The Science of St. Nick

The hours are drawing near, when jolly ol' St. Nick will once again make his historical intercontinental trek, delivering toys to all the good boys and girls, as well as lumps of coal to those who fell short of the list this year.

During his travels, Santa Claus is expected to consume a minimum of one to two cookies or pieces of fudge or cake, per household, washing it down with a glass of cold milk or warm cocoa.  And judging from the modern schematics I've been able to commandeer for this article, Santa will also be consuming mugs and mugs of the tasty chocolate beverage along his travels.  However, cake, cookies, and cocoa cannot stay with someone over the course of one evening.  The chocolaty arts are notorious for quickly passing through, like "poop through a goose".  Although many of the features of Santa's sled have been upgraded to accommodate for modern technology, I fail to see any sort of lavatory system on the sleigh.  What happens if Santa Claus has to poop or pee?  Then what?

Definitely a man of Santa's considerable girth, would hardly be a welcomed in using the common commode used in most households throughout the world.  I've heard stories of mere mortals of larger proportions sitting on similar lavatories, only to hearing a creak and a groan before finding themselves seated flat on the floor surrounded by broken porcelain, spraying water and fresh turds.  Not to mention, it's always awkward having to request the use of someone's bathroom, especially when it's implied that you need to drop an stinky shit.  No matter how generous Santa might be, forking over a new iPod or big screen TV.

Due to an ever-growing list of deliveries, St. Nicholas would hardly have the time to make pit stops at every convenience store and gas station within 1000 miles of one another.  First you'd need to find ample parking for the sled and eight tiny reindeer.  Not an easy task at the best of times, nevertheless when your fighting off the urge to shit your pants.  I find it most difficult myself, to pull into my garage and line up my truck perfectly, when I'm "turtling".  Also, the fact that the sleigh hasn't any doors or security of any kind on it, it'd be hard fought to go into any facility and concentrate on droppin' a deuce, when you're preoccupied about some yahoo, bent on revenge for receiving a lump o' coal in his stocking last year, stealing the sleigh and going on a wild joyride, al a "Ferris Bueller's Day Off".  The only saving grace to that scenario not playing out, is the fact that 99% of the world's population aren't able to name off all eight of the reindeer's names.  

However, because much of the world is covered with countries and cultures who barely understand the concept of indoor plumbing, Santa is unable to address his fecal needs in a very private sort of way.  Therefore, the jolly elf, must take more substantial measures in evacuating his bladder and bowels.  This is where the "Fisherman Maneuver" is put into effect.  While travelling between metropolitan areas, Santa is now forced to drop trow and hang his ass over the side of the sleigh.  This is not an easily performed feat.  Much mathematics is necessary in conducting such a plan.

In the hours preceding Santa's take-off from the North Pole, there are a special team of elves who must conduct field tests in order to accomplish the most thrust from the eight reindeer used to power the sleigh.  You must consider not only all the gifts, but the food for feeding the reindeer throughout the night.  Enough food must be supplied as having the reindeer lose their energy halfway through the night is not something that bears repeating.  Not like that fateful night back in '03, when the reindeers lost altitude and came crashing down, with the sleigh and Santa in tow, onto the mean streets of Bagdad.  Thank God for the U.S. Marines who came to Santa's rescue and who handed over their rations and got Santa and his team back on schedule.

Other rations to be considered is the reservoir that houses the Stardust which assists the reindeer in their job of propelling the sleigh.  And we mustn't forget the Fat Man himself, Santa Claus.  The man in the last decade or two, has really laid on the pounds.  It's not like the good old days for Santa, when he'd pack on a couple of pounds on Christmas Eve, then spend the other 364 days of the year, working out to bring himself back down to a respected competing weight.  These days, Santa can be found with his fat ass plopped firmly down in front of his 70" big screen watching episodes of "Diner's, Drive-In's & Dives" on the Food Network.  It's because Santa "semi-retired" a few decades back, outsourcing the overseeing aspect of his job to Bernard, one of his faithful elves who's been by Santa's side since nearly the beginning.

So much consideration is necessary, if Santa is wanting to swing his fat ass over the side of the sleigh.  Not to mention some industrial-strength safety harnesses.  Something fitting enough to restrain and angry moose is more than suffice to keep St. Nick's fat ass from plummeting over the side and straight to his ultimate death below.  In addition to this task however, more science is needed to keep the crap from flying back into the sleigh.

I'm sure we've all been afflicted with the misfortune of driving down the street when out of nowhere ya cough.  And it's not a dry cough, but a wet one, met with not only a little bit of sputum, but a nasty nodule of snot that has freed itself from your inner most sanctum and now finds itself planted disgustingly on your palate.  Just like a hard-nosed trucker, you roll down your window and when you believe no one to be looking, you evacuate that snotty fragment from your mouth.  Only later, do you realize that the back draft of air propelled the once spongy morsel into the side of your vehicle, where it streaked and rolled it's way backward before finally coming to rest in a freeze-dried state for all who pass by to see.  Now imagine if you're Santa Claus, who's just taken a monster shit off the side of his regal flying sleigh, only to stop all little Emma's or tiny Tim's to discover that their is a gargantuan streak of shit flared back and down the side.  Fecal matter is difficult to remove at the best of times.  In warm climate, it may appear to have been removed with a simple dousing of a water hose, but a hint of shit always comes back a day or so later.  You are never really able to totally remove shit from the surface of anything.  If you steam-cleaned a toilet plunger, no matter how clean it looked or Febreze-fresh it might smell, no one is ever truly brave enough to wear it on their head like a long narrow crown, cuz you always know that the plunger helped rid you of the triple-coiled log from last summer.

So more science is necessary to prevent the back splashing of shit and urine with ripping one out, over the side of the sleigh.  A specific maneuver is necessary which involves getting the reindeer to fly in tight circles.  This is called the "Circling The Drain Effect".  It is through this method that centrifugal force helps fling the feces from the sleigh, so as not to spray the side of the sleigh, as well as miss the reindeer.  If you thought having them run out of energy was a unfortunate event, spraying a reindeer with piss and shit, is even worse.  A groggy lethargic reindeer is one thing, but a pissed off reindeer is much worse.  While it's true the energy output is increased, the anger ratio far exceeds that and becomes erratic.

The best case scenario for Santa, would simply be to cut a hole in the seat of the sleigh.  It's a little "low-tech", but sometimes the simplest answer to a question is the greatest solution.  I believe this is called the "K.I.S.S." Effect (Keep It Simple, Stupid).  While it may be a little drafty, pinching off a loaf would be easy and quick, and because Santa flies at such a considerable altitude, there'd be no prying eyes seeing his "brown eye".  Plus, with the advent of the GPS System in his sleigh, uninhabited areas would be more readily available and no "accidents" would occur, or there'd be far less of them.

So Have Yourselves A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!  And a Safe and Happy New Year, as well...!

Public Service

I've never really been a fan of the Ford Mustang. While others around me have "ooh'd" and "aah'd" over the Ford sportster, I've idolized other sporty modes of transportation. Cadillac's have always held a special place in my heart. Not the cookie cutter ones of the 1970's, mind you, that were basically Chevy Impala's with Caddy emblems on them. Those sucked ass, but the classics of the 1950's and 60's, as well as some of the modern classics of the 90's and new millennium.

Mustang's though, never really appealed to me. Granted some of the ones from the late 1960's and early 70's, until about 1972 or 3, were pretty cool, but I've never fancied myself as buying one. Even the modern Mustangs with their now nostalgic features are okay, but still not something I envied.

However, I always did say, to myself and others, that if I WERE to get a Mustang, it'd have to be a convertible. There's something to be said about the topless Mustang. Just a classy look, in my opinion. So this past August, I ventured out and treated myself to a second vehicle, my beloved 2008 Honda Ridgeline, being my primary mode of transportation. I found myself, locally, a 2001 Ford Mustang convertible. It's originally a California car, purchased off the lot in Palm Springs, California. She's a beautiful cherry red, with tan leather interior and a tan top. It's only a 3.8L, which while it isn't as powerful as the V8, is still strong enough to get me into trouble with the local law enforcement, if I'm not careful. Besides. I think it's more important to look good behind the wheel of such and automobile than to look like a f*cking asshole racing about. I hate those idiots, putting everyone else's safety in jeopardy so they can "look cool".

A few moments ago, I was on Facebook, wasting time on this chilly Saturday afternoon, when I came across some Mustang photos of one of my "Facebook friends". Like most Facebook friends, I've never met this individual, nor have I ever exchanged two words with them, other than to pass off "gifts" in whatever game we both enjoy playing. So always interested in pictures from car shows around the globe, I shuffled through a few of the pictures, pausing on a couple to share my opinions of what I saw. Until I came across a smashed Mustang convertible.

The model and year looked just like my car, only this one was a deep grey in colour. Underneath the photo, a question was posed. "Have you ever been in a wreck with your Mustang?" I posted how I recently acquired my Mustang and how I don't even like to leave it unattended when I'm out and about in public. But then I was reminded of an accident I'd had when I was a teenager. An accident where I demolished a Mustang with my car.

It was a late afternoon, early evening. I was stopped at a four-way stop. Then proceeded to go. That's when the 1974 Chevy Nova that I was driving struck a Mustang II, broadside. I was barely moving, but it sent this tiny car spinning down the street, it's right side caved right the f*ck in. I panicked, as this was my first accident ever. We exchanged all the required information, but I knew that (not only was) I f*cked, but that car was going to the junk yard. Completely obliterated.

However, it was a Mustang II. Much like the one pictured above. Mustang II's are the red-headed step children of the Mustang world. An embarrassment. Something to be shunned and hidden away, tucked under the stairs, never to be acknowledged again. Therefore, I don't really feel that bad for wrecking that automobile. Sure, the blemish went on my permanent record, but driving records only go back about seven years, so that's a distant memory today, but because the Mustang II is such a huge piece of shit, I think I did the world a service rather than anything negative. So it's been a long time in the making, but "YOU'RE WELCOME, WORLD!! YOU'RE WELCOME!!!"

Have a nice day!

F*ck Bullies!!!!

Kids be getting soft these days. That's what I'm thinking. Decades of mothers and fathers coddling their kids, teaching them to be soft, rather than calloused to what life brings them. If they fall down and scrape their knee, they're babied until the bleeding stops, rather than dad calling out, "Suck it up you wimp!" The latter is how I was raised. That and a lot more.

I see in the news repeatedly how this teenager and that teenager, is turning to suicide in order to deal with bullying in school. What could be said that is SO bad, that ending your life is better than just coping with the constant scurrility.

I, myself, was bullied relentlessly in my early school years. I recall being singled out in the seventh, eighth and ninth grades, especially. Growing up, I was always a sort of scrawny little guy, and therefore a prime target for those bigger than myself. I remember one fellow, in the seventh and eighth grades, named Jimmy. He was a couple years older than the rest of us, high school age I think, and this f*cker would constantly pick on me and try to beat on me. I don't understand why that was. One time he cornered me on the playground, ready to pummel me with his fists, accusing me of "thinking I was so cool". That statement, for the time, was the furthest thing from the truth. Today, on the other hand, I KNOW I am so cool. (Just look at my hair! Damn, I look good!)

High school, presented me with entirely new challenges. Here I was, placed into a sea of adolescents much bigger and older than myself. A whole new pool of social acceptance. I can remember this one guy, a couple of grades above me, who terrorized me for my entire freshman year. Any chance he got, he'd corner me and just lay into me with the insults. I can't remember much about the f*cker, other than he had kind of a pansy mustache, one of those faggy teenage ones, and this deep-seated scowl on his face. I don't remember ever seeing him with his friends, where he'd have a smile on his face. He'd always be a step or two behind a couple other guys, until he'd see me, then his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, and the bullying commenced shortly after that. Midway through the school year, I found myself running late to classes, because I had to take the long way around the school, just to avoid crossing paths with that f*cking guy.

Not once, though, throughout all the hazing and bullying, did I ever think that I'd rather be dead than deal with all this shit. I don't know exactly what it took for me to "survive" the bullying. Lord knows that it wasn't that I hit a growth spurt over the summer. I didn't get that until I was eighteen years old. Far too late for any of it to matter. But looking back now, I can only think it was a couple of things that helped me to survive the taunting.

Number one, was I knew the truth. They'd say one thing, but I knew the alternative to be the truth. The goof in high school, constantly had me cornered, pushed back between a couple of lockers, towering over me calling me "a little faggot" and other similar slurs, but I always knew that I was not a gay. (He probably was, but I sure as hell was not!)

Number two, and I had to think long and hard on this one, but it makes sense. I grew up in an alcoholic family. That is, my dad was an alcoholic, the rest of us were on the receiving end of it. Today I harbour no ill-will towards my dad, recognizing the experience as Jeckyll & Hyde. When he was sober, my dad was the best. When he was drunk, which at the time was A LOT, he was a f*cking horror show. Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger have nothing on my dad when he was rip-snortin' drunk. And this, I believe is the other reason I survived the bullying I received at school. For I know, no matter what these small-dicked idiots could dish out on me at school, my drunk father could dish out ten times (if not more) worse abuse.

So that is my secret to success, but what about all these teenagers today, who would rather swallow a bottle of pills or eat a f*ckin' bullet, than deal with the atrocities that berate them on a daily basis. Some might argue that today's youth are faced with an entirely different era than when I was a boy. Today, there's something called "cyber-bullying", in which tech-savvy bullies take to the world wide web, and post a plethora of untruths on Facebook, Twitter and whatever other social websites there are. Well I don't buy this a a viable reason for offing one's self. Bullies take to these sites because of the anonymity involved. Why, then, can't the victims return like with like. Fight fire with fire. Do like Sean Connery said in the Untouchables. "If they bring a knife, you bring a gun. If they put one of your guys in the hospital, you put one of theirs in the morgue."

Now as I'm writing that line, I have flashbacks of Columbine and alike. I don't mean victims of bullying should bring small arms to school and open fire. That's a bullshit, p*ssy way out of things. I mean fight your oppressors with words. I personally have attacked many a person with my words, and in some instances have caused quite a turmoil. I'm still receiving mail concerning my pledge that Chewbacca from Star Wars, was gay for Han Solo, and I suspect I will continue to receive mail over that. But that's good. It means I'm always on someone's mind. The victims of bullying can do the same. Post all sorts of shit about your bully. It doesn't matter if it's true. None of the shit they're saying about you is truth (in all likelihood).

Today, there's a large movement to end bullying. A valiant effort, this is true. I don't think we will ever see the end of bullying, to be completely honest, as bullying is everywhere. Corporate America bullies the poor. Big government bullies the other parties. "The Simpsons" has been on TV for over two decades now, and nearly every week, you see poor Bart and Milhouse handing over their lunch money to the school bullies. The WWE, which I have not laid eyes upon since Wrestlemania, constantly pits one super heavyweight wrestler against a lightweight grappler. Tell me how fair it is to see a 400lb behemoth fight against another fellow who's barely 5'8"?

Bullying is everywhere. It's a global epidemic. It will never end, sadly. So we need to find other alternatives to combating it. Teachers need to be more diligent. Whenever I was cornered as a young lad, lots of teachers would pass by, but not a one ever stopped to check and see if I was okay. They'd just smile and nod and keep on their way. I think most teachers and school officials know it to be going on, but are oblivious to recognizing it when they come upon it. I think better training needs to be given to school officials and stronger consequences to those who are caught.

"A show of hands. Who here has been the victim of bullying?" a man said to a group of kids during a television program earlier. A majority of hands were raised, including his own. "Now who here has bullied other people?" No hands were raised, except his own. He, admitting that in addition to being bullied, he too had bullied others. Only then, through that honesty, did one or two hands get raised. Everyone is willing to admit they're picked on, but never want to admit to being the monster themselves. As for me. Yeah. I think it could be said, that I've bullied a couple others. I don't remember who, or what the circumstance, but I have bullied. I'm not proud of it, but it is what it is. I can only learn from it and move on.

The same goes for those who find themselves victim to bullying and ridicule. Don't f*cking kill yourself. That shit doesn't solve anything. It makes your family miserable, because they couldn't help you. It makes the bullies feel invincible because they drove you to it. What you need to do, is LIVE. Live your life. If for no other reason, but out of spite. If your oppressors "hate" you that much, think of how miserable you're going to make their shitty little lives, by living yours to the fullest. Then when your a success, you can look down your nose at them as they fill your car up with gas or give you french fries with your burger order. F*ck them.

November 29th

The date November 29th has always been an important date for me. Not only is it the day of my birth, a day that should become a mandatory day off from work and school for everyone, but because so much has occurred on November 29th, throughout the ages. Some good and albeit, some not-so-good. A lot of good and important people have been born upon this day. And from what I've read recently, a lot of people have also died on this day. However, so I hear, you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.

For instance, I read that in 1963, a Trans-Canada flight crashed 4 minutes after take-off in Montreal, Quebec, killing all 111 onboard. Not really a day for celebration. Actress Natalie Wood drowned off Catalina Island, in 1981. Much mystery surrounded the accident and the case has been recently re-opened for investigation, which many speculate is because a book has just been published on the subject and re-opening the case will boost book sales. Aren't writers just greasy, sometimes?

Actor Cary Grant died in 1982 at the age of 82. In 1984, a Korean flight disappeared near Burma, with 115 people aboard. Not surprising for that region. I've seen them drive cars. In 1991, 17 people were killed in an astounding 164-car wreck during a sandstorm on Interstate Number Five near Coalinga, California. It's not known if any Korean drivers were involved.

Although a lot of bad shit has rained down on this day, a lot of good has become of it too. For instance, in 1890, the Navy demolished the Army by a score of 24-0 in the first ever Army-Navy football game, which was played at West Point, New York. GO NAVY!! Ever wonder why the Air Force never plays? Fly boys throw like girls.

The first flight over the South Pole, was made on this day by U.S. Navy pilot, Lt. Cmdr. Richard E. Byrd. Kind of ironic... Bird. Byrd. GO NAVY!!!

In 1947, U.N. General Assembly passed a resolution calling for the division of Palestine between the Arabs and the Jews. I wonder how that's been going.... Hmm?

Also on this date, Bill Gates adopted the name Microsoft for the company he and Paul Allen had formed. And in 2004, handsome Japanese actor, Godzilla receives a star on Hollywood's Walk of Fame.

It's the birthdays on this day, that have me the most stoked. There are many people born this day, both famous and alike. Pictured above, are just a few of those people. Tom Sizemore (Heat), Don Cheadle (Colors), Anna Faris (House Bunny), Garry Shandling (Iron Man 1 & 2), "Danger" Ehren (Jackass), Gena Lee Nolin (Baywatch), Jeff Fahey (Lawnmower Man) and Larry Joe Campbell (Hall Pass). Also included is fellow Canadian, Howie Mandel (Deal or No Deal). Not to mention, WWE Hall of Famer's "Mean" Gene Okerlund and Jerry "The King" Lawler, and future Hall of Famer, John "Bradshaw" Layfield, who ironically a few years ago not only shared my birthday, but we'd both injured ourselves by tearing our left bicep muscles. His, undoubtedly, from a mishap in the ring, where as my injury was far less glamorous.

I have always held this day in high regards. To most, it's just another day. To me, it's an occasion. Not only was this world blessed by having me born into it this day, but it should be a day held in high regard, like Thanksgiving or Independence Day or Christmas even. Every one should have this day off. Spend it with family. Spend it with friends. As soon as this is posted I'm going to go spend it with my boy, Monkey. Unfortunately, for me, today, I was woken up at the break of 6am with a mind-splitting migraine. Even now, after pumping myself full of prescription narcotics for fighting this ailment, my head still pounds.

So go forth, people. Give your loved ones a squeeze or a hug, I mean. Don't go all "Sandusky" on your family, like some kind of homo. Commemorate this day. Celebrate it! Make it an event. For it is a day that one of history's truly greatest human beings was born. ME!

Bodacious

I have a list of "sports" in my head. On one side are games that I consider to be actual sports and on the other, games that are NOT sports. What decides the criteria is whether I can do it or not. I'm not athletic by nature, so if I am able to perform the sport in question, then for obvious reasons, it cannot be considered a sport.

For instance, I cannot throw a football. Therefore, football IS a sport. I don't know how to skate, so hockey IS a sport. I suppose in that matter, so is figure skating. As well it should. I've seen "Battle of the Blades" in which former NHL'ers participate in figure skating competition for charity. I recall former Maple Leaf, Tie Domi, commenting during his stint in the first season, saying he thought it'd be easy, but he was greatly surprised by the work involved in perfecting the craft of figure skating.

On the other side of the coin though, there are "games", and I use that term lightly, like soccer. You run, you kick a ball. Oooh. Real f*cking tough. I'm asthmatic, but I can run. I can kick a f*cking ball. Soccer IS NOT a sport. Plus the fact that it's gay, doesn't help it's case none, either.

Golf, also, is not a sport. I can do it. Not well, but I can do it. Plus, it's more of a pastime, than a sport. It's just something men do to get away from their wives for a few hours. And given that most men, not all, but most men are married to nagging hags, the idea of escaping for a few hours on the course is far more appealing than putting a bullet in their head. I concur, fella's.

There is one "sport", that I don't consider to be a sport at all, though. It's not one that I can do, nor would I ever attempt to do. It's both, f*cking retarded and far too dangerous to try. That is bull riding. I can't help but wonder, how bored was the first guy in history, to ever try riding a f*cking bull? Bronco busting a horse, as cruel as that seems, I understand as people have been riding horses for centuries, if not longer. Riding a bull, on the other hand, what the f*ck? Riding close to 2000lbs of pure muscle, adrenaline, and anger, as it tries to throw you off and kill you.

The bull pictured above, is named Bodacious. During his career, in the 90's, no man was able to beat him. He, on the other hand, beat many a rider. To a pulp. It is written that Bodacious had one particular move he performed repeatedly. That was to put his head down in the dirt, bringing his butt high in the air, thus forcing the rider forward. Then Bodacious would whip his head back, smashing the riders face in the process. It's said that one rider thought he'd better the bovine, by wearing a hockey mask, but this still ended with his nose being broken and bursting his eye sockets.

Yet, when incidents like this occur in the rodeo industry, everyone is shocked and surprised. This is what confuses me. People acting like f*cking morons and being hurt as a result, and STILL people are surprised. If someone's spinning a loaded pistol like a cowboy, then drops and it shoots their face off, we're all like "What the hell did you expect was going to happen, you dumb shit?!?" So why is failing to ride nearly a ton of piss 'n' vinegar, such a surprise when it turns and gores your stupid ass?

I think most cowboys are a little gay to begin with. I mean, look at their clothes? Who spends that much time picking out a hat? And paisley? Don't get me started. Another blog for another day. But to "try and prove your manhood" by riding a bull? Talk about your "overcompensating". Yeesh!

Bad Touch

Seems that this Penn State fiasco is flooding the news reels as of late. The sex scandal in which one of the assistant coaches has been caught fornicating with children for the past fifteen or so years. This subject doesn't really affect me one way or the other, but after listening to the media banter back and forth on what should have been done, by whom, and when, I find myself, now, filled with some opinions on the matter.

Paterno, who up until just last week, had been coaching the Penn State Nittany Lions for close to fifty years. The man who holds records for the winning-most coach, with an astounding 409 victories, allegedly knew of the misconduct of his assistant coach, Jerry Sandusky, and some of the children who were in his charge. Subsequently, JoePa has been dismissed of his coaching duties, due to the black smudge he's put on the university. Although, when you look at all the details, it's been revealed that Coach Paterno did act within the guidelines that were in place for him for handling such misconduct. However, because the controversy is so blatantly wrong, he's going to be the fall guy for the entire scandal...

The scandal that erupted this past week, however, was the mention of then-graduate assistant, Mike McQueary, who'd reported to Coach Paterno, that he had walked in on Assistant Coach Jerry Sandusky who was at the time, sodomizing a young ten year old boy in the showers. Many have speculated as to why McQueary failed to stop the rape, even suggesting that if they were in his shoes, that they'd have charged Sandusky and not only removed him from the child, but would've assaulted him physically. I believe shock-jock, Howard Stern mentioned that he would've punched Sandusky's teeth down his throat.

It's tough to say what a person would or wouldn't do in such a situation. Everyone wants to believe that they're the tough guy who's going to save the day, but who can say for sure, how they're going to react to such a shocking discovery. I, myself, would have probably intervened, and likely would've gotten my ass kicked by the stocky naked guy with the boner. This, on the other hand, would've given the young victim ample time to flee to safety.

I can't speak for Mike McQueary, except for the fact that he is a ginger. Bright orange hair and little to no pigment in his skin. This is likely why he failed to intervene. There's no such thing as a tough ginger. Throughout history, no tough gingers. Even Richie Cunningham, though he'd gotten into a scuffle or two with Ralph Malph and Potsie, The Fonz was always there to bail their wimpy asses out. Even Ron had Harry and Hermione to save his ass on more than one occasion. So there you have it. Even in Hollywood, there's no fiction so unbelievable as the premise of a tough ginger. THAT is why Mike McQueary never stepped in.

Although I make light of some of what has transpired, I in no way condone the mistreatment of children, in ANY way, especially the sexual misconduct that transpired over the past few decades.

There's talk now that Joe Paterno's name will be erased from the record books and from the trophy's that align the halls of Penn State. This I disagree with. I don't think it's right to erase someone from existence just because of an oversight. I say "oversight", because the man is in his f*cking 80's. He's eighty-four f*cking years old. Try talking to your grandparents about an adult man, in a prestigious position in society, having sex with children. They'll never believe such a thing could occur. Even though they've been on the planet since dinosaurs ruled the earth, and know how f*cked the world can be, they will never believe someone who is well-respected in the public, could manage something so heinous. JoePa, is the same way. It's been speculated that the man has been losing his marbles for years. So why omit his memory, when his is already beginning to fade.

Grade A Douche Bag

I recall as a youth, the many times that I found myself helping a friend's family, to herd their cattle.

My friend's dad, like my own father, was a farmer. He had acres upon acres of land that he sowed with seed every spring and harvested every fall. Unlike my father, however, my friend's family also partook in the raising of cattle. Their farm never raised the cattle for dairy, but for selling off of the beef. Noble in and of itself, I suppose. Contribute to the betterment of society through the culinary arts and such.

However, as I stated above, I often found myself helping out the family in moving the herd of cattle from one pasture to another. I'm unable to remember if it was moving them to the north pasture in the spring or if that came in the fall. Either/or, I don't really give two shits. All I know is that I was invited by my friend for a visit and a sleep over, entertaining ourselves with movies, games and whatever other mischief we could find ourselves getting into. Then in the wee wee hours of Sunday morning, there I'd be, along with his family out chasing cattle around like a f*cking retard.

What the hell did I care, where these f*cking beasts of burden wound up? But there I was, asthmatic little ol' me, huffin' and puffin' like a motherf*cker, chasing these cows around, trying to herd them into another pasture. And all on our feet.

The family, having had lots of practice, had a knack for knowing where they needed to be in order to prevent any strays from eluding them. Me, on the other hand, had no prior knowledge on how to telegraph where the f*ck the animals were going to run. Granted, I'd been rooked into a similar situation just a few months prior, but like most unpleasant experiences, both then and now, I often deleted any knowledge from my memory. I believe that if something isn't enjoyable, why the f*ck remember how to do it? Same thing happened here. The cattle, dumb as they are, were always able to outsmart the young version of me. Repeating that fact now, doesn't shine too favourably on my behalf. Oh well.

What I do remember, from these experiences on my friend's farm, is the constant belittling and the barrage of unfavourable comments that I'd receive from my friend's dad, Wayne. (Normally, I omit the persons name, but being that Wayne was, and I suspect still is, a HUGE C*CKSUCKER, I have no guilt in revealing his identity.)

So Wayne would rush up on me and unleash a fury of colourful metaphors and practically boot stomp my ass into the dirt, all because I couldn't corral HIS stupid cattle. What a douche-bag!

I remember seeing him years later, at another friend's wedding. I showed up with a gal pal of mine. We weren't romantically involved. She was simply a female who I was able to convince to be my "plus one" for this day of bliss. At the reception, Wayne, being half-cut already, not that I recall ever seeing him sober, came over to my friend T____ and I then proceeded to make small talk, which involved mostly belittling me and trying to make me look bad in front of whom he presumed was my girlfriend.

He spoke of how useless I was with "this" and with "that", mostly topics he knew very little about, until he came to my efforts, or lack of, involving the herding of cattle. "Yep!" he boasted smugly, "Jeff'll never make a good cattleman. That much is for sure...!" Then he smiled like the Cheshire Cat at me.

"Why the f*ck would I ever want to be a cattleman?" I said calmly, my friend shocked at my comment. Wayne, looked baffled by my query. "Why would I want to be a cattleman? I mean, there's no money in it! Plus, the only place I'd want to see any cattle, is in 6 or 8oz portions on my plate, cooked to medium-rare with a baked potato and some string beans!" I shook my head in disbelief and made my way outside, my friend T____ following close behind. The last time I saw Wayne that day, was seeing that douche bag, standing alone in the living room of my friend's in-laws house, scratching his head and looking confused by what'd just transpired.

I did actually see that f*cker a few years later. It was after my dad had passed away from cancer and the vultures had all landed on our farm for the estate sale. Wayne was one of those bloodsucking vultures looking for some good deals. He came up to me and offered his condolences on the loss of my father. I don't know if it was sincere, as I doubt he ever liked me. I thanked him for his kind words, but I could tell that it was tough for him to be friendly towards me.