I've always been a conspiracy theory buff. I don't buy into them but love to research 'em.
Lately I've been looking around at the 9/11 conspiracies. They are just the latest in a tradition of people not accepting the common wisdom (which is a good thing) and taking leaps of faith and constructing facts to build more questions than answers.
There has always been something that has made my scratch my head. Why are so many of these tales threaded with ethnic Jews as the center of the web?
I've scoured the net looking for a credible origin to this anti-Semitic theme. Most forms of racism and classism make sense to me. I get the xenophobic instincts that drive people to rebuke others that look different. I cannot seem to get to the bottom of the Evil Jew myth.
From 9/11 back to the Knight's Templars, there seems to always be a Jewish conspiracy at work. My first guess was Christian propaganda, yet it seems more ethnic than religious.
Chime in and help me with this one.
Why do the anti-Semites and kooky theorists often appear to be the same people?
(The winner of today's "too young to write this well" award goes to December who offers the next installment in our little project) (UPDATED 11/18/05)
As yet untitled
This is not the first time the subway car she was in stopped for no reason. Allison looked up from her book as she sensed the car slowing down to see what station they were approaching. Peeking out the window, she only saw concrete and brick; they stopped between stations. Allison shrugged and her eyes droped and quickly scaned the page to find where she stopped reading. This was the third time she'd read "Treasure Island". She was ten when her uncle gave her this ratty and worn copy. She tore through it then and read it again, as an adult, last year and loved it more. Missing high adventure in her own life at the moment, Allison grabbed it off her shelf on her way out the door this morning. As soon as she found her seat and started reading, the noise of the morning commuters faded and she could hear the waves hitting the side of the pirate ship.[hofzinser]
The movement of the train had helped Allison dissapear into the pages of her book and she was finding it more difficult to surround herself with the high seas when the train was stubbornly refusing to continue forward. As the minutes crept by, the words on the page went from fuzzy to completely jumbled. Allison sighed and placed the book back in her bag. Her other senses began to extend, and within a few moments she was roaming around the train from her seat. She could smell the coffee from the casually dresssed man across the aisle. She could hear the video game and sighs of consternation from a child obscured by a fat man with his poodle, leashed, but riding in the man's arms between sweaty folds of skin. She leaned forward an looked to the end of the car. A sullen looking man was staring at the floor. He turned his head toward Allison and his eyes darted to meet hers, and then raced away to a spot above her head. [anonymous coworker]
A sudden jolt went through Allison as their eyes met, and it wasn't just the jolt of the train starting up again. In that second she realized she knew this stranger. Her memory toyed with her, taking her back through her past in order to find the identity of this man. Instinctively she knew that the identity wasn’t something she was going to like. She closed her eyes and watched face after face rush by…her high school math teacher? No…He was older than she was, he couldn’t possibly be a classmate. Then her brain suddenly released his identity, and her heart twisted in her chest. Her throat already straggled and frayed, she called out, “Dad?” [paige]
He didn't hear her. Allison studied him a bit more, decided this was bigger than her and tried again. "Dad?" "Steven?"
The use of his first name garnered a reaction. His head shot up and his eyes roamed her face placing her this time. He gave her a small smile that never reached his eyes pushed himself off the seat and over to her.
"Allison," he sat down heavily next to her, "how are you?"
She struggled to keep the glare down, that incredulous stony glare she inherited from her mother she knew he hated.
"Fine, fine, busy and you?" Jesus, making small talk with her dad on the subway. Will wonders never cease?
"Good. Great," he said sounding nowhere near good or great.
"Lori is pregnant," he added.
At the mention of his new wife, Allison bristled. Then reminded herself that Lori wasn't so new just a painful reminder. It had been close to sixteen years since he walked off the home plantation and into the wild. He not-so-blissfully wedded Lori five years ago. The marriage was irrelevant. Allison hadn't spoken to her father in almost a decade when the merry marry occurred.
The train moved past the blockage as they sat in silence. The train rumbled through tunnels and past stops. And still they both rode in silence.
Suddenly Steven said, "Allison? There's something you should know."[A*]
‘There’s something you should know?’ what was he doing, trying to make this unbelievably awkward moment into a Hollywood movie? Allison thought sourly.
“What Steven? What lie are you going to tell me this time? Are you going to tell me that your leaving was never my fault, that you and Mom just couldn’t work together? Are you going to tell me that you think of me and Mom everyday? Or, perhaps you were going to tell me that you wished you could have been involved in my childhood more?” Allison spat out fiercely.
“No, I wasn’t going to, I...you have to understand,” stammered Steve.
“Oh, I get it, you were going to tell me the truth this time. Which one? How about, when Mom told you the secret she had kept inside of her since she was a little girl, you didn’t comfort her, you walked out of the house and got drunk, like every other night? Or, maybe you were going to tell me that I wasn’t really your child, that mom was raped by one of your buddies, while you stood there and watched? No, no, I’m sure that you were going to tell me that.....”the girl spewed.
“ALLISON!” Steve loudly interrupted.
He hung his head, knowing there was no sense in prolonging her suffering. He moved his hand to her knee and spoke. His words would echo in her soul for the rest of her days. "Your sister, Jane... is alive." [leah] and [McG]
Allison had been reaching her hand out to remove Steve's unwelcome hand from her knee when her arm froze in midair. As if the freeze was emanating from Steve's own hand, Allison felt a chill run down to her toes, through her shoe, and into the floor of the chain. She felt like she was sitting in ice water.
"Could it be true? Could Jane still be alive?"
Allison was suddenly flooded with memories as she thought of her sister's name for the first time in years. Allison had thought she had lost her sister when she was young, but that was more than enought time to have developed wispy memories of stuffed animal parties, treehouses, peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches, and the warm embrace of a infrequently loving family.
The thought of her family shocked Allison back into the present.
"Get your fucking hand off of me!" Allison screamed. People in the train began to look at them.
"You show up out of nowhere after I haven't seen you in who knows how many years and drop this all on me about Lori being pregnant and Jane being alive as if we've had a relatively normal life up until this point?"
Steve made an attempt to speak but was quickly bulldozed by Allsion. Train passengers were moving to the other side of the car.
"All I wanted to do was read a book on the way to work," Allison said with a sway as the train slowed into the next station, "and now I don't even know my own life anymore!"
Steve opened his mouth to speak but Allison glowered at him. Her eyes refelcted years of pain, suffering, and revenge. He closed his mouth, opened it once more, and closed it again. Then he put his face in his hands and sighed. When he looked up again Allison was gone. He quickly jerked his head around the car and saw the back of her head as it wove through the crowd on the platform. The doors to the subway car closed before Steve had a chance to go after her.
Allison found the steps out of the subway and collapsed on the in an emotional heap. Her eyes were puffy with tears and rage, but her mind was full of questions.
If Jane survived the accident, why didn't anyone tell her? Why were there so many lies?[anonymous coworker]
She joined the queue headed up the stairs with the rest of the corporate cattle headed to the slaughterhouses, branded with Price Waterhouse Cooper and Merrill Lynch instead of "Lzy K" or "Lucky B,".
As the train rattled away it drew up in its wake a sea of empty potato chip bags, candy bar wrappers, a New York Times crossword puzzle where someone decided that "22 Across: Marx" was "Zepo" instead of "Karl" which forced "14 down: Movie monster" to be "Godzilpa." [MooCow]
When she finally reached the street level she was yanked out of line by a desperate hand.
"Did you talk to him yet?"
Allison froze and could not answer the question. She peered into her own eyes, she looked at her own face. She could not find the air to form an answer to the twin she thought long dead.
Jane gripped Allison and gave her a firm shake.
"Did he find you yet? Did Dad talk to you? God Damnit! Answer me!"
Allison manged to squeak out a barely audible "yes".
"Fuck!", Jane bolted west on 54th with her sister in tow.
"It might already be too late"
Allison, by the time they crossed 8th, screeched the Jane train to a halt by digging her heels into the sidewalk.
"We don't have much time, Allison!" yelped Jane [hofzinser]
"I am not going anywhere untill you tell me what the hell is going on!"
"I don't have time Allison, please, please, I just need you to come with me, you have to trust me"
Jane grabbed Allison's hand to pull her along. After dozens of blocks they finally stopped in front of the Empire State building. Allison saw her father race inside.
"Jane, where is he going? Why are we following him?"
"The last thing that he had to do was tell you that I was still alive. The circle is now complete, he has nothing more to live for."
Allison stared at Jane. "Don't you get it? He is going to end his life! He is going to end as many people's lives with him as he can. He has a god damn bomb Allison!"
Allison maintained her blank stare. "So what are we going to do about it?"
"Well we sure aren't going to stand here! Let's go."
As Jane was running towards the building, she began to pull papers out of her pockets. She also pulled a gold pocket watch out.
"Jane, what is all that stuff for?"
"You'll find out, please, just hurry up."
Once inside the building they saw their father standing in the middle of the lobby floor. A crowd of tourists were face down around his feet. He had his jacket off, exposing a bomb the size of a coffee cup straped to his chest.
The red, glowing lights read 1:23....1:22...1:21. [december]
Your turn! Email the next paragraph in this story with the subject line [Story 01 Paragraph 10]
I have an idea and want to see if it will work as well as I think.
I am amazed at the quality of writing I see on the blogs of the people who frequent here. I want us to create a story.... together.
Here is how it will work (read carefully). Below is the on-going story. I wrote the first paragraph and expect YOU to write the next one. Read the story as it stands then email me the next paragraph (click on my picture/slide above to get my email address). I will sift among the submissions and, like an editor, pick one and add it to our story. We then start the process over again and I will ask for submissions for the next paragraph. Do NOT put your entries in the comments section, I will only consider entries sent via email. Please use the subject line I post so I can keep this organized. If I pick one of your submissions BUT you do not want credit (you want to remain anonymous) please note that in your submission.
(many of my newer readers missed this when it was first published last July. It was my first publish of fiction on this blog and I am still kinda proud of it. If you are a long-time reader then... read it again because you can never get enough of your Uncle Hof.)
She strokes the petals of the daisy carefully so not to pull one out. Immediately she remembers the childhood "he loves me, he loves me not" ritual. A smirk emerges from the corner of her mouth stretching her lips far enough to catch the salty tear as it runs down her cheek.
Wiping the tear away she can't gather the nerve to toss the flower to the ground.
"How the hell could he do this to me?"
She is sitting with her feet close and her legs tucked in front of her. She rests her chin back on her knees. Normally a day like this in a city like Chicago would have her walking with him through the park. He would blush as she caught him checking out the view from the neckline of her tank top. She would have a book like "The Prophet" and he would have a magazine like "Sports Illustrated". He would have the ratty green towel over his shoulder so they could sit on the ground without getting too dirty.
Her knees support her chin and she gets lost in the soft center of the flower. "Are daisies weeds?" She says it out loud and half expects him to answer. He knew all that science shit. He loved to correct her when she lumped tomatoes with vegetables or called a whale a 'big fish'. Then it was annoying and made her feel stupid. The thought of it now makes it hurt that much more.
"Fuck you..." she says clearly and a bit louder than she expected (half-wanting him to hear).
It really is a rare day. A Chicago summer is the nicest three days anyone will see. Despite being a Thursday and despite it being two o-clock in the afternoon, it seems like the entire city has taken the day off. Young couples are playing with their newborns under the shade of the park trees, dogs are finally getting the workout of a Frisbee thrown by their owners.
Lisa falls back on to her elbows but keeps her knees pointed to the sky. The flower falls loosely from her grip and she watches a cloud drift. Had it really been three years since they met? When he was holding her hand last week on the way to the movie it seemed like they had been together for a decade. Today three years seems like a month.
Even in her anger she loved him more today than when he left last week.
"You selfish son-of-a-bitch", she thought. She is still looking up when her cloud slides under another, much bigger, cloud. He just laughed. That's how they met. She slipped on an ice cube flat on her ass and he stood, at the bar, and tried to hold it back. It was too much and he burst. Of course, she was embarrassed and pissed (embarrassed for herself and straight-up pissed at the cute stranger laughing).
"I bet we would have never met if that ice cube wasn't there. I was on my way out anyway. Today would be just a sunny Chicago day if not for one fucking ice cube. Instead, it is the first of many anniversaries. One month without David and the fucking sun is shining and the wind is warm."
"I hope you're happy now. I hope you found whatever you thought was missing. Just so you know, it sucks here. The wind is too warm and the sun is too bright."
She forgot to bring a blanket and she thinks the ugly green towel was last left at his place. The grass was already staining her skirt. All she could think about was what he said when he came over from the bar and offered her his hand.
They talked all night. Normally when she met a man she, during their conversation, was secretly assessing his viability as a mate. Was he smart? Was he kind? Was he ambitious? Not that night. She was too lost and engaged by his wit and charm. It wasn't until the next morning when she was making her morning coffee and getting ready for work that she realized she was in love. It shocked her. She only knew David for a few hours yet, for the first time in her life, she had the feeling she always heard about. She knew it and that was all.
The next few months were so natural. Breaking her typical neurosis, she did not over-think their relationship. Thoughts like "are we moving too fast?", "is this what I want?" or "where is this heading" never filled her mind. He just flowed through her and surrounded her.
Those memories brought a smile to her face as the sun started to float gently to the horizon. It was approaching seven o'clock and those that didn't take today off were now filling the park to capacity. She stood up, brushed at the grass stains on her skirt like it would make them easier to get out in the wash later.
She remembered the first day he didn't call. He always called, every day starting with the day after they met. His daily call was as reliable as the sun setting. It was a Friday and she was swamped at the office. It wasn't until four that she realized David missed his lunch-break call. She sent him an email and when he didn't answer she sent another. She started to worry and was in a complete frenzy by ten that night. Did something happen to him? Was this God's big joke? Here is a man to fall for and now I will take him out with a bus, thanks for playing, Lisa.
He called the next morning and sounded funny. "You OK?" she asked.
"Yea, I had a rough day at work yesterday and just came home and went to bed. Sorry."
As the next few weeks passed she could not figure out if he was really that tired all the time or his exhaustion was an excuse not to see her. When they did go out, he was her David. Why he didn't call as much and why they spent less time together was starting to cause crazy theories to pop in her head. Was he falling out of love with her or, worse, was there someone else? She knew men, if they got their sights set on someone new, they would just drift away from the person they were with. Men could fight wars, save kittens from burning buildings but couldn't just say, "Hey, I'm just not that into you anymore."
One day of no contact became two, three then a week with no calls or emails.She finally lost it. He had not talked to her in a week. She was driving home from work and somehow found herself in his driveway.
His car was there.
Enough is enough and she stormed to the door. Even as she stood in the park she could see the door. She could see his damn door. After knocking for a minute or two she stood there defeated. How could he sit in there knowing she was at the door? HOW? It was then that the weight of his house key on her key chain became too much. He gave it to her over a month ago. She couldn't help herself. Key in the lock and the door opened.
The place was cleaner than she had ever seen it. Spotless. Was he selling it? Did he expect his new fucking girlfriend to come over and was trying to impress her? You son-of-a-bitch!
She yelled, "DAVID!?!"
The place had an empty feel to it. She felt strange being there. Was he upstairs with her? She moved into the kitchen and saw the envelope. Her name was on it, in block letters. It was sealed and he had yet to put her address on it - just her name. Her trembling hand picked it up and opened it.
I don't know how to explain this. I know I should have talked to you about my feelings but I was afraid I was going to hurt you. The last few times we've been together I've tried to talk to you about things. I just couldn't find the courage. I knew you would not understand. Please believe me, there is nothing you did wrong. I have to end this. You will always have a special place in my heart and I hope you can move past me - us - and find someone special.
You are a wonderful woman.
She wasn't sad and she didn't cry. She was pissed. He was going to dump her with a shitty letter? No explanation? She read it three more times as if there was a special code embedded in the text that would explain things. Her arms dropped as all of the energy that powered her muscles drained. The letter fell from her hand and her head became heavy. She could feel the tears coming.
She fought them and stalked around the other rooms. Spotless and empty. She stood at the bottom of the stairs and held her breath and listened. Was he up there with someone else? She lifted one heavy foot after the other and went up. At the top of the stairs she caught the first whiff. "Jesus, what was that smell?"
His bedroom door was cracked open. With one finger she gave it a push. It swung open.
My God, the blood. It was everywhere. It took her a few moments to even notice him on the bed. The gun was laying on his chest. His hands still gripped the handle and the end was still in his mouth. The blood- it was everywhere. My God, the blood.
She caught herself standing and staring up at the darkening sky. She'd stopped walking and was just standing, staring into the sky as the stars started to twinkle into view. "It can never be that bad." she thought as people walked past her to get closer to the fountain in the center of the park.
She whispered to the sky, "I miss you David. I love you and hate what you did but I still miss you."
At the funeral she finally met his parents. His Mom explained his sickness, his moods and that this was not his first attempt. "He talked about you all the time." she said to Lisa. "We were looking forward to meeting you." She held Lisa like a mother can. It was the first time she finally cried, in her lover's mother's arms.
The stars were appearing as if someone was poking pins the night sky letting the light of heaven through.
"I miss you David"
She resumed her walk home. She chuckled when she caught herself wondering if tomatoes were really fruit like he said. Fuck it, she lumped tomatoes with vegetables and that was just how it was going to be.
I watched my Miami lose to the Pats yesterday at the 8th Street Tavern in Hoboken.
Cold PBR on draft, my smokes, some chicken tenders while surrounded by NFL on 8+ TVs. It was bad for the liver, lungs and stomach but so good for the soul.
I was struck by a gent sitting across the bar from me. He appeared to be around my age (early thirties) and sported a black overcoat, beard and a face that spoke volumes.
He nursed a draft while unaffected by any of the games shouting from the airwaves around him. I would guess he just fell off the cigarette wagon. I bet he quit awhile ago and just bought his first pack in years.
He smoked one after another. His focus only shifted between his reflection in the pint glass and the burning of the ash. He watched the cig burn like it was a movie and he did not know the ending.
He smelled of a broken heart. I could not tell if it was a woman that crushed him earlier that day or the night before OR if he was just in the middle of life doing a general teeth-kicking. He look beat up and dragged. He looked alone on a barstool despite the crowd of pig-skin addicts that surrounded him.
Normally I would belly up next to someone like this. Strike up a conversation and, possibly, be an ear for someone who just needed someone to listen. I thought about changing my seat but I never did.
Something told me he didn't want to be bothered. The only ones he wanted close were Marlboro and The Blue. The image of this guy has stuck with me through today.
Someone or something fucking punched him in the nose and I hope he woke up today feeling a little farther ahead than yesterday. I've been where he was. Sometimes you just want to look up to the sky, shake your fist and yell, "I don't know if you're up there and I don't know what you're trying to tell me but FUCKING LET OFF... I get it so let me stand back up."
Cheer up, man. Even when its that bad, its never that bad.
Has the mini-stump speeches passed off as Presidential debates coupled with the extremist rantings on FOX and CNN left us with no real political discussion?
Unless I am talking with Dan, Allison, Jules, A* or Mr. Drinker (all whom often disagree with me politically), I find any talk of politics often spins into:
1. Ranting One or both parties stop listening. One talks, the other just waits to talk. Neither addresses the ideas or questions of the other.
2. Name calling Liberal and Conservative are not bad words. True measured debate about issues is now replaced with labeling. Pinko, communist, Neocon, blah, blah.
3. Exposure of evil Talk about policy and procedure is reduced to talk about intent. If you think the Head Start program is not effective then you must not only be against children learning.... you probably eat fried baby feet for breakfast. If you think the war in Iraq might be better executed you not only don't support the troops, the only person who hates America more than you is running North Korea. Enough, already. Learn to separate talk of policy from talk of intent.
4. No regard for language Anything someone thinks is important becomes a "right" - the word "right" no longer has meaning. The "right" to health care, education, or to carry a concealed handgun. Couple this with simple things like separation of church and state and personal property rights being at best warped and it worse ignored...
5. Selective acceptance Facts are fact if they support your position. They are unreliable and malleable if they support a view you disagree with.
6. Silliness Extremists like Pat Robertson, Nancy Pelosi, Howard Dean and Tom Delay are dictating the landscape of the political debate.
7. Change of subject If someone on the other side starts to make sense there is no need to listen, consider or even re-think. Just start talking about something else. There is no reason to have your answers match the question asked.
8. Preaching to the converted Some only talk politics with people that agree with them already. What a great way to expand and learn!
I am now here, in Hoboken, for a week with my Gal.
A week after I get back it is off to Charlotte, NC for a week with the family.
A week after I get back from that it is back to Vegas for a week to teach geezers how to analyze stock charts.
A week after I get back from that it is back to Charlotte for two weeks with the family.
It is very possible I've put more hours on planes this year than in my car (no commute, I work from home).
I am a jet-setter BEE-Atch.
Two posts in one day... don't you get spoiled!?!
(now for the above, in JIVE)
So git dis, dig dis: I plum gots back fum some week in Vegas. I's gots'ta be now here, in Hoboken, fo' some week wid mah' tail. A week afta' I git back it be off t'Charlotte, NC fo' some week wid de family. Slap mah fro! A week afta' I git back fum dat it be back t'Vegas fo' some week t'teach geezers how t'analyze stock charts. A week afta' I git back fum dat it be back t'Charlotte fo' two weeks wid de family. Slap mah fro! It be very possible I've put mo'e hours on planes dis year dan in mah' wheels (no commute, ah' wo'k fum da crib). I's gots'ta be some jet-setta' BEE-Atch. Two posts in one day. Slap mah fro!.. duzn't ya' git spoiled. Right On! ?. Right On!
(and now in Swedish Chef- say it out loud)
Su get thees: I joost gut beck frum a veek in Feges. I em noo here-a, in Hubukee, fur a veek veet my Gel. A veek effter I get beck it is ooffff tu Cherlutte-a, NC fur a veek veet zee femeely. A veek effter I get beck frum thet it is beck tu Feges fur a veek tu teech geezers hoo tu unelyze-a stuck cherts. A veek effter I get beck frum thet it is beck tu Cherlutte-a fur tvu veeks veet zee femeely. It is fery pusseeble-a I'fe-a poot mure-a huoors oon plunes thees yeer thun in my cer (nu cummoote-a, I vurk frum hume-a). I em a jet-setter BEE-Etch. Tvu pusts in oone-a dey... dun't yuoo get spueeled!?! Bork Bork Bork!
As has been reported by others, I was in Vegas not too long ago (and I will be back next month).
It was a great vacation and I had the pleasure of finally meeting Paige and Vegasgustan.
Paige and her husband met me for a drink in the MGM before I had (yes, HAD) to play in a poker tourney. It was a grand visit.
They are one of those rare couples you meet that really fit so well together. I was very taken by Paige's husband. Not only is he intelligent and friendly, he has a warm demeanor that makes you immediately comfortable from "go". He indulged my outsider questions about the show he works in. He was even kind enough to get us "on the list" for the show. I wish my fellow vacationer had been up to going to the show. I may have to weasel a second invite for next month. I really wanted to take advantage of such a kind and rare opportunity.
I judge other dudes on is a simple litmus test: Would I want them on my side in the war? Mr. Paige is a mountain of a man. Tall, brainy and brawny so when the line is drawn I want him standing behind me and on my side... not facing me on the other side of the line. He is to be on my side in the war.
I've been reading Paige's blog for almost a year now. I had a very high image her as reflected by her posts - she did not dissapoint. She is both witty and sharp (and quite brainy as her compliments for this blog revealed). I look forward to catching up with both of them upon my heralded return to the city of sin.
The very next day I broke bread and chilled with VG. He is a dude's dude and easy to befriend. He is shockingly funnier than his blog reveals. We had a great chat and solved 89 of the top 100 problems in the world.
I got to see pictures of his wife (get yer mind out of the gutter, they were wedding pics)... let me report that he married up. As a fellow minor-league gent who landed a major-league woman, we instantly proceeded to pat each other on the back. A* and Mrs. VG need their eyes checked and heads examined and VG and I are not pushing for this to happen any time soon.
I fully expect "very bad things" to happen next month as I ring him into a night out with my peeps. Like Paige's husband, VG is someone I want on my side in the war. He's got the bruiser look so I avoided any unexpected fast motions and kept my voice in a comforting and soothing tone. He just looks like an ass-kicker.
During my 30-day hiatus I was overwhelmed with emails. I am sorry for taking a break from blogging. Until the tsunami of emails crashed on my unprepared third-world inbox shores, I had no idea how many of you depend on my words and thoughts to give you purpose and direction.
Let me take the wheel again and steer you back to the highway of truth and wisdom. Here are a few things you either already knew, maybe forgot or mistakenly disagreed with until you realized it was me who told you they were true
Radiohead and Tool are the two most talented and innovative artists still putting out albums.
Casablanca is, to this day, the only perfect movie ever made.
Fat people in line at the all-you-can-keep-down buffet is gross - especially when it is their tenth return trip to get the carved ham because they got the cobbler and ice cream on their first trip to be sure they didn't fill up and miss it.
In all honesty, a sentence that starts with "in all honesty" will end with a lie.
The Democrats are already squandering their window of opportunity to rise and appear to have ideas while the Republicans appear to implode.
Of all the variations of the work "Fuck", calling someone a "Fuck Stick" has the most impact.
George Carlin is not funny anymore. He use to be but he is not now.
Acne should be a only a teenage problem. Adults should not get acne. There should be a law.
Don't claim to understand economics, race in America or how government works or even SHOULD work if you've never read anything by Thomas Sowell. You are just embarrassing yourself and, because you read this blog, you're smarter than that.
Cheerleaders that start a bar fight because someone interrupted their lesbian tryst in the bathroom stall should not be news-worthy. That type of thing should be so common that we expect it. Seriously. More, not less. Get on that.
The only thing worth watching on TV right now is HBO's ROME, Medium, Lost, Daily Show, Cobert Report, football, college basketball, Law and Order:CI and poker. The rest is garbage.
Everyone knew the geeks would inherit the earth. Don't act surprised. We won. Bring us your daughters and their playfully bi-curious college roommates.
The riots in France show that the French can be in a conflict for longer than ten days without surrendering. They have the white flags ready but nobody to wave them to. If you live in Germany right now, take a quick holiday in Paris this weekend. You will enter a tourist but likely leave as emperor. They are waiting for someone to succumb to - it will only be a matter of timing.
How our dimensional membrane interacts and intersects with the infinite other dimensional membranes is easily explained with basic string theory. Just nod your head, pretend to think about the previous sentence for a moment then say "you're right". It will make your friends think you are a brainaic.
Batman is still the coolest superhero and Aquaman is still the lamest.
Anyone calling for price controls or a windfall tax on gas has a short memory. A certain peanut farmer pretending to be a president tried both and we all know how well that worked. Do you want to see alternative energy sources explored and used? Let the gas stay expensive and let the capital market do what it does best.
If you still have faith in the United Nations then there are a few other things you should know. There is no Santa, OJ killed his wife, the Menendez brothers did it for the money, you won't win the lottery this week, the federal government is not your mommy and being gay is not a choice.
Here is a random Hofactiod (Hofzinser Factiod - see you missed me): I was a movie star.
In 1995 as I finished up my illustrious degree at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (anyone know who won the NCAA tourney last year?) I was cast in a small but pivotal role as a Harvard applicant in the shockingly bad movie My Teacher's Wife (starring Tia Carrera and Jason London).
It is currently running on Showtime for those of you that have mastered time and space with your DVRs. At almost the very end of the movie, Jason is sitting on the steps of one of the buildings at UNC. He watches as a father gives his son (me!) some last minute tips on nailing the interview.
It was ten years ago and proved to be a terrible choice for my career. I was forever typecast as the nervous Ivy-league teen. As I got older it got tougher and tougher to get those roles and the bastards in Hollywood refused to see me as anything else.
My affair with Tia soon fell apart. Her career ground to a halt soon after the movie. She still calls and emails me trying to use my inside connections to get auditions. I've told her she only has a few years left to explore a porno career but she can't wait much longer.
Jason never clawed his way out of the B-movie circle. He still calls when he's in town.