Monday, March 28, 2011

Abercrombie Encourages Infantile Sluttiness?

The "padded" bikini top for little girls. Just one item in a list of many on the web page, which I'm not going to allow their link to be graced on my blog.

So I logged onto my facebook account this morning as I usually do after getting home from work. A friend of mine has a post about Abercrombie now marketing swimwear with padded bikini tops towards the 7-8 year old girl. Many of you readers already know that I am a bit "out there" with where my mind wanders and some of my actions in life. Some of you who really know me, know it takes a lot for me to become suddenly morally outraged. I may not be thrilled with some things on a moral level personally, but generally abide by the old adage, "To each their own." But this really kind of irritated me on a level I am not even sure I can fully comprehend.

I only have young boys for children, so one might think I would be less concerned with such things. But my mind actually wandered into the realm of WHAT IF. What if I had a little girl? Well if I did, she sure as hell would never be getting the opportunity to wear one of these abominations of swimwear. And if anyone bought one for wouldn't even be returned, it would be burned, and videotaped to be put on YouTube shortly thereafter. I don't care how well the marketers may craft it into some "must have" item for little girls. Even if it ruined my imaginary little girl's fragile little self esteem and social standing with all the other little girls whose mothers chose to get them the edgy fashionable slutty swimwear, then so be it. I'd gladly pay for the counseling later, rather than let her wear this kind of garbage.

Now some of you may be asking just whats wrong with a padded bikini top? Well, where to start? For one, the entire premise behind a padded bikini top in its previous forms was to give a little extra oomph in the breast department. It wasn't made for protection, it was made to show of the boobs.

As a former teenager, I didn't mind seeing this on girls my age at the time, or 'older' women either for that matter. At least they had reached puberty and were growing something that may or may not have needed a little extra help showing off. At the same time, I'm sure their dads were all groaning and plotting slow painful deaths to guys like me who took great pleasure in "boobie watching", as it were. Now there was a limit to our watching and admiring, and 7 and 8 year olds were definitely not in the watchable category. As morally questionable as teenage boys are, we (at least the people I knew growing up) knew better than to think it was okay to go oggling some little kid, nevermind the fact that we had no interest in little girls in such a way. Even when we were little, we knew little girls had cooties, and even if we found ourselves "liking" one of these creatures, it was an innocent puppy love that didn't trigger anything sexual whatsoever.

Now clothes makers have always been pushing edgy and fashionable to different new horizons. The midriff shirts, the pants designed to show off your thong and half your ass crack... the thong itself. Bikinis actually as well, when they replaced the one piecers all the adult ladies I knew wore to the pool or beach. They eventually expanded the bikini to little girls... even then I pretty much didn't care. It's a little girl, whatever. But now you're pushing breast enhancing pads into these things to throw on little girls who presumably don't even have breasts?? I mean c'mon! At some point you have to realize just how sick things have gotten. I thought reality TV was the height of moral decadence in our country, but this pretty much just went right up to the number one slot in about 5 seconds of me finding out about it. Sure, the pads are "removable", but so the fuck what? Why are they there in the first place? Protection??? On a 7 to 8 year old girl?? I think not. There are far more spots on a little girls body that would require protection before her chest did.

I'm not sure who deserves to be fired and shot, and not necessarily in that order, The moron who designed this stuff, the boss who approved it because it was a such a "great idea", and edgy and all that mumbo jumbo, or the friggin marketers who, lacking much in the way of morals and ethics once money is waved in their face.

Now I'm all about the free market and making products that people need and want, but I think at this point they are trying to artificially create a market where none existed and are now going to push it down our throats as much as possible until the idea of a 7 or 8 year old girl with the swimwear equivalent of a pushup bra is so mainstream we don't even think about it. What's next, edible thongs for kids??? I mean for fucks sake, go design whatever the hell ya want in the privacy of your own little office, but there does come a point where you need to consider that not every one of your little ideas is worthy of being shown off to the world.

With all the news of pedophiles out and about in the world all around us, why would you even bother with such nonsense. It's like you're trying to offer up your little girl with a target on her for these nutjobs, just so you can look like a "cool" mom who's hip and trendy and has her daughter wearing the "latest" thing, that other mom's will be envious of you and adore you for your progressive forward thinking ways.

SO to the guys who designed, made and marketed this idea, and to any parent who considers getting this for their kid to actually wear..., I hope you get chased into a pit full of Duckbill Platypi and feel the wrath of its venomous stinger and the subsequent issues that come along with it, even after treatment, you pieces of fucking TRASH! And after that, if you would be so kind as to douse yourselves in gasoline and light yourselves on fire for a little rendition of "hell on earth", that'd be great.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Sex Studies Good For Heart Health

Ripped from the headlines: Irregular physical activity, including sex, can trigger heart attacks.

The idea that is found out to be true, and supported by this study from Tufts and Harvard University, is that "regular" exercise can decrease the risk of cardiovascular disease and death associated with it. We must be a bunch of dumbasses to have had some Ivy Leaguer scientists conduct a study to tell us something we've pretty much known for quite a few decades now.

More or less, it turns out that people who are out of shape or lead more sedentary lifestyles are more than 2 1/2 times more likely to suffer a heart attack in the midst of "sporadic activity" or the once in awhile occurrence of sexual escapades, than those who get regular physical exercise, which it turns out, sex can qualify as your exercise, as long as you do it regularly.

As one of the cofounders and head resident doctor at the James Medical Institute's Midwestern Regional Campus, let me be clear on one thing. When they say sex as exercise, they mean sex involving another person (full disclosure: some regions of the country allow for the other party to be a herding animal, preferably your own). Masturbation, no matter how frequent or frenzied it may be, does NOT qualify in the same realm, and has its own set of benefits (a healthy prostate in males, state law barred us from researching female tendencies), and risks (mainly a bad case of 'tennis elbow').

Often, you hear stories of old guys collapsing from a heart attack while outside shoveling snow during the winter. Or at least you used to. With the advent of wonder drugs like Viagra or Cialis, the old men have overcome their decreasing ability to maintain sex-drive and get plenty of practice attempting to keep up with their wives' seemingly endless rise towards peak sexual overdrive. Which in turn has created two new situations...increased STDs in nursing homes, and new employment of young kids to scoop the old geezer's driveway and sidewalks because the old man is still resting from last nights 3 hour romp with the Mrs, sponsored by Viagra. For the manly old men, who still choose to scoop their drives and walks, they don't fall over dead nearly so often anymore, due to that increase in their sexercise routine.

However, thanks to technology that has brought us things like blogging and facebook and email, the rest of us, who don't have medicare paying for our sexual stimulation yet, have become lazy and fat. For some reason, the fast food and high fat content foods we eat now no longer get absorbed and released quite like it did when we were kids. As a rentacop, I am especially prone to this, because only craptastic food is available at 3am when I get hungry, and as a rentacop, I am essentially a non-exercising blob of lard all night long. I really don't have to work all that hard, and everywhere I have to go to, I drive there. Now some might suggest that I could solve the food issue, by buying foods to make my own lunches and bring them with me for when I get hungry at work. To you people I say: Look up a few lines where I mentioned the part about us being lazy. You also say, take some time out of your day to exercise, and that will help. Again: LAAAAZYYYYY. Besides that, when I get home, it takes every ounce of energy I have just to put this blog out for you to read, and to peruse my facebook making snarky comments everywhere.

So, as a self-made doctor, I have come up with a solution to solve my problems. All you female peoples are just going to have to sacrifice yourselves for the greater good, and have sex with me. Its as easy as that. You get something, I stay healthy and continue doing what I do to enrich the world by just being me. And, I'll save money by not having to go thru expensive carpal tunnel or tennis elbow surgeries. And just to be on the safe side, let me stress that this "Health Study" is only accepting (human)FEMALE participants.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

The Unfound Variable In Math Is My Brain

Yesterday when the boys came over after school... that sounds funny to me. Before the split between their mother and I, it was "the boys came home", but they live with her, so that's home now. So I wonder is my place still home to them as well, or just their dad's place (even though its the same place they called home for 7 years)?

Anyways, after they came here they whipped out their homework to do. It was a math day. For Corwyn, being in the first grade, things are pretty simple. Low numbers, adding and subtracting, counting money and the whole less than (<) greater than (>) and equal to (=) business. Yesterday, what he had to do was counting up money, and figuring out which coins shown on the page were needed to buy the illustrated picture with a price tag on it. Simple stuff, like I said. However, after going over one he was having issues. Two problems shown themselves to me, the first one I didn't fully understand, and that was his wanting to keep confusing quarters as nickels...but only some of the quarters. I'm not sure if we have solidified in his little brain that the bigger "nickel" is actually a quarter and worth 25 cents every single time, while the little nickel is in fact a nickel and worth a measly 5 cents. The other problem I fully understood. Right as the boys were getting started on their homework, another little boy came by wanting to play. Which of course means to little kids, most especially hyperactive little boys such as mine, that the brain has now been reprogrammed to think almost entirely about going outside to play. Math, even that involving money, is not only not that interesting, but hard to comprehend even in the simplest of circumstances. But with a little help focusing on the homework from good ol Dad, he managed to get through his worksheet for the day, and as soon as it was done he was out the door. He didn't bother to put it in his book bag to take home with him so he'd have it to turn into his teacher the next day, it literally floated slowly down onto the end table next to the couch, landing sometime shortly after he was already a good 25 feet outside with his little buddy. I would say I've been there, but I was the type of kid who ran out of school so fast at the end of the day, that not only did any unfinished schoolwork not get taken home, but I had actually arrived home 3 to 4 minutes prior to the bell ringing that signified the end of the school day. I defy any physics teacher or those guys running CERN to figure out the possibility of how I performed this amazing feat.

And then it was on to reviewing one of the older boy's (JOSH) math test. Now Josh is in the 6th grade, and compared to 1st grade, the difficulty level has exponentially increased. No easy A's counting money. No we're talking about long division, fractions, algebraic equations and all that other fun horseshit...most of which will never again be used beyond the halls of Academia. I did a LOT of math growing up, and I passed those classes, and true to form never used them again. Until yesterday, when I looked over Josh's test. He had gotten a 78% on the test, which I was expected to sign and have him return it to the teacher. SO naturally I looked it over, and we went over the mistakes he had made, and figured out what he had done wrong, which basically boils down to he doesn't really care, so he doesn't focus too hard on it, and I believe he already understands that he isn't going to be using this stuff later in life. Part of me is confused, because he is so good at his science class, which is basically word problem math put into action. But whatever, I guess he's going to have to figure that out on his own sooner or later.

So then we go to the extra credit portion of the test, which has 5 or 6 questions of its own. The first section asked questions in relation to a Venn Diagram. He got some questions right, and a couple wrong...of which I couldn't see how he got any of them wrong, until I noticed that what I thought was a right answer was indeed wrong, due to the Venn diagram being in a box, with an extra figure in the corner. Apparently Dad needs to focus as well. So we got that figured out. Then we had to figure out probability of a coin landing in a circle on a square mat, figuring out the area of each. Much to my dismay, they represented PI as a fraction (22/7) instead of the commonly used, and much easier to use number (3.14) we all learned growing up. So we had to figure out this probability with the fractions. It took a bit of figuring out, but we got the right answer. Or rather I figured it out after showing him how to make serious mistakes first. Because I'm a math idiot.

And then finally it was onto finding variables to solve equations. He answered one, and left the other blank. The one he answered, I saw absolutely no work done on it, but somehow he decided "7" was a good answer. I asked about scratch paper, or calculators, none of which they had been allowed to use. For a boy whose mind is constantly moving from one thing to the next, he believed he had the ability, and that I had the wool pulled over my eyes far enough to believe, that he could solve the problem entirely in his head. Turns out, while Dad did not know how to figure out the problem correctly, he could figure out that 7 was a bad answer with a simple glance, and that there was no way in hell Josh did all that algebra in his head. Math is not Josh's strong suit, which is fine as long as he tries, but staring aimlessly about and deciding the answer to a complicated formula would come to him out of thin air was not going to cut the mustard. So we looked over the one he left blank, and in an attempt to show him that I had retained my school math knowledge (which once we got into the higher math consisted of someone else doing my daily work in exchange for me doing their chemistry lab projects- which the only math I involved there was calculating how much I owed the school for destroying their equipment regularly), I have begun to understand that because I no longer participate in math classes, I have forgotten what little bit I learned.

SO I was subtracting from one side of the equation, adding to the other side, and trying to get the variable figured out, so we could solve the problem...then erasing what I did, adding on one side, adding on the other, ERASE ERASE ERASE, subtracting on one side, subtracting on the other, and AHA, I have found the number. "You see, Josh?" I asked, "If you do it like that, it will work out neatly." Then I plugged the number in, and my equations didn't line up. This elicited a small chuckle at my very apparent algebraic incompetence. I wanted to say something about how its much funnier that he's actually being told how to do the stuff and he doesn't get it, than his dad not knowing how to do something right that he hasn't even contemplated in 15 years or so. But, I left the thought in my head, mostly because if I was going to put him and his laughing at me in their rightful place, I'd probably better have half an idea what the hell I am talking about first. As it turns out, I didn't even begin to have half a clue. So on the notebook paper we were using I left a note to the teacher that she's going to have to send example work home on how to do equations, because Josh's Dad is a moron who can't even help out with much of the 6th grade math without much difficulty. We'll see if she follows through with that, or leave me wondering if her and the other math teachers get together in the teacher lounge laughing hysterically at the fact that an almost 32 year old man can't do 6th grade level math.

Here's the best way to find your friggin variable!!!:

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

A Tale of Two Friendships

WARNING: this may be a long post. To my friends with ADHD, try to follow along, and if you can't well, I love you anyways.

As we go through life, we often find ourselves with different sets of friends through each phase of life. You have the friends you went to school with, the friends you work with, the friends who grew up with you in the same neighborhood. Old friends, new friends, lost friends, ex-friends, and acquaintances. If you look at any given person's facebook profile, or email contact list, you may very well find hundreds of different friends. Along with family, that list probably contains a cross-section of people from every one of those categories. How you made friends with, or ended friendships with them varies as much as each individual person. I've had a lot of friends over the years, some I still see from time to time, others I haven't seen in years, and others yet that are friends almost strictly through the internet. You know the kind, people you interact with constantly online and get along well with. Enough so that if you actually met in person, you could go have a beer with, or coffee or soda for you non-drinkers, and carry on a conversation with them that would make onlookers assume you've been friends all your lives.

If you're lucky, you find yourself a friend or two in life that stick with you for life. No matter where you go, what you do, how long you may have been apart, that bond of friendship endures it all. Differences of opinion make no difference to the friendship. Honesty will always come out, especially when your friend thinks what ever you said or did was quite possibly the stupidest thing imaginable. And while a dose of that honesty may irritate the hell out of you, the very fact that they weren't afraid to tell you that you were wrong is always appreciated, and only further serves to strengthen your friendship. It builds the loyalty between you, and shows the commitment towards each other, despite any differences, because you see the integrity and credibility your friend displays.

Honesty, Loyalty, and Commitment. These words used to mean something across the broad spectrum, and adhering to these qualities would earn you respect, even among your adversaries, but especially amongst your friends. Now these terms are more likely to apply to a dog rather than a human. To display these qualities may make you the nice guy everyone likes, but it wont necessarily get you anywhere in the world in a material success sort of way. I try to live these qualities as best as I can, towards not only my good friends, but to even the most casual of friends. Some days I feel more like an old soul born into a soulless generation, who view these terms as mere words and cliches, and will ditch them as qualities if it means getting whatever they may be after in the moment.

I've been lucky enough in my life to have two people in my life who have reciprocated these characteristics when it comes to me. One is a man, one is a woman. They have been with me for a long time, through a variety of situations.

The man, is my lifelong friend, Jed. We've literally been together since the diaper years. When my family moved out to Iowa from California shortly after my younger sister was born, they somehow hooked up with his parents, who are basically a second set of parents to me and have been all my life. For Jed and I, when it seemed life at home sucked, we went to the other one's place. It was a small town, the doors were always unlocked, and for us, there was no need for knocking before entering. Now that could be scary for our young minds walking into a possible nude parent in the open kind of situation, but I think the frequency of our visits encouraged our parents to keep their clothes on. Well, during the day, anyways. Jed's dad, at night when we would be sleeping over, didn't much care. With a house full of nothing but boys, when he got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, he wasn't covering up for anybody. And the path to the bathroom always seemed to go right in front of the TV we were watching. I've seen way more of Dad #2 than I ever cared to see.

When Jed's parents went through divorce, he came to me. This was my first real exposure to the idea, at least in real life and that close to home. Being maybe a teenager, it's not like I had any words of wisdom to make up for my lack of experience in that arena. But as his friend, I was there to let him vent, re-direct his mind, whatever, I was just there. Later in life as adults, when I went through a rough patch in my married life, I went to him. He could relate, and offer advice to me, let me vent my frustrations out on him, and just be there for me, making sure I didn't go take a dive off the deep end and do something stupid and permanent that I may or may not live to regret down the road. He gave me a safe zone to stay while I worked things out in my own mind. He definitely kept me centered, and did his best to make sure I stayed on the straight and narrow. He lives two states away from me now, has a beautiful wife and soul mate, and they recently adopted two beautiful little girls to make their family complete. We still talk, and see each other on visits from time to time, picking up where we left off, as though we'd just been together the day before. He has never been afraid to be honest with me and tell me when I'm being stupid. His loyalty shown through brightly when we were teenagers and I ran away for a few days, leaving him hanging with a paper route to do by himself, with no car (and I cashed out our collected money..oops), and at the mercy of both our dads. I never told him what I was up to, but when questioned, not only did he not give me up (because he couldn't), he went a step further and made sure they knew, at risk to his own life, that even if he knew anything he wasn't going to rat his friend out. His only really serious beef with me over the entire deal was that I didn't bring him along. He's my best friend, my brother for life. I love the guy- and before you use your words against me later- that love is in an entirely non-homosexual way.

The woman friend, we'll call her "Sara". This part is going to be a doozy. My thoughts will be honest, but a lot will be withheld for reasons of both privacy and decorum. I guess I should start at the beginning with her. We met at a park in Sac City, while she was in town visiting her relatives. My initial interest wasn't even with her, but a friend she had brought along for the trip. I, on one very rare occasion made the approach to the girls. Sort of. I used my buddy Jed's bike, because I didn't want to embarrass myself the first go around by showing off my mom's old John Deere bike I was using until I could get my new bike. I rode past the girls, eyeing them a on a swing set, with full intention of hitting them up. However, they saved my scared bacon, when they called me to quit chickening out and come over and talk to them. Have I ever mentioned I'm a bit on the shy side, especially when it comes to girls? So I took interest in her darker haired friend, because well, I prefer darker haired ladies over the blonds (which she denies she was, but I know what my eyes saw). They lived a few hours away, so a normal courtship was clearly out of the picture, but when you're 14 or 15, who really cares.

The letter writing (which was the extent of our relationship) between Sara's friend and I fizzled out pretty quickly. then one day out of the blue I get a letter from Sara. I didn't actually know her last name, so I was a bit confused as to who was sending me a letter, but not having much in the way of mail coming to the house in my name, I was all too glad to have something to read. Instead of me seeking out her as my friend, she sought me out on her own terms. And I'm really glad she did. Before I knew it, Sara and I exchanged a flurry of letters, quite possibly being responsible for keeping the United States Postal Service profitable all by ourselves. We exchanged letter so often, that when we ran out of things to say about the events in our lives, or our thoughts, I would occasionally find myself with a portion of a letter dated for one day that was a repeat of the same sentence "This is my new (insert color here) pen I'm trying out." She had 7 new pens she used, a couple were duplicate colors. But she was committed to making sure I got mail, which always made me feel important. Dad got bills in the mail from people committed to taking his money. I got letters from someone who didn't want my money (well maybe she did, but I didn't have much washing dishes for $3/hr after spending it on stamps and phone calls), but just wanted my friendship. I felt pretty friggin special. One major problem for our little pen-pal relationship we had going on was that her mother did not like me back then (I couldn't tell you her opinion of me now, some 15 years later). But Sara, being Sara, wrote me even though I couldn't write her back because her mom would confiscate the letters I sent. Eventually her loyalty to our friendship led her through the repeated process of setting me up with her friends' addresses (this changed from time to time), so that I could respond to her letters and she'd have something to read. To hand write out 8 pages per letter was nothing, and occasionally some would hit almost 20 pages. These of course were written over multiple days and sent out together. Otherwise, I think we'd both be suffering from permanent hand cramps from all that writing. Eventually her mother relented after finding out she was still communicating with me, and the fact that I was in Oklahoma attending Basic Training at Ft. Sill. The postal stamp confirmed where the letters were coming from, so apparently she thought her daughter safe from my evil boy ways with a few states between us.

We had a running commentary on our family life and parental woes, reasons why the world is a stupid place, the fact that I was (in my opinion) an athletic god among men (if you compared me to babies that haven't learned to crawl yet anyways), while she was unable to even do a single pull up. She really was such a girl about it. We'd discuss our plans for the future. I had deluded my own mind into thinking my future was this life of grand design. We discussed our flings and romances with other people. You see, she and I were kind of like the couple that never was. We were very close in that aspect. While respecting our right to date other people we could actually see, we often didn't much care for each others' significant others of the moment. She was the girl, I never dated, but still put her up on a pedestal to measure all other girls to the level of standards I assigned to Sara. But eventually, while Sara was always there for me, and would always in my mind be "my girl", I found another girl, who would eventually become my wife and the mother of my children. And true to nature, Sara eventually found herself a man to marry and they now have a new baby. He's a cute baby too.

The other day, while visiting my parents, my mom brought me down a box I had given her to keep a LONG time ago. It contained letters from people to me from when I lived in California and in the military. It contained a collection of notes and letters from my (soon to be ex-) wife. And then there were a couple of envelopes that contained the majority of letters Sara had written me over the years. I poured over those letters in no particular order. I was transported back all those years to before my marriage, remembering what life used to be with fond memories of that little girl I met at the park who stole my mailing address from her friend just to write me. I also found a reminder of her honesty in dealing with me. After I had a quick rendezvous the night before I was sworn into the National Guard, that resulted in my losing my virginity, she cussed me out in one of those letters, and swore hideous things about the girl that took my v-card away from me the only night I knew her.

We've met up from time to time throughout the years. I once even stayed at her place over a weekend to visit after we hadn't seen each other in a few years, as she showed me around her town and the wonders of living in frigid ass Minnesota (where people don't drink for fun, but to help stay warm). Even though our lives took so many different turns and paths, we remained loyal to the friendship we started a little more than half our lives ago. She's met my family, and maybe someday I'll get to meet her husband and their baby. Her husband is obviously a really good guy, considering she actually decided to marry him. He also has a rare spot that most men in her life never held: I never pre-judged him. Which is probably a good thing. I'd hate to think she married someone I didn't like, especially over something as dumb as he's another guy in her life. I'm not so sure I can say the same thing in reverse. But she never let our friendship go, even when I was being a jerkwad and concentrated only on my own life. And for that I love her, like always (and again, in a non-homosexual way...I am after all a lesbian trapped in a man's body). She really does embody what it means to be a best friend.

I'm sure I had other ways of going on and in conclusion to this post, but, I doubt I can really improve upon what I have written down. So I'll leave it at that.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Two New Bloggers

I recently somewhat cleaned up my list of blogs I follow. I deleted a couple I really don't follow anymore and replaced them with two new bloggers.

The First one you will see that is new is Accomplished Idler . This is my Uncle George, the free-spirited musician. He lives up in Northern Idaho, and as with the title of his blog, he is truly an accomplished idler. Read his post and you'll see he never followed the path society may have deemed one that would lead him to success. However, he has still managed to carve out a life for himself, and one of his own making that he enjoys, rather than doing what "the man" may have tried to manipulate him toward with all those cheesy school films that seemed to have all been narrated by the same guy. And that business about crap you did going on your "permanent record", even if such a set of files existed, I doubt very much he would've given much of a damn, and still ended up where he is today. With a family he loves, going hunting and fishing, teaching and playing music.

I am envious to a point. I have spent most of my life chasing after a few precious dollar bills, only to give them away to someone else who had a better scheme for collecting them than I did. I also tended to toe the line a little more, adhering to all that adult responsibility bullshit I was taught. I'm still working on finding that true passion in life that I can take advantage of and make it work for me, so that the work I do for money seems more enjoyable rather than a necessary evil. Plus, Uncle George has slightly better scenery than I do, living up around the mountains as opposed to in the midst of a giant farm dotted with the occasional town that makes up most of Iowa.

The second blogger goes by the alias Hicks Mason and the blog on my list is entitled "Now Wait A Minute...". I'd give you his real name, but the guy is paranoid enough to believe that you may be with the government, and if you find him, you will take him to some undisclosed location and torture him with vegan butter, and other unnatural crap. He is a member of the Alabama National Guard, and also sadly, a big Alabama Crimson Tide fan. Those of us in the Mookified compound try hard not to hold that particular aspect (being a Bama fan, not the Guard Duty) against him too much. Not being a huge fan of any SEC teams, we still prefer to see Auburn Roll the Tide back over Big Red and shut em up. Not likely...something about Alabama fans, they don't listen very well! (Sorry Hicks, I had to say it).

I guess you would consider his blog theme to be that one of Almost-Conspiracies. He's not way out there on the fringe like some wackos, but he just looks at things from his own common person perspective and lets his rant land where it may.

So if you get a chance, Go check out their blogs, leave a comment if you'd like, and become a follower to stay updated on them! You'll find them in my "Other Blogs to Consider" list on the right hand side, or just click their links in this post to get there and read on!