So I’ve decided to switch back to blogger.  I know!  Make up your mind!

The other day I was reading about the new hike in cigarette taxes.  Below is a comment from another reader:

“We should be encouraging smoking especially among the elderly and retired auto workers. This would help reduce Social Security outlays and benefits that we have to pay to the auto workers since we now own Chrysler and GM since they would all die earlier. Also, the more smokers we have, the more money that will be available for Mr. Obama and his cronies to spend – opps – waste.”

We are standing in the kitchen as if we had done so a thousand other nights.  The weather is cool and a slight breeze permeates the air.  My parents are here this time.  I think it odd at first, to have you and them together, but the more I think, the more natural it seems.

I complain about things.  You listen.  Like you always do.  Listening has always been something you do well.  You know just the right thing to say during each pause.  Ten measures of music followed by one measure of rest.  Other nights,
we exchange roles, although the song is the same. Tonight, I am the
music, you are my rest.

You are in my room as I enter.  I sit down on the bed.  You then offer me help to the problems I had mentioned earlier.  Help that I never expected… but perhaps should have.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.  “Really, it’s unnecessary.”

“But I want to.  I care about you and I want to help,”

I slowly get up from the bed.  I walk over towards you and wrap my arms around you.  Your embrace always soothes away the most wearisome of days, but today it is has a feeling like I never felt before.  I smile.  We hold one another as if the world is ending.

“I wish this could last forever,” you whisper in my ear.

We hold each other tighter.  I can imagine myself in no better place than in your sweet embrace.  We then stand here, silently, gazing into each other’s eyes.  Your cute smile withers away all my worries.

“I can tell you’re a really great guy.”

I squeeze you tighter as the words fall out of your mouth.  My heart beats faster.  My mind races in every direction.

I then awake from this mockery of reality to find myself alone.  I rollover in bed and clutch my pillow.  For now this will have to do.

The country [Zimbabwe], once a breadbasket of Africa, is also in the midst of an economic crisis, with its official rate of inflation at 231 million percent — the world’s highest.

And you thought the U.S. was in a recession!

I was completely in shock at the events that recently occurred in India.  Like many people, I thought, “How could this go on for so long?”  I think the following excerpt from a Wall Street Journal article sums it up.

“The two gunmen moved along two separate paths toward the station’s main entrance, firing as they walked. They met virtually no resistance, even though several dozen police officers are usually deployed at the station. ‘They were killing the public, and the police just ran away,’ says Ram Vir, a coffee vendor whose stand is near Platform 8.

“B.S. Sidhu, head of the Railway Protection Force for the Mumbai region, says that while some officers tried to fight back, there was little his force could do. Most police officers at the station — as they are throughout India — were unarmed or carried only bamboo sticks known as lathis.”

In 2008, the police in India are still armed with sticks?!?!  WOW!

Source:  WSJ

This is completely bizarre!

Motorcycle Futon Fuck

A couple sits on a futon in a slouched position, wearing motorcycle helmets. the male on bottom in a seated position, the female on top but on her knees as if riding a crotch rocket. The female must also twist the males nipple while performing intercourse while he makes motorcycle noises. As they near climax, they both must begin headbutt each other until the weaker party is unconscious. The consious party then deficates in the others helmet and seals the facemask shut with duct tape.

Josh: Hey guys, why does my motorcyle helmet stink so bad?
John and Abby: I don’t know…we didn’t use it for our motorcycle futon fuck.

Sex in a Bag

A person who is extremely sexy.

Damn that T-Bones is sex in a bag.

Penis Biscuit

1. An exclamation usually directed at a person.
2. A biscuit cut in half, with a penis in the middle.

“Blowesha, you’re a god damned penis biscuit!”
“Carrie likes penis biscuits for breakfast.”

trying to convince the unconvinceable
with such precise precision presiding over each decision
of where to place, where to position each repetition -
i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you
of where to place, where to position each repetition -
i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you

each meeting always mixed
with the fixed idea of who did what and where and to whom
always erupting, disrupting our speech as we each preach
to the other as if a mother admonishing her child

confrontation compounding compounding compounding until
rationality and its counter clash into a crash
into a frantic dash of emotion and the notion of who was always right
and we fight into the night not knowing
it was neither you
nor I who was always right

those long long nights filled with fights
only accomplished one thing
always always always
causing compromise to end in goodbyes

Lately, for some reason, I have been nostalgic of the times BF #4 and I shared.  I say I am over him, perhaps only partly true, because maybe, just maybe by saying it then it will help me to detach myself emotionally from him.  Completely retarded, I KNOW!!

I ask myself, “Why after four months do I still sometimes find myself still missing him?”  Perhaps it has been the unseasonably warm weather reminding me of the great memories we shared this summer and last, perhaps it is the fact that I was not able to celebrate my birthday with him (yes, friends are great but there is an emotional void that friends are unable to fill), perhaps it is because I will not be able to be with him on his birthday that is coming up this month, or maybe it is because I still have his picture framed in my bedroom.  Whatever the reason, I wish I could free myself from him completely.

Yesterday

By:  Leona Lewis

I just cant believe your gone
Still waiting for morning to come
When I see if the sun will rise
Without you by my side
Oooo where we had so much in store
Tell me what is it all reaching for
When were through building memories
I’ll hold yesterday in my heart
In my heart

[Chorus]
They can take tomorrow and the plans we made
They can take the music that we’ll never play
All the broken dreams
Take everything
Just take it away
But they can never have yesterday
They can take the future that we’ll never know
They can take the places that we said we will go
All the broken dreams
Take everything
Just take it away
But they can never have yesterday

You always choose to stay
I should be thankful for everyday
Heaven knows what the future holds
Or least where the story goes
I never believed it until now
I know I’ll see you again I’m sure
No it’s not selfish to ask for more
One more night one more day
One more smile on your face
But they can’t take yesterday

[Chorus]
They can take tomorrow and the plans we made
They take the music that we’ll never play
All the broken dreams take everything
Just take it away
But they can never have yesterday
They can take the future that we’ll never know
They can take the places that we said we will go
All the broken dreams
Take everything
Just take it away
But they can never have yesterday

I thought our days would last forever
But it wasn’t our destiny
‘Coz in my mind we had so much time
But I was so wrong
No I can believe me I can still find the strength in The moments we made
I’m looking back on yesterday

[Repeat chorus]