For The Speed Readers

I've been visiting my sitemeter results less and less lately. This is in part because my schedule has changed somewhat and I don't have nearly as much free time. Mostly, it is because I'm only getting one or two visits a day week.

One of the things I have noticed is my average visit length is 0:00 long (with the exception of the individual from Italy who spent 25:06 reading my blog (or fell asleep at their desk)). Now a glass-half-full kind of guy would say that I am attracting a lot of speed readers. The type of person who can hit my blog and read an entry or two in the course of say, zero seconds. However, I am more of a half-empty kind of guy. My half-empty mentality tells me that someone clicks on my blog and quickly realizes that there is nothing of interest here and shuts their computer down in disgust.

I would like to be a little pragmatic though just in case there is a club of speed readers targeting my blog. This is for you.

Thankyouforvisitingmyblog.Pleasecomebackmoreoften.Iappreciatetheattention.

We'll have nun of these bad habits here.

Apparently my Pussy Story has finally paid off. I'm a little disappointed that it took so long and the results not worth mentioning but this search referral almost makes up for it.

Someone Yahooed: "i finger my pussy as the sister took her habit off" and my site popped up. Actually my site was number three. Sweet! This is the best laugh I've had all week. Nothing quite like searching for sacrilegious porn. I just love the blasphemy that is the internet.

BTW: Whomever you are. If you found any pictures in your search, could you e-mail them to me?

It's tax time again

So I go get my taxes done earlier this week and I take them to a local accountant. But let's rewind a little first.

I had been going to my accountant off and on for the last fifteen years. Now normally I might pay to have my taxes done and then in following years I just refer to my previous form and fill in the same blanks on the forms for the new year. Then once every three or seven years I pay to have my taxes done again just to make sure I'm still filling the right blanks in and still doing it correctly. This past year I had some changes in my personal life and figured I would take my taxes back to the accountant to make sure I get my deductions right.

Here's how it used to work; I would drop my taxes off with the accountant. He would put them in the 'in basket' and call me in two to five days when they were done. I didn't mind waiting. I didn't need to know how much I was getting back and I didn't really need that money right away. For $30.00 my accountant would file my federal (long) and state taxes. The money comes to me direct deposit on a Friday and by Monday I had it invested in meth and hookers. It was a system that worked well for me and I liked it.

This year I walk in to the accountant's office and he isn't there. The whole office is different. The three desks piled high with the financial stories of countless people were gone. They were replaced with four very neat and orderly desks. Behind those desks were four neat and orderly people.* Something is wrong I thought. It wouldn't be long before I realized just how wrong things really were. I looked around a bit and I see there is a Jackson Hewitt banner on the wall. This isn't good. I have a deep distrust of any entity that has a national franchise.

My take on it is this. Sure they may have started out small; but they had to screw somebody over to become a huge franchise. Either they screwed their own employees or their customers. Somebody, somehow got screwed. In order to be that successful you have to screw somebody.

One of the drones gets up from her desk and greets me.

"Welcome to Jackson Hewett tax services. How can I help you today?"

Fuck the pleasantries. "Where's my accountant?"

"Who's your accountant."

"The old guy who used to sit at the messy desk that isn't here any more"

Long pause.

"I don't know. I've only been here for a couple years."

She eye's the folder in my hand.

"Are you here to file your taxes?"

"I was but I don't know now."

"Well, why don't you come back and we'll take a look?"

'Come back and take a look?' I think to myself. I don't have two or three hours to sit here while she figures my taxes. I make a show of looking at my watch in an attempt to explain that I don't really have a lot of time.

"It won't take long, or if you want you can come back some other time." She offers.

I decide to give it a go. I sit down at her desk and hand over my folder. She starts typing at her computer and asks me five or six simple questions. She scribbles something down on a piece of paper and hands it to me. Written on it are the figures for my federal return and my state return. I am somewhat impressed. I've only been in the office for fifteen minutes and I already know how much I'm getting back.

Now here's where things went wrong.

She says, "Okay, the filing fee is two ninety or if you want us to take it out of your return it will be three ten."

My brain must have hiccuped. What does she mean by two ninety? Dollars? It can be dollars.

"Two hundred and ninety dollars?" I ask.

"Um, hm. Or you can have us take it out of your return but it would be three ten."

I'm just staring at her like a retarded kid in calculus class. I just can't process the idea of paying $290.00 dollars for what she has done for me.

$290.00?!!

Now let's do some basic math:

$290.00 in fifteen minutes.

290.00 X 4 tax returns an hour = $1160.00/hour

$1160.00 per hour!

Let's take it a step further:

1160.00 X 40hrs/wk = 46,400
46,400/wk X 52wks/year = 2,412,800/yr.

That's 2.4 MILLION a year just to have some trained monkey use a piece of software to file taxes.

Now that the math is done let's put this into perspective.

Occupation:----------------------------Income:
Wal-Mart employee---------------12,000 - 15,000
Skilled Trade----------------------30,000 - 55,000
Attorney--------------------------250,000 - 500,000
President Of USA-----------------400,000 +expenses
Heart Surgeon--------------------400,000 - 500,000
Baseball Player (average)---------2.4 Million
Football Player (average)---------2.5 Million
Basketball Player (average)-------4.0 Million

Jackson Hewitt Tax Preparer-----20,800


It looks like Jackson Hewitt is screwing both the customer and employee.

All I want is my e-mail.

So I'm at my ISP's homepage so that I can check all of my e-mail accounts. Normally I hardly pay attention to any of the ad banners. There were a couple that caught my eye though. I would like to share my thoughts on these.

Exhibit A:

My answer: "Well honey, I guess Uncle Mike will be your new daddy. I'm pretty sure it won't take Mommy long to get back in the swing of things. Lord knows SHE won't get a job or pay any bills with her own money."

Or how about this: "Don't worry baby. I'll make sure you are taken care of. As for Mommy, hopefully I'll be taking her out with me."

Or maybe: "You should probably go discuss this with your mother. I'm fairly certain that if something happens to me, she'll be the cause of it."


Exhibit B:


Hmmm, what do I want in a kiss? Well let's see:

1) It should be with someone of the opposite sex.
2) A little tongue is nice.
3) Confidence in the fact that I will be soon receiving a blow job.

Yep, that about sums it up.


Exhibit C:


This is the worst one of the bunch. A fucking Masters degree in just 15 months. A six year program in a scant 15 months. Great googly-moogly! With just six more months I could probably have a PhD. Wouldn't this be the equivalent of "sleeping at a Holiday Inn Express"? What a bunch of crap. Should I assume that this 'degree' carries any weight in a nasty little place I like to call the real world?

I can see it now. Two men are vying for an engineering job with a prestigious manufacturer with governmental aerospace contracts. Some poor schmuck is in the HR director's office and has to hear this:

"Well Mr. Thomas, you have some impressive credentials. A six year degree from Harvard with a 3.8 GPA. Unfortunately we have decided to hire Mr. Phillips. You see, Mr. Phillips went to Colorado Technical University and received his Master's in just fifteen months. It is very clear to us that Mr. Phillips has much better time management skills than you. This is a fast paced company and we need people who can keep up. Good luck in your future endeavors and we hope your Harvard degree won't set you back any further."

Kind of makes me wish I didn't bother with a High School Diploma when I could have slept in every day and settled for a G.E.D.

Google must be on to me.

I kind of thought that with my last topic the Google hits would just flow like booze at a bachelor party. Since Thursday I have only received a few hits. Does zero count as a few? Okay, Okay; maybe a little less than a few. I guess there aren’t very many people doing Google searches for pussy. I thought about a story about my pet rooster, Dick, but why bother. I think I’ll hold onto that one until I can average three to five hits a week.

I’ll not get discouraged though. I’ll continue blogging to my heart’s content. Since nobody has found my blog there is no real need to be funny, witty or intelligent or accurate. I can pretty much spout off about anything and rest assured that there will be no appraisals from anybody. I don’t have to check facts. I don’t have to worry about my statements hurting anybody. If nobody laughs, I’ll be none the wiser.

For instance, I could say something like “The holocaust never happened”. I’ll bet there won’t be a single comment. How about if I were to say, “George Bush is one of the most intelligent presidents in US history”? I have just written two of the most offensive and inaccurate statements I could think of and I don’t think it will even make a ripple. I will gladly wear my anonymity like a warm blanket on a cold winter day. I think I’ll start ignoring my spell cheker also.

The short life and tragic death of Pussy

I was checking my sitemeter results and I discovered that I received a grand total of six hits over the last two days. Six hits! That is a personal two day record. I poke around a bit and it seems that the reason for five of those six hits was due to my last topic. It seems that I had not realized that ‘spank’ could be used in more that one context. That’s right, if you type ‘spank’ in a Google search somewhere my blog shows up. This revelation gives me an idea. How many people can I trick draw to my blog using double entendres? I have decided to tell the story of the first family pet.

When my sister and I were about nine or ten there was a stray pussy cat hanging around. My sister begged and pleaded with my dad to keep the pussy cat. At first my dad said no.

“Pussy cats are a pain in the ass. You have to feed them and clean up after them.”

My sister begged and begged to keep the pussy cat.

“I’ll take care of it. I’ll make sure that it gets fed and I’ll empty the litter box every day.”

My father finally caved and let her have the pussy cat.

“What are we going to call our pussy cat?” I asked.

My father offered, “How about Pussy?”

My sister (not understanding the double entendre) thought that that was an acceptable name for a pussy cat.

It took time for Pussy to warm to us. I remember the first time I tried to pet Pussy. She hissed and clawed at me. I got angry and slapped Pussy. For quite some time I couldn’t get Pussy to come near me.

My sister on the other hand was best friends with Pussy. Pussy was always waiting at the back door when my sister came home from school. My sister would pet and stroke Pussy and talk to her.

“Were you a good Pussy? Did my little Pussy catch any mice today? Does Pussy need some food?”

True to her word my sister took very good care of little Pussy. She always fed and cleaned Pussy. Sometimes after a bath Pussy would walk around the house rubbing against the furniture. There would be wet Pussy stains all over the house. Pussy always had a clean litter box and my sister gave Pussy a lot of attention. Sometimes she would play with Pussy for hours.

My sister got some yarn from a neighbor lady and made some balls. Pussy would always chase those balls around. Sometimes Pussy would be perched on the back of the couch and my sister would throw some yarn at her. Pussy would jump on or chase her balls all over the house. Sometimes we would play a game called ‘snatch’. When playing snatch I would snatch Pussy’s balls and throw them to my sister and my sister would throw Pussy’s balls back to me while Pussy ran in circles between us. Pussy really loved to play with balls.

It took a while but eventually Pussy and I became friends. Sometimes Pussy would sit in my lap and I would pet her. If I was watching TV or reading a book I would pet Pussy all night long. Pussy would lay there purring away while I stroked her up and down. Often times when I got up I could smell Pussy on my hands and lap. It didn’t bother me too much. Actually, I kind of liked the smell of Pussy.

The only thing that bothered us was all the Pussy hair that was left behind. After a couple years we had Pussy hair on everything. There was Pussy hair on the couch, on the carpet and in our beds. We had Pussy hair on our clothes. We would even find Pussy hair on the countertops. My sister’s little pussy cat was constantly shedding. All and all though, having Pussy in the family was a very pleasant experience.

Then one day tragedy struck. We were leaving for school and Pussy snuck out the back door. We were running late and didn’t have time to chase Pussy back into the house.

“Don’t worry,” I said “she’ll be waiting for you after school.”

Reluctantly my sister gave up on trying to catch Pussy. I could see that she was worried.

“I hope the neighbor’s dog doesn’t get a hold of Pussy.” She said.

“Shoot, I think he's afraid of Pussy.” I tried to reassure her.

“I don’t know. That dog will eat anything. I don’t want it to eat my Pussy.”

Just then the bus came.

“C’mon, let’s go. The bus is here.” I said.

On the way home I could tell my sister was anxious to see Pussy. I’m pretty sure she had Pussy on her mind all day. When the bus stopped, my sister was the first one off. She ran straight to the back door but Pussy wasn't there. We searched under the porch and in the bushes. We couldn’t find Pussy anywhere. I tried to comfort her.

“Don’t worry, she’ll come home.”

“I hope so.”

“If you want I’ll get my bike and go looking for Pussy.” I offered.

My sister wanted to go with me on my hunt for Pussy but I told her to stay home in case Pussy showed up while I was gone. I hopped on my bike and started riding up and down the alley.

Nothing.

I continued my search on the main roads and still couldn’t find any sign of Pussy. I pretty much gave up and was heading for home when I saw something that made my heart race. Up ahead on the other side of the road about four houses down from us was a lump of fur on the side of the road. I dreadfully pulled up next to it and my fears were confirmed. Our beloved pet Pussy was dead. It looked like poor Pussy had been hit by a car.

I spotted a paper shopping bag and gently laid Pussy inside it. I went home and told my sister that I couldn’t find Pussy. Later, when my father came home from work I told him the story about the death of Pussy. Neither of us wanted to tell my sister that her Pussy was dead but we knew it had to be done.

My dad called her in and sat her down and told her that he found Pussy on the way home from work then broke the news to her. My sister didn’t take it well. She cried a lot and was depressed for many days. It got so bad that my father offered to replace Pussy. My sister didn’t want a replacement. In her eyes she had only one Pussy and that was something you couldn’t replace.

Eventually my sister got over Pussy and moved on. I’m sure she hasn’t forgotten Pussy and all the good times the two of them had. I’ll bet that to this day she still has a special place in her heart for Pussy.



That should bring in a couple Google search hits. If this works out maybe I’ll have a monthly double entendre.

To spank or not to spank...

Okay, I’m back again. I gave up on the blogging thing again due to my short attention span and the continuing belief that nobody actually reads it. I am inspired once again to share small pieces of my life due in no small part to the efforts of this man, pretty funny shit indeed. Who knows, maybe the third times a charm.

I have also been inspired to write again because I am holding some kind of hope that maybe these words will someday help others. Having said that I would like to start this post off with the question, “Why have we stopped spanking our children?” Please allow me to share a true story with you all.

Time: yesterday evening

Place: grocery store (check-out line to be precise)

Event: gross disrespect to the parental unit

So I’m standing in the check-out line patiently waiting my turn to pay for my daily sustenance. As I’m standing in line a woman of about 22 – 25 years takes up position right behind me. She is accompanied by a male child of approximately 3 – 4 years. Said child has decided that he wants to walk away from said woman in an attempt to gain access to the candy rack. Said woman has deemed this action unacceptable.

“Justin, get back over here.”

Said boy (who will now be referred to as Justin) stops and looks briefly at said woman (who will now be referred to as mom) before resuming his bid to gain access to the now forbidden candy. Several things immediately happened in the course of the next two or three seconds. Justin continued to walk in the general direction of the forbidden candy while continuing to look over his shoulder at mom. Mom issued pursuit. Seeing this, Justin wisely picked up his pace. Unfortunately Justin was not watching where he was going and instead of getting to the candy he runs directly into me.

Now normally I would have laughed this off due to the fact that I actually like children. I even like children other than my own. Not in the creepy-guy-at-the-end-of-the-street sort of way either (yeah, I know what you’re thinking… asshole). For me the cuteness of the situation was tempered considerably by the fact that Justin left a sludge trail on my leg that consisted of snot and some pinkish, gooey slime. Why isn’t this child sitting in the cart like he is supposed to?

Mom caught up with Justin and tried to grab his hand. Justin’s response to this was to slap at her. Mom picked Justin up and wagged her finger in his face and said, “We don’t hit!”

Justin responded by slapping his mother in the face. It is at this point that I’m thinking, “Ooooo, Justin is going to get his little ass whipped.” Imagine my monumental disappointment when mom merely put Justin down and muttered, “Fine, but you’re not getting any candy.” I don't believe this shit.

Justin 1

Mom 0

Game Over.

At what point did striking a parent (no matter what age) become acceptable in our society? Who was it that decided that spanking our children is wrong? I am the product of many parental spankings and I turned out just fine. I have spanked my children from time to time and they are just fine also. They do exhibit one interesting character trait that I don’t always see in other children. They show respect.

For those of you who might be thinking, “It’s so terrible to beat a child… blah, blah, blah.” Please notice that I have not confused spank with beat. That’s right, there is a difference.

You see, a spanking is a corrective action taken to encourage a child to refrain from performing a certain action. A teaching tool, if you will, to be used when other all options have failed. A beating has very little to do with discipline. A beating is more of an action performed out of pure anger or frustration that provides no teaching benefit to the child whatsoever. A spanking is merely hand to ass contact, where as, a beating can be hand to ass but all to often results in contact to other parts of the body that shouldn’t be struck.

Having said all that, I would like to encourage all parents to spank their children if it becomes necessary. Don’t be afraid. They won’t hate you forever. They won’t become serial killers. They will learn to respect you and the boundaries you have set. Who knows, maybe junior will begin to remember to stop leaving his skateboard by the top of the steps. It worked for me.

This title is 'Under Construction'

So I had pretty much given up on this blogging shit again. I don't really posses the ability to be spontaneously funny, or interesting. I'm not cultured, highly educated or well traveled nor am I exceptional in any way that makes me stand out from the 6,000,000,000 other people on this planet. The evidence that I have to back up these claims is in my weekly traffic reports. I'd post one if I had one to post. I have taken to the habit of deleting them without even reading them.

So I'm cleaning out my disposable gmail account this morning. It has been several months since I have been to this account and I figured it would be a good idea to get rid of all the spam. Its not that I don't need penis enhancement, I just do not have the financial means to spend $99.99 on some sugar pill that is supposed to make me a sexual tyrannosaurus. Besides, then I'd need some kind of expensive program to help me get over my forearm strain and carpal tunnel syndrome.

I digress. I was cleaning out my account when I happened upon some evidence that someONE has been to my blog. This lovely lady: Thinking Mans Babe posted not one but two comments! So while riding my tidal wave of popularity I have decided to try, once again, to think of something interesting, insightful, wise, and/or humorous to say.
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Damn! Nothing. Nothing. At. All.`

Why do we have VMAs?

On Sunday, September 2 2007 I missed the 2007 MTV Video Music Awards show. This makes the 23rd consecutive VMA show that I have missed. It is however, the one that I will remember the most. It is impossible to not be aware of Brittney Spears' horrible 'phoned-it-in' performance. Every celebrity blogger in the world (as well as several other bloggers not of this world) has posted something on it. It has also been extensively covered by the Associated Press (a so-called legit news source).

While reading all of the articles that I have read regarding the VMAs and Brittney, something slowly began to rise to surface of my conscience which brought to my mind this question: Why does MTV even have an annual VMA show anymore? I haven't watched the channel in years and even I know that MTV doesn't play videos any more. Hell, I stopped watching MTV because they stopped playing videos. How can you have video awards when you don't air videos? That would be like HBO or Showtime having an awards show for the best commercials aired on their channels.

While I'm at it, why do artists even produce videos anymore? If MTV isn't airing videos; what is the point in spending the money to make a video? There's nothing in it for you. Back when MTV played videos there was a benefit to making a video. The listener not only heard the music on the radio, the listener could also 'see' the music. It gave the artist a chance to get more exposure. The means (cost of the video) justified the ends (exposure and greater record sales). So now I ask: What's the point in all of it? Why make the videos? Why have an 'awards' show? Why doesn't MTV just have an annual 'Big Ole' Fucking Music Party'? Or, how about calling it: "The Annual Music Show That Common Losers Like You Aren't Invited To"?

On a separate, slightly unrelated note. Why doesn't Brittney just get it over with and give Larry Flint a call? I'm thinking she could negotiate a M/M/M/M/F photo shoot. They could use a trailer park as a backdrop. It would be a large photo spread of about ten or fifteen pictures culminating in Brittney getting a massive, gooey cum-bath in a dirty pleather bean-bag chair. Maybe after the photo shoot they could Photoshop the pictures and cut-and-paste Jayden and Sean in the background, complete with rotted teeth and dirty saggy diapers. At least give Hefner a call before she actually does get too fat for air brushing.

Let's kill dogs!

The following is a list of people who, in some way, defended Michael Vick (Falcons QB and dog MURDERER):

NAACP
Jamie Foxx
Deion Sanders
Stephon Marbury
Roy Jones
Clinton Portis
Chris Morant
William Rhoden
Whoopi Goldberg

What the fuck is wrong with these people? Does this mean that if I go to their homes and kill their dogs it's okay? Does this mean if I set up shop across the street from any one of them with my puppy mill and a big slogan at the door like: "Our dogs are born and bread to make other dogs dead" that they won't take offense? I'm guessing NO on both counts. But then again, I'm not black and I wasn't born and raised down south, therefore it isn't part of my culture and I should know better.

Fuck every one of you!

I don't know what I'm doing... here.

This statement is supported by the fact that my first blog is now dead. I view it as a total failure. I am not quite sure what I am doing here now as I haven't much to say. I do know that I am bored and in need of something 'creative' to do. Ranting about what pisses me off and sharing humorous anecdotes of things that have happened to me can be a creative outlet. Hopefully I can do it with just enough of pizazz to entertain the reader.