (and by extension, them, if they perform it) is bad, bad, bad.

Nothing is said about the acceptability – inevitability – necessity – of marital relations. When these women try to have sanctioned sex, they are still overwhelmed by the cognitive dissonance.  No-one ever tells them about the good side.  No-one ever tells them about anything except the evil.

She now goes for daily(?) physiotherapy, and weekly psychotherapy. Wouldn’t it be cheaper to just hire a hooker to come over a couple of times a week?

When I was young, and learning about sex, my Father obtained a couple of comedy albums by a bawdy Jewish woman who worked in Nevada and Catskills clubs. She said, if you liked her act, her name was Rusty Warren.  If you didn’t, it was Lois Lipchitz.

Come early – get a good seat. She would pick a woman down front wearing a vee-neck sweater, and ask her if the V stood for virgin.  “Hmm, must be an old sweater.”  She told a story that she claimed happened to her.

Every day, as she left for school, her mother sang the same cautionary song.  “Don’t take gum!  Don’t take candy!  Don’t talk to strange men!  Don’t ride in strange cars. Keep your legs crossed, your panties up, and come home from school in a group!  And whatever you do, DON’T DO IT!”

Grade 1, Grade 2, Grade 3….especially when she went to high school, the admonition was always the same. “Don’t take gum!  Don’t take candy!  Don’t talk to strange men!  Don’t ride in strange cars!  Keep your legs crossed, your panties up, and come home from school in a group.  And remember….DON’T DO IT! Don’t do it!

She finally got a boyfriend, who became her fiancé. On the day of her wedding, her mother was with her at the Synagogue.  As the happy couple ran down the steps to their car, her Mother yelled, “It’s OK!  You’re married!  Now you can do it!”

She stuck her head out the window of the car, with a confused look on her face and said, “Do what??!  You never told me!”

These ‘Good Christians’ tell the rest of us that the wages of sin is death, but the wages of this self-righteous hypocrisy is….truly Karmic.   😯

FEELINGS

Scotty

The young stay-at-home mother looked out through the front window – and was devastated. There, in the middle of the street was the dead body of the family’s adorable, much-loved (and very expensive) Scottish Terrier.  Somehow he had got out, and some unfeeling fiend had hit and run over him, and hadn’t even had the good manners to stop and report the accident.

Bad enough how bereft she felt, but her young daughter would be inconsolable. Thinking of her loss, and how she would have to explain the trauma to her child, she burst into tears.

“What’s wrong Mommy?  Whyya cryin’?”  Standing there at the window sobbing, she was suddenly aware of her daughter, who had come up from the basement playroom – followed by their Scotty.  She looked back into the street – just in time to see a crumpled black garbage bag blow on down the road.

QUESTION – Is she entitled to her feelings??

Some years ago, the wife was rebuking me for a statement I hadn’t made, about an opinion I didn’t hold. She was telling me how insulted and unsupported she felt.  Since I hadn’t said what she’d accused me of, I told her that she shouldn’t feel that way.

I suddenly found that husbands, like small children, should be seen and not heard. Now I had sinned twice.  Not only did she think I’d ‘said something’, but now I was robbing her of something that was hers, something that she’d worked for, and owned, and deserved.  “How dare you tell me not to feel like that!  Don’t I have the right to my feelings?”

QUESTION – (based on my presumed innocence) Does she have a right to her feelings?

I was discussing this and related situations with a co-worker one day. He was of Turkish descent, from Cyprus.  I brought up the fact that, if a businessman meets with an Arabic official, and sits down and crosses his left leg over his right, so that his left foot points at the Arab, it is considered an insult.

I asked, “If the American doesn’t even know of the cultural beliefs, and intends no insult, then how can it be taken as an insult?”

“Oh no”, he says, “that is an insult!”  No knowledge – no intent –HOW??!!

QUESTION – Does the Turkey (and the Emir) have the right to his feelings?

A young, New-Age Mennonite co-worker went on and on about how gay people chose to be gay, and sin.  Finally tired of this attitude, one day I asked him just how he thought that homosexuals chose to be so.

He launched into a story about, “You know when you’re 12 or 13, and you first start noticing boys and girls, and you decide who you’re most attracted to? They decide to be gay”  12 or 13??!  He must have led a sheltered life out there on the farm.  I knew I was hetero by 4, when the little girl up the street taught me to play Doctor and Nurse.  Perhaps he just stopped noticing sheep.

I objected to his use of the word ‘decide’, and suggested he replace it with ‘realize.’  “It sounds to me as if they go through exactly the same development and situation as you did, only, instead of finding that they like the opposite sex, they find that they like the same sex.”

“Oh no,” he says! “I’m normal!  They choose to sin and be gay.”

QUESTION – Does this narrow-minded little twerp and his pastor have the right to their feelings about fags?

Do the Westboro Baptists have the right to their feelings when they interrupt funerals?? Do ISIS and al Qaeda have the right to their feelings about women, gays, Christians, and Democracy?  Big or small, it’s all the same.

I would never deprive anyone of the right to express valid emotions, but they have to be BASED ON REALITY. Are any of you incensed at that statement?  Tough luck – get over it.  You shouldn’t feel that way.   😉

Buffalo Roast

Bison

I’m still in negotiations with Upper Management about final details. If I can get my contract extended, one week from today, on Monday, September 21, 2015, I plan to turn 71, and self-host my own birthday roast.

This will be your chance to prove to Archon how much you love him by laying down some good comic insults, and (hopefully) racy comments.

dinosaur

Archon is descended from a long line his mother once listened to.
I’m surprised that Archon hasn’t turned into coal, like the rest of his childhood friends.
(Infrequent) Sex for Archon must involve ‘petrified wood.’
Archon was born so long ago, that his SIN (Social Insurance Number) is 2. (Actually II, but Canada went metric)
The only guy in Canada older than Archon, is Santa.
Archon used to party till it hurt. Now it hurts him to party.
Fifty Shades of Grey refers to his hair. (And have you seen that beard?)

If my memory is still working, the post will appear about 2:00 AM, the same time of day I was born back in 1944, though on a Thursday that year.

I’ll try to keep my naps to a minimum, so that responses to comments will be more or less in real time. If I do doze off, feel free to talk about me among yourselves.

Remember; mark next Monday on your calendar with a big X. (Or a Q, or….whatever. “My baby, she wrote me a letter.”) Ball up a big one, a sharp one, a cute one, and be ready to let fly next Monday. There will be prizes for the best single and team insults. (Doesn’t matter, both prizes will be leftover lasgna, and you have to come to the house to pick it up.)

I look forward to waking up, without my photo in the obits seeing you here. 😀

Archon SDC10926

Am I Blue!

Guinness

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ah yes, the Blue Laws, often forgotten, but still not gone.  Ontario is not the most morally repressive place on the planet.  There are places in the Muslim Middle East, matched by the American Bible Belt, where anything even smacking of enjoyment, is flatly forbidden, or fiercely frowned upon.  In Ontario, some killjoy politicians may pass legislation, but after that, it’s just the rule-following sheep who work to prevent the goats from having any fun.

Alcohol and tobacco are moving in opposite directions here.  A recent visit to a smoke shop in Detroit reminded me of what I haven’t seen around here in years – dozens of brands of cigarettes, and cigars, and loose tobacco, cigarette holders, pipes, ash trays, even bongs.

In Ontario, convenience stores are forced to hide all that behind plastic or cardboard covers.  See no sin – do no sin!  That worked so well during Prohibition.  When a pack of smokes is pulled out, the manufacturers are forced to use ¾ of the package to display pictures of diseased organs, rotted teeth, and a saggy cigarette, hanging down in a 90 degree arc, above a notice warning, “Caution!  Smoking may cause impotence.”  F**k you!…..if I could.

Ontario has come a long way towards normalizing alcohol enjoyment and use, but we still have a long way to go.  Up here in ‘civilization’, a “party store” will provide paper hats, candles, confetti, crepe paper, and Happy Birthday banners, whereas, down in the states…..

My childhood neighboring small town was “dry.”  No alcohol of any kind could be bought or sold.  It remained that way for years – as long as the voters could stagger to the polls.  Bootleggers were endemic.  Average alcohol consumption was estimated at twice what my town’s was.

Past, and present, rules often seem to make no sense.  No establishment which serves alcohol may have double-swinging “barroom doors,” whether external or inner access, although Ontario will let you have a beer while you watch naked strippers, something many American locations will not allow.

Bars, and licensed restaurants, have only existed for the last 30/40 years.  Prior to that, hotels provided “beverage rooms,” two per establishment, one for men, and another for “Ladies and Escorts.”  You could have 11 drunks around a table, as long as there was one token female.

Waiters/waitresses could only serve one drink per customer at a time, keeping them constantly moving, bringing out all those singles.  If you saw a friend over in the corner, you were not allowed to pick up your drink and go join him.  The law required the already overworked server to carry your drink over for you.

When bars and lounges started popping up, you still couldn’t order just booze, food had to accompany it.  A round of drinks would include a vending-machine cheese sandwich.  Often, the server would scoop it up with the empties, and re-deliver and charge for it with the next round.

Beer was bought at buildings labelled “Brewers Retail,” until enough confused American tourists forced the monopoly to rebrand clearly, as “The Beer Store.”  There, that wasn’t hard, was it??  😕

They’re starting to sell a bit of beer now, but for years, the government-owned Liquor Control Board monopoly stores sold only wine and distilled spirits.  No spectre of Big Brother there.   In my lifetime, we have come from:

Immediately after WW II, you had to go to the Liquor Store and provide identification and proof of age (21 years).  You were given a small notebook, and were allowed, once a week, to buy only as much as you could list on that week’s page.  If you missed so much as a 2-ounce bottle of bitters for whiskey sours, you were forced to wait until the next week.

In the ‘60s, we moved to a paper slip system.  Write the catalog number of the booze(s) you wanted, and a clerk disappeared into the nether-world of the back room, where, presumably, elves brewed the stuff up, out of the sight of the susceptible public.  Since people didn’t move around, you could be put on The List.  If you were caught drunk in public last Saturday night, the liquor store would refuse to serve you this Thursday, and perhaps for several weeks, until a manager unilaterally decided to annul the sentence.

Finally, we have reached the point where we can actually see the stuff on the shelf, put it in our own little shopping cart, and pay for it at the checkout.  Be careful though.  Some of those weird rules still exist.  “Only people 19+ can legally handle alcohol in LCBO stores.”

A local mother stopped into an LCBO store to pick up an eight-pack of Guinness for her husband.  While she dug her wallet out of her purse, her 17-year-old son helped out by placing the beer on the counter.  The clerk immediately asked him for ID.  He explained that the beer was not for him, but for his mother, who would pay for it, but the Can’t Touch It rule had already come into effect.

She went back and brought a pack up by herself, but now the manager came over, and accused her of buying the beer for a minor.  He claimed that staff is highly trained to prevent “second buying.”  All very noble, but this staff could never be accused of second thinking.

Bureaucracy exists to assure its own continued existence – and some strange restrictions and regulations.

 

Believe What You Want

A man in southern Tennessee saw his male dog “humping” another male dog, and took it to the humane society and turned it in, “Cuz I don’t want no gay dog!”  Dog humping has nothing to do with sex, sexual orientation, or morals, and everything to do with establishing superiority.  I’d have thought that he’d know about guns and dogs and stuff, but I guess all he knows about is that Westboro Baptist salvation superiority.

I don’t think even they preach about gay dogs.  The Bible does not say that “A male dog shall not lie down (or stand up) with another male dog, as he does with a bitch.”  There are Good Christians who claim that homosexuality and lesbianism are not “natural”, and don’t occur among animals, and it is only those among humans who “sin”.  And yet here, we apparently have a Bible-thumper with a gay dog.  The ironic humor is knee-slapping.

I don’t want to paint any particular group with a wide brush, but all three of the stories in this post occurred well south of the Mason/Dixon Line, which, by the way, is a hell of a lot further north than I thought it was, as a kid.  AFrankAngle can almost see it from his back door in Cincinnati.

A long-time worker at an auto-parts plant in Alabama marched into his supervisor’s office and quit.  He was a good worker, produced great quality and quantity, had a good attendance record, got along with other workers, all in all a perfect employee.  They didn’t want to lose him.  Why was he quitting?

It seems that his company was doing away with their payroll department, and had farmed it out to an outside firm.  The new cheque-writers had assigned each worker an employee number….and his was 666.  Obviously he couldn’t work under the Sign Of The Beast.  His foreman assured him that the problem would be taken care of.  Sure enough, next week’s cheque was made out to employee number 668.

Two years later, he marched into the supervisor’s office and quit again.  What’s the problem this time??!  Seems his employer had switched payroll suppliers, and the new company listed him as number 666 again.  That says to me that he was number 666 all along, but the last payroll company had been directed to make an exception for him, and the new provider just hadn’t got the memo yet.  Again, the problem was fixed by the next paycheque.  As far as I know, he’s still happily working there, blissfully unaware of the total lack of significance his employee number really had, anywhere except inside his empty widdle head.

The last winner I want to poke fun at, is a televangelist I met on TV during my recent Detroit trip.  Joel Osteen has dragged his wife along with him to partake of the Biblical Diet.  He has declared that they will eat only grains, legumes and meat mentioned in the Bible.  He says he loves bacon, but bacon is forbidden in Biblical texts.  He tells that, since giving up bacon and eating only this blessed food, he feels much better.  His digestion has improved, and he has more energy.  I could only watch a few minutes of his show before I got dizzy.  This “Fisher Of Men” needs all the energy he can get, to reel in the faithful, and their wallets.

He told us that he had replaced the standard, but now forbidden, pork bacon with turkey bacon.  Perhaps someone needs to slowly read the Good Book to Mr. Osteen.  The turkey is a New World creature, and is not mentioned anywhere in the Bible, but that doesn’t stop another “infallible” soul-saver from saying one thing, and doing another.

A computer-savvy man in Wisconsin set up a website, Facebook and Twitter accounts, and YouTube videos, all purporting to be Osteen’s.  On them he said that Osteen had given up the Christian faith, because he had found no proof that the Bible was true, or even that God existed.

Describing himself as a “good Christian”, he said that he did it because he found Osteen’s hour-long TV show to be full of nothing but feel-good platitudes – all sizzle, no real steak.  He claimed that Osteen was insulated from the real world, and his prank was to get Osteen’s attention, to tell him “to tone down the clichés, and get real!”  How high do you have to Fly Like An Ego, to have even the faithful tell you to take a chill pill??

You can believe what you want, but I believe that Bubba will never learn about dogs, Mr. Numerology will never render unto Caesar, and no successful evangelist will ever willingly turn down the volume and risk losing income, adulation and power.