Whack-F*ck!!

Whack-f*ck [WAK fuk]  whack-f*cking;  noun, verb - 1. A term associated with the game of golf, usually involving the "whacking" of the golf ball from the tee-off box, resulting in the ball either slicing or shanking, ultimately flying in any direction other than towards the intended target, and the player crying out an expletive, vulgar in nature.  Example of use:  WHACK!  "F*CK!!!"

Mr. Green Thumb

I'm a fan of the musical group Cypress Hill.  They have a song entitled "Dr. Green Thumb" which speaks of growing marijuana.  So why is there a picture of a purple thumb to the right?  An explanation will follow, trust me.

I was not familiar with the "why" 4:20 is affiliated with the consumption of marijuana.  According to Wikipedia, it has something to do with students in the early 1970's who would meet up at 4:20pm to blaze up.  Eventually, the term was used for smoking pot in general.  Kind of like my use of "a new hat", which never really took off.  Or my love of "toast", which did catch on with a small group of us, back in the day.

All day long, on the radio, there was a debate of whether or not legalization of marijuana would be a wise decision.  Most who oppose it, are likely the ones least likely to have ever tried it.  They're the same people who swear up and down that marijuana is a gateway drug to bigger, badder and worse off drugs.  Drugs like cocaine, heroine, and worse.  I, personally, don't see it.  I believe that people are presupposed into addiction.  That, and the weaker the mind, the more prone they are likely to fall victim to their addictions.  I truly believe, in all my heart, that if you choose to quit something, you can.  No amount of counselling is going to help you, if you yourself don't decide to allow it to work.  Simple mind over matter.

"Marijuana is a drug, and therefore shouldn't be legalized" is the usual banter.  However, caffeine is a drug.  Tobacco, for all intense purposes, is a drug.  So is aspirin, ibuprofen, and whatever they put into cough syrup.  I've heard of a lot of kids who get hopped up on f*ckin' cough syrup.  I don't know why.  It tastes like shit, but there you have it.  Stupid kids, doing stupid shit!

I think marijuana should be legalized.  For one, it'd be a f*ck of a lot easier for me to buy it then.  Secondly, it could be regulated, in that it wouldn't be spiked with other drugs... (I'll share a story about that in a moment.)  And the government could tax the shit out of it, make some money in the process.

I would like to use it in a medicinal capacity, as a way to combat my migraine headaches.  There are some nights when the pain is so intense, I'd just like a way to relax and go to sleep.  I have heavy duty meds for the headaches, but it is a highly addictive narcotic, so my allowance of use is very limited.

I'm no stranger to smoking up.  I've never really been a "Cheech" (or a "Chong") about it, but when the opportunity has arisen, I've partook.  And nothing bad has ever happened.  I think the worst that has happened was I obliviously dumped mustard down the front of my shirt.  I [vaguely] recall, staring off into space and chewing on a hamburger.  The next thing I knew, I looked down to find my work shirt was ruined by a long-ass streak of bright yellow mustard.

There was a anti-drug video a few years back that depicted two friends sharing a joint on their couch then getting the idea of driving out of town, to tip cows.  One guy climbed over a barbed-wire fence, followed by the other, giggling the whole time.  The end result of this ill-planned adventure was one of the teens being mowed down by a raging bull who was also in the pasture that night.  The reality of this scenario is, if you smoke a joint, chances are, you're not going to have the energy to get off the couch to go tip cows.  Or do anything, for that matter.

I remember another night, I was with friends.  We'd passed around a joint or two and was having a great time.  I decided to get up and go to the kitchen to fetch myself a drink.  Apparently, I'd been gone for about an hour when someone came to the kitchen to see what had happened to me.  They found me in front of the kitchen sink, with a can of grape drink mix in one hand, and a purple thumb.  I'd been standing there for an hour licking my thumb and dipping it into the juice mix.  Today, and even this very moment, this fact still brings me to tears of laughter.

Alcohol is a drug.  You get pissed up and chances are you're either going to get into a fist fight, or do something worse.  Drive drunk and wrap your car around a pole.  This is why alcohol is regulated.  If you get high on marijuana, chances are the worst thing that's going to happen to you is, you're going to gain a couple pounds.

Regulation is the key to successfully legalizing anything.  I mentioned earlier that regulation would prevent other drugs being introduced into the marijuana.  I had a bad experience with a batch that someone had spiked with I don't know what the f*ck.  But I remember the experience vividly, like I was watching the whole thing go down from outside my body.  This was also the last time I'd ever consumed marijuana.

I was with some friends at another friend's house.  Some people I wasn't familiar with came into the party as well, and with them, they had some "party favours".  Being they were friends of my friends, I thought nothing of it when a joint was passed to me.  I had only a couple of hits off it when my whole world began to spiral out of control.  I suddenly had turned from my usual healthy fleshy shade of caucasian to a deep red.  I though I was on fire, literally, I was burning up and sweat poured off my head like someone was pouring a bucket of water over me.  I was burning up so bad, and despite an open door just a few mere feet in front of me, leading into the cool night, my legs wouldn't move.  I was so helpless, and if it weren't for the fact that my friend "Bubbles", and host of the party, jumping into rescue-mode, I'm sure I would've died that night.

I've not touched marijuana since that night.  It's been, I-don't-know-how-many years, since I've smoked pot.  If it became legal, I'd definitely dabble a little in it.  I won't lie, but until that day comes, I'll remain sober, just to be on the safe side.

So for those who do smoke.  Happy 4-20, folks!  And have a nice day!!!

God's Gift To Women

I stopped off at the grocery store after work to pick up some milk and a treat for tomorrow's barbecue at work.  I strode into the grocery store, like I've done a thousand times before, only this time was a little different.  Instead of being virtually invisible to the people around me, today seemed different.  People, especially the females, were looking at me a little differently.  Some with looks of approval, while others just seemed to stare.  A couple women, I actually caught checking me out.  "My eyes are up here!" I thought to myself, a slight smirk wiping across my face.  I don't know what was different today, than any other day, but I kind of liked the extra attention.

I wasn't feeling real great all day long, feeling lethargic and without much energy.  So my walking style into the store, to my knowledge, wasn't one of purpose or determination.  I slunk more than I walked, actually, but whatever my method, it really seemed to be making an impact on the members of the opposite sex.  "Spring is in the air." I thought.  

I made my way through the mart, gathering up the groceries I wanted and made my way back to my car.  As I placed the items in my trunk, a gust of wind rushed past me, and for the first time, I felt a breeze on my "nether regions".

"Aw, God damn it!" I loudly said to myself, "My fly is open!"

I Have No Right!

I have no right!  Try and try as I might, I just have no right.

This hasn't always been the case.  As a child, I had a right.  In my teens, I had a right, as well.  In recent years, however, I just don't seem have the right, anymore.  Most days, I don't even bother trying, the risk being too great.  Instead, I make alternative decisions.  Choose other directions and avenues, which sometimes results in some tasks take a little longer.  All because I no longer have a right.

Others who have a right.  I see them all the time.  Everywhere I look, taking their turns like it's nobody's business.  I barely phases me anymore, though, having grown accustomed to the plight of not having the right.  I've acclimated.  Although..?  On occasion, I still try.  And sometimes, I can even do it without incident.  Most times, though, I don't even bother trying.

It hasn't completely disappeared, though.  There is still a hint remaining.  A gentle reminder, a reminiscent that allows me to lean, sway, swagger, and even curve that way, but as far as darting to the right, it's just best that I don't even try.  The risk, as I said, is too great.

At night, when I enter my room, the bed is to my right, but I rarely just climb in.  Instead, I sidle up to it, turn almost completely around, to my left then climb in that way.  It is only in the morning, that I climb out to the right.  However, in recent weeks, that practice has even changed, and I climb out the opposite side of the bed, which still requires me then, to curve to the right at the foot of the bed.  So far, I've only crashed once or twice.

Today, though, I paid the price.  I was bringing my deck furniture out of my storage shed, to place on my deck.  Inside the shed, is very cramped and movement is limited.  I picked up one of the chairs and turned to my right, not thinking, and twisted the f*ck out of my knee.  At 4:30pm on March 31st, 2012, I definitely did not have the "right".

I've made peace with my limitations.  Where I falter in some areas, I more than make up in others.  Not to mention, my charm and charisma.  I may not have a right, anymore, but I'm still a helluva guy, and you can take that to the bank!

Tainted Meat

I live in a 4-level split home.  It's in a nice neighbourhood, with very little or no crime.  I live near a couple of schools and a high school.  There's even a church or two down the street, if the urge ever comes to me to go pray or something.  I love my home very very much, but in recent weeks and months, I've begun looking at my home in a very different way.  My house is NOT "zombie-proof".

The main floor has a big bay window facing the street and patio doors to the rear, both providing great visibility to the undead, if they ever decide to reanimate and roam the earth.  As well, the living room and spare bedroom, also have large windows, which would provide a determined zombie, with brains on the mind, to gain access to my home.  These are the things that freak the shit out of me, late at night when I'm watching "The Walking Dead" or any of the "Resident Evil" movies.  What the hell would I do, if such an event were to occur?  I don't own any weapons, not that I'd be a very good shot anyway, as I found out last year when taking target practice with a f*cking BB gun.  I seem to shake too much, while holding the heavy instrument.  I'm such a chick!

My sister's house is perfect.  A one level home with limited windows facing front, excellent window coverings on all, and best of all, direct entry into the garage.  So if escape is necessary, no one is placed in danger of being ravaged.  As for me, I have to leave my front door, then fumble with keys to get into my garage, all the while fighting off hungry zombies.  I'll have my work cut out for me, if the occasion should ever arise.  Perhaps I should have "zombie drills" in the meantime, to get myself in proper preparedness.

The thing I don't completely understand about zombies, though, is what drives them to crave human meat?  Does it taste like chicken?  Or more specifically, brains!  Why do so many zombies crave human brains?  And I also wonder, has there ever been a zombie who bore into a human brain, only to sit back and grunt, "Aaargh.  Thisss isss terrrribllllle...!  Wherrre'ssss a Mickey D'ssss?"  And what if a person was a vegan before they were a zombie?  Would they rather carve into a head of lettuce?

The entire idea of a Zombie Apocalypse is so preposterous.  In watching the season finale of "The Walking Dead", there was a production note saying that on the night of filming, the air was so cool, that the breath could be seen from the actors playing the zombies.  So post-production had to go over every frame of film and erase the breathe via CGI.  This raised some questions with me.  If a zombie does not breathe,  how are they able to grunt and groan or in some movies, speak the word "brains".  In order to squeak, squeal, grunt, groan, howl or holler, air needs to pass over the vocal chords.  If the undead don't breath, how are they able to do all of these things?

This isn't the only question to cross my mind, either.  Another logical conclusion seems to be eluded from every zombie-esque type film of television show.  I'm not sure if the subject has been broached in the comic book, that "The Walking Dead" is derived from, but:  With all the meat and brains that zombies take in, do they shit?  Why is it you never see a zombie squatting in a street or an alley or next to a bush, pinching out a soft gooey loaf of shit?  I doubt that they'd wipe off any excess.  They're rotting corpses, after all.  The smell of shit, might be a blessing in comparison.

If zombies do indeed shit, it is possible, I suppose, that they'd do it right in their pants.  Proper hygiene seems pretty low on their list of priorities.  Most of them, don't even comb their own hair.  What they do do, however, is maintain a, somewhat, healthy wardrobe.  Of all the zombie movies I've had the privilege of watching, the zombies have always kept their private parts private.  I'm not some kind of sicko hoping to see naked rotting titties, but one has to wonder.  The clothing always seems to be tattered and torn, but never enough that zombies are left roaming the countryside, au naturel.  It's like the Incredible Hulk, in the sense that Bruce Banner is a smallish man, yet when he loses his cool, and becomes the behemoth man-beast, all his clothes tear away, except for his trousers which stretch to accommodate his incredible size.  Just as the lowly zombie tears and rots away, his trousers (or her pant suit) stays intact just enough to cover the necessities.  I suppose this is a good thing, as zombies tend to "live" off the land, just as beatniks and hippies do.

So that being said.  In the end, I haven't anything to be afraid of.  I can sit idly by in the comforts of my own home, watching my television set and drinking from my glass, safe in the fact that even if a Zombie Apocalypse were to arise, there's nothing to fear, because who's afraid of a f*cking hippy?  Not this guy! 

Laughing Aloud

With the advent of the computer age, life has gotten a lot more manageable.  Tasks have become easier and what was once a common skill, such as handwriting, has fallen by the wayside, as typing has become more prevalent.  Unfortunately, the ability to spell correctly, has not yet been mastered.

Also stepping to the fore-front, is the use of shortcuts. Shortcuts and abbreviations, which are handy in some cases, but increasingly needless in most cases.  In the case of texting and tweeting, I often substitute numbers and single letters for larger words, in an effort to squeeze as much thought into the 140 to 160 character space, but one abbreviation you will NEVER see me use, outside of referencing it for this blog, is the term "LOL". 

Where the hell would the world of comedy be, if you had to end every joke with "LOL" or "Laugh Out Loud". I think most use this term as a method to not offend the reader.  "I think you're a piece of shit!  ...LOL."  If the LOL wasn't added, the reader might be offended, but the LOL adds the element of "I'm just kidding".  Complete horse shit!  It doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand the motivation behind a written sentence or paragraph.  There are millions of books in the world, in thousands of languages, and most of them (if not all), refrain from using "LOL" when trying to make a point of jest.

A friend posted a video of a cute little puppy waiting to be adopted at the local SPCA.  I don't know what kind of dog it is, but he's cute as a button.  Black and white, with one blue eye and one brown.  If the pictures alone don't make your heart melt, the video will.  After viewing the video, I placed a comment on the friends Facebook post, writing that it "was a cruel video because I would love to adopt the little guy, if it weren't for the fact that I'm allergic to dogs," adding that I doubt my cat would appreciate the addition to the household.  I received a response stating that 'it wasn't meant to be cruel'.  I never said it was.

I hate having to explain my comments.  It's a huge pain in the ass, and much of the joviality is lost when having to explain shit to people.  It's like this one friend I have.  You tell him a joke and he just sits there with a blank look in his head.  Then you have to sit down, break down each part of the joke and explain it to him, before (at long last) he laughs, but by this time the joke ceases to be funny.

Far too often, though, I will make questionable wisecracks on Facebook posts, always being met with disdain and misunderstanding.  When did our society become this... this... I don't even know what to call it.  Whenever the LOL is used on me, whether it be text messages or otherwise, I always question the individual to determine if actual laughter was vocalized.  Ninety-nine percent of the time, it is not, to which I scold them for lying.  I did have one friend retract her use of LOL, for a short time, replacing it with LLAR (Laughing Like A Retard).  That's awesome.  I don't know exactly what happens when that happens, but I'd imagine there'd be a lot of drool involved.

Another substitute I got from a Twitter-friend, porn magnate Seymour Butts, was SFIF, which translates to "So Funny I Farted".  I began using that for a short time, because I thought it was humourous, although I have never laughed at something enough to fart.  Pee, sure.  There've been times when a little squirt of urine popped out, but never an outburst of butt gas.

On the rare occasions that I do have an eruption of laughter, I still refrain from typing LOL, instead admitting to "actually laughing aloud".  I think LOL is stupid and will continue to ignore it's use.  What's more annoying yet, however, is when people write it repeatedly. LOL LOL LOL.  This tells me that you're Laugh Out Loud, three times in a row.  LOL in the singular should be suffice.  Anything more, you should be changing it to LHTIGTD (Laughing Hysterically, Think I'm Going To Die), but that's too much to remember for a generation who writes the word "prolly", instead of the word "probably"...

I AM a big user of the smiley face.  I don't know what the motivation is behind that, other than there's not enough smiling in the world.  Then again, it's pretty difficult to smile when you have assholes in the world shooting innocent people, strapping bombs to their asses and blowing up kids, flying planes into buildings, or in extreme cases..., Bill Cosby.  A smile, though, can sooth a lot of tension...  When using the smiley face, the colon : followed by the right parenthesis ), use only one parenthesis, not a whole bunch.  What the f*ck is that supposed to mean?  :))))))  To me, this is a smiling fat guy with 5 chins.  Just looks stupid.  Don't be stupid.

So let's cool it on the over-use of LOL.  If someone is going to be offended by a comment of joviality, then let them get offended.  Chances are, they're too stupid to use logic and deserve to be offended.  At least, THAT'S what I think, and what I think is gospel!! (Laugh Out Loud)

DENIED!!!!

February 29th, comes but once every four years.  Leap year.  Also known as Sadie Hawkins Day, which was unbeknownst to me, prior to today, but they were touting it all freakin' day on the radio.  That and the fact that The Monkees lead singer, Davy Jones died at the age of 66, from a heart attack.  Sad to see someone so special as this die from something so tragic as a heart attack.

The whole time that the radio announcers were promoting the Sadie Hawkins angle, I was wondering "Who the f*ck is Sadie Hawkins?"|

I'm familiar with Sadie Hawkins as far as the Sadie Hawkins Dances, where it is up to the female to choose who she was to partake in the festivities with, rather than the traditional practice which pits the guy against an unforgiving wall of rejection.  I have never asked anyone to a dance.  In fact, I recall only going to one or two dances in school, I think.  I can't remember, to tell the truth...

According to Wikipedia, Sadie Hawkins Dances are primarily in November, so why February 29th is associated with Miss Hawkins, is a mystery to us both.  Sadie Hawkins is also associated with the 1930's comic strip, Little Abner, but beyond that...  I was just too lazy to read on.  What I did learn of it's association with February 29th, is that it's an opportunity for women everywhere to propose marriage to their significant other, thus removing any pressure on him.  I think this is what I need, cuz my record in the marriage proposal column is pretty f*ckin' sad.

All morning on the radio, the female DJ (*Are they still considered DJ's considering everything is digital now?) , whatever the hell her name is, kept promoting the fact that women should be taking the opportunity to ask out that special someone that they've thought about, dreamed about, or even simply "considered".  Then she posed the question, "Have you ever asked anyone out and been horribly rejected?  If so, "call such 'n' such a number and tell us about it.  The worst rejection can win blah blah blah."  Instantly I was reminded of a horrible rejection I got, once upon a time, but didn't know if I was allowed to call in or not.  For one, it's Sadie Hawkins Day, so I'd assume it's just the women who'd be encouraged to call.  And secondly, unlike my workmate, I had work to do, and couldn't take time out to call in for a prize.

The incident that I was reminded of, took place some years ago, when I worked at a gas station.  I was a gas attendant, but at the time, we referred to ourselves as "Fuel Transference Engineers".  It sounded more impressive to laymen.

There was this pretty young woman, girl, whatever, that came in every few days to top up her fuel tank.  We always had pleasant exchanges and short conversations.  Everything seemed nice.  So one day she came driving in to the station and at the urging of a co-worker, I decided to ask her out for a date.  I came up to the car, we exchanged pleasantries and during one of the lulls in the conversation, I took the opportunity to ask her out.  "Hey," I said, "I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me some time?"  I kept it loose and informal.  I didn't want it to seem forced, but the reaction was unpleasant.

She stared straight ahead and with one word said, "NOPE!", with an extra emphasis on the P (pah).  Then that was it.  A long, awkward pause.  I said "No problem.  I was just curious."  And she continued to stare straight ahead.  She passed me a $20 bill for her gas and drove away.  I'd been rejected before, that wasn't anything new, but I'd never been shut down with such a resounding reply.  "NOPE-aaah" the word still echoed in my head.  That f*cking stung, as I recall.  Then to make matters worse, she returned a couple hours later, her call filled with friends.  She parked off to one corner of the lot and I could see her pointing at me followed by the sound of laughter erupting from the open windows.

We never spoke much after that, other than exchanges as far as how much fuel she wanted in her car and all.  I don't know what ever happened to her, nor do I really give two shits.  She could've fallen off the face of the Earth, for all I care.  She was mean and I don't need assholes like that in my otherwise perfect life.