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.