I've been sick

now...before you get all verklempt on me, it was a simple ass explosion and nobody got hurt. Well, it hurt ME but nobody else got hurt see? I'm trying to appear selfless here so cut me some slack. Plus my ass is killing me so I'm not in the best of moods.

Nonetheless...when I wasn't playing anal-eclipse with the toilet water, I was watching teevee. And let me tell you other working-type folks something: teevee land is crazy cool during the day yo! I learned some awesome shit, got entertained and by the end of the day was damn near feeling like a super model. By comparison of course. I watched a show about dwarfs, one about giants (not jolly green ones or even the ones that play professional sports. No I'm talking about the real live ones with gene anomalies, really deep voices and enormous pants and whatnot) and then there were people who had lived through shark attacks and like falling down a mountain on their FACE and still looked pretty (which, if you ask me, is the reason science is so damn important...keep us pretty no matter what hair-brained idea causes us to lob off portions of our anatomy). Humans are so damned awesome!

So get this. One of these shows I watched was called I Am My Own Goddamned Twin (sic). And with a teaser like this...how could I NOT watch.

Babies are being born split right down the middle, half black and half white, a testicle on one side and a vagina on the other. Explore the extraordinary medical phenomena that causes two different babies to fuse together in the womb.

DUDE!!! Okay, honestly, how could I NOT watch? I challenge you to hold up under such a temptation. Not only would you fold, I'm betting you'd pop a king-sized bowl of Xtreme Butter popcorn and even Tivo that shit! Be that as it may, I'm pleased to report there were pictures involved.



DUDE!!!

I am not making this up...that's a real live baby type thing from Texas (why do they always get the cool stuff?). I think it's right side was a boy and it's left side was a girl. They chose to keep the boy parts and had the girl parts removed. So he/she has like only one ball or something I don't know. I was just looking at it's stripes and feeling cheated. How will my kids possibly compete later in life with these sorts of super kids? Part male, part female....able to be sensitive to your needs while at the same time ignoring them completely...irrationally rational...emotionally unemotional...both a good and bad driver! It'll be chaos! Not to mention...if Men Are From Mars and Women Are From Venus then where the fuck would these folks be from? And more importantly, do they plan on making sex slaves out of us? So many questions.

I think the most confusing yet awesome part of the whole show wasn't the half-n-half chimera baby, but the people who showed no outward signs of the same gene anomaly that caused this baby's appearance but were nonetheless affected. It was basically about these two normal looking women, one older and in need of a kidney transplant and one younger and in danger of getting her kids taken away by child welfare. In both cases the women were told by doctors that the children they carried for 9 months, gave birth to and raised were not theirs. In effect...there's no way you gave birth to these kids...you're a liar. I of course immediately thought of Karla, how could I not? These women had pictures, had husbands and family members who witnessed the births and helped in the upbringing. The older woman's grown kids were tested to see if they were a match for a kidney transplant and was told not only were they not a match but they weren't even related! The younger woman was trying to get welfare and child support and was told that while the man they'd tested for paternity was 99.9% the father of her two kids...she was not the mother. They took her to court and nearly took her kids away because they thought she had either stolen them or was pretending to raise them in order to defraud the system.

Can you imagine having to prove you didn't make up giving birth? You have doctor's records, pictures and eye-witness testimony but what can't be explained and is most heavily weighing against you is DNA. How do you prove that when science has created a system by which we trust it without question? People have died because of DNA evidence and conversely others have been given a second (third? eighth?) chance. As a society are we ready to admit that it's flawed?

Long story short...both women are chimeras meaning that at some point during the first moments after conception, when the fertilized egg was just beginning it's cellular division, what was by nature meant to be two separate individuals was instead fused creating one person with two sets of DNA. The shitter about this is that it's not as easy as drawing blood, taking a mouth swab, pulling a piece of hair to determine what's what. In both of these women's individual hairs tested for separate and distinct DNA. And in the older woman in need of a kidney transplant, her individual organs tested for different DNA. So think about it....if they hadn't needed the benefits of testing they showed no outward signs of being any different than normal single DNA folks. They never would've known. We never would've known. I mean, it's easy to see something different when it's evidenced by a line drawn down the middle of a baby.

I guess this is so damned interesting to me because I love it when nature kicks our asses. Every time we decide that we've figured it all out, something happens to show us we aren't any closer to the answers than we were back when bleeding someone was considered an effective cure for everything from headaches to adultery. Each time scientist say "okay today, right now...this is how life works" nature says "oh really?" and we're forced to reevaluate. I love that shit!

Just think about what this means....a chimera results from two fertilized eggs fusing at just the right time. The same can be said for Siamese twins and those people who get tumors removed only to find they had been their undeveloped twin. If you look at how many cases exist and are being discovered and discussed on an annual basis...is it too much of a stretch to believe that more people might potentially exist who have yet to have any reason to doubt their DNA? Look at how many people live in our prison system right now, today. Millions upon millions. Could 3 or 5 have this problem? Could they be where they are because of this condition? And what about all of those let go? Could they be guilty?

More importantly...Karla, if you're reading this....you better hire an attorney to come to the birth or something. Better yet, find a judge and shoot the kid out on his desk or something and get the little bugger notarized!

On kids and dogs

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/19762056/site/newsweek/?GT1=10150

This article was sent to me by a child-less by choice coworker. If you don't want to read it, I'll sum it up for you. Basically the author has no kids and is tired of strangers and friends alike helping themselves to her private life by way of all-too-personal enquiries as well as outright fondling in the guise of reproductive concern. She quite firmly states that it's none of their business and what's more is, the reason she isn't breeding even as we speak is because them crazy parents are putting her off and making her damn near wish for sterility (for them as well as herself I'm guessing). In summation, parents with little to no control over their crotchlings and an exaggerated opinion of how they should be viewed by the masses are solely responsible for this woman's decision to have sex for recreational purposes only. And she says all of this while cradling her dog.

Hmm. There's something about this that niggles at the back of my mind....what could it be? Let's see: people and their kids are a nuisance......cradling dog.....cradling? that's for babies right? but she doesn't want those....she clearly likes her dog....heh....look at how she holds it....like a ...what's the word....wait....like a CHILD! Now I know what's niggling me!

More and more these days I'm noticing that kids are out and dogs-as-kids are in. I honestly couldn't care less if anyone in my office, my neighborhood, my city, my state, my country...this WORLD chooses to procreate. That's not what's getting under my skin. Almost every young couple I know that isn't ready to start a family by way of having kids has nonetheless got a dog that they choose to treat like one. They give these dogs birthday parties complete with doggie cake, they take them to doggie-daycare and spend an ungodly amount on their surroundings. Many have entire rooms of the house exclusive to them, not to mention clothes and accessories and toiletries to make them smell like anything but a dog. In fact, my coworkers have all taken to dog rescuing which is a noble cause to be sure. What I'm not sure about is why they think it's okay to bring them to work and not just one but sometimes two or more. These dogs are clearly unbalanced and in need, but many do not like unfamiliar people. So as I go to fill my coffee cup I've been growled at, drooled on, jumped on and had my personal space repeatedly and intimately invaded in that way that dogs have more times than I can count. It's clear they love dogs. I get it. Hey, I love my kids too! So I understand love.

What I can no longer accept or try to understand, however, is the double standard.

For instance take this quote from the above-referenced article:

So why don't I have kids or even the inkling right now? It's because of you. Yes, you: the fanatical mothers of the world. It may seem like ages ago now, but you weren't always like this. You, too, were sneering at the obnoxious parents who brought their infants to fancy, adult, nighttime restaurants or R-rated movies and let them carry on, ruining things for other patrons. You've been terrible advertising for the club that you so desperately need others to join.

now let's change it up a bit to make it about dogs and dog-owners:

So why don't I have dogs or even the inkling right now? It's because of you. Yes, you: the fanatical dog-owners of the world. It may seem like ages ago now, but you weren't always like this. You, too, were sneering at the obnoxious animal activists who brought their pets to grocery stores, your place of business or even your home and let them carry on, ruining things for others. You've been terrible advertising for the club that you so desperately need others to join.

Huh. What a coincidence and yet, when I say this using the same similarities evidenced in their own behavior, the response is immediate and unfavorable. How dare I compare dogs with children in-that-way. To which I can only reply "what the fuck people". These are your "furry children" are they not? I've heard you say so myself. So then tell me exactly why as their "parents" you believe yourself to be immune from the responsibility and respect you demand of other parents? Why is it okay for your dog to jump on me, but my kid can't jump on you? Why can you take your dog to the grocery store but I can't take my child to a fancy restaurant? Why must my children go unseen and unheard while your dog barks whenever and for however long it wants? Why is it okay for your dog to shit in my yard? Can I bring my child to your house to defecate because that would be super entertainment for me. What about scratching? Can my child scratch you and then fiddle around in your nether regions the way your dog does to me? More importantly, can I talk about your dog the way you feel free to talk about my child?

No? Well, isn't that odd?

The truth is, you can't have it both ways. You can't expect for me to acquiesce to your pithy ramblings about animal instincts and how your dog was mistreated by a human once when I call you on their bad behavior. Just as it might be normal and developmentally typical for my 3-year-old to throw a tantrum, you've made it perfectly clear it's not acceptable and isn't something you should be forced to endure. Why then are your dog's natural instincts to dominate and assert ownership over me and my personal space not likewise subjected to such strict conformity out of the same respect you demand? You are the one in charge are you not? And as such, you assume full responsibility much like our adult status makes us responsible for our children regardless of what's normal for them or how they've been treated previously. It's impossible to argue instincts and nature over responsibility and respect when you're busy force-feeding to others the same thing you refuse to practice.

The article continues along the same vein:

No one could possibly love your kids as much as you do, so stop inflicting them on others. Don't bring your kid to adult parties when you're not sure if it's kid-friendly. If they didn't invite your kid, they don't want your kid there. If you don't want to get a babysitter, stay home.

again, let's do some word-exchange:

No one could possibly love your dogs as much as you do, so stop inflicting them on others. Don't bring your dog to human gatherings when you're not sure if it's dog-friendly. If they didn't invite your dog, they don't want your dog
there. If you don't want to get a dogsitter, stay home.

Heh. You wouldn't believe the dirty looks I got for that one. And that's fine, they can hate me, what I say and why I say it but they can't deny it's true. Sure, it's easier for them to accuse me of being a dog-hater than it is for them to see the truth in my words. But honestly, it's my love for dogs that keeps me from having one. I know that I do not have the resources necessary to give a dog a proper home. And I'm not talking about money for perfumes, organic food, daycare or clothes. Dogs don't need that shit. What they need is an owner who treats them like a dog and not like a person. They need the safety of a pack and to know how they rank in it. They need discipline, safety and affection within an overall healthy environment. And I know I do not have the time or patience to spend ensuring a dog would lead it's optimum life while in my care.

Which brings me to my final quote exchange:

Finally, don't make your kid an extension of your own
narcissism.

the obvious dog-equivalent being:

Finally, don't make your dog an extension of your own
narcissism.

How much more narcissistic is it to take another species and force it to conform to your standards of behavior and way of life and deny it a healthy expression of it's heritage? Isn't our domestication of animals to the point of believing no difference actually exists a more fitting example of narcissism than even the most permissive of child-rearing? At least in the realm of parenting our selfish expectations and ignorant assumptions when aimed at total strangers is enveloped in the unfortunate blanket of shared genetics. So as far as "wrongs" go in this argument, I suppose bashing someone else for their parenting of a human makes the most sense at least. And in this feral feud, I could even side with the "Child-less By Choice So Keep Your Kids To Yourself" group as I believe personal space, privacy and responsibility are of the utmost importance. However, by projecting human qualities onto animals and dogs in particular, the mommy-bashers have lost their leverage with me.

I'm here comparing all of the negative finger-pointing, typically reserved for same-species cohabitation, to responsible dog-ownership because the proverbial doggie door was opened by my coworkers with the forwarding of this article. Well, that and I'm simply TIRED of choking on their choices much as they feel forced to choke on mine. I don't condone the extremes of either group here: the child-less or the child-full. But I'll be damned before I allow someone cradling their dog like a baby to talk down about my kids while she's freely representing what's become an all-too acceptable exchange within our society. The exchange of course being the value of an animal's life over that of a human. Because no, you don't have to like my kids. I won't force them onto you nor allow them to infringe upon your space. But you damn well better likewise keep your dog and attitude in check.

Because yeah, if you start talking generalized shit you should know that you're not the only person sick of all the blind, hypocritical prejudices.

Heh.

Lilly Allen's "Alfie"....sing with me!

Hey Dickhole!

(no, not you Karla....or any of your retched friends that I know of anyway... although, truth be told, I have no way of knowing where these creeps have been paroled to...so I'll just say "not you Karla" since the dickhole in question had a small penis and you clearly do not....have any penis of course....not for another 18-months anyway)


*AHEM*

This morning, I, along with a few thousand other decent, hardworking sane people, was trying to go about the unbearably tedious business of getting to my place of business when my eyesight as well as my personal space was visually and damn near physically assaulted by this steroidal abomination!

wha...the....wh...what is this? seriously.

It's refuckingdiculous! It's also entirely redundant seeing as not only our community but our entire STATE is about as supine and accessible as you know who. Minus a few potholes and other such inconsequential defects that arise from the general wear and tear characteristic of your typical suburban experience, the roads are fine asshole, just fine. It's hardly necessary for you and the other shitforbrains, Wrangler-whoring, dickless, brainless, spineless, mindless, narcissistic butt pirates I'm forced to share air with to invest in what is by any one's (namely my) standards, the equivalent of a jumbo penis extender just to get your sorry ass from point A to point B. Especially when the space between said points is so clean as to be routinely hoovered by some guy in a county vehicle which, ironically, is much smaller than that skyscraper you're driving around. Never mind the fact that his vehicle is responsible for sucking away a seemingly endless supply of gutter debris discarded by an entire municipality while yours just plain sucks. It sucks space, sucks money, sucks our collective cache of natural resources and most importantly, it sucks my patience.

If said sucking was even remotely enjoyable I wouldn't be complaining. But, you know, there's just something about the size of your rattletrap and the careless way you maneuver it in and out of traffic so vigorously that tells me I'm not the first dissatisfied female to cast a disapproving shadow on your "manly ways".

Maybe that's why it's so fuckin' big. Your truck that is. The bigger, the better. The better to drain the life and joy from this planet, from your fellow travelers, possibly from women in general but most importantly, from me.

And that's really what this is about: me.

Well, me and how much I hate you. Okay...me, how much I hate you AND my apparent inability to get whatever message it is you're trying to send. I know it must have something to do with your manliness or perhaps that you're not afraid of heights. Surely there's some method to your madness. I mean, for god's sake, even my 7-year-old thinks your monster truck is more than a tad bit silly. And this comes from a boy who considers picking his nose to be an inalienable right afforded him through the mere act of breathing. Basically.......dude, even my booger-eating crotchling knows that you're overcompensating....for..... something.

And it all comes back to one question: WHY? No matter how hard I try, there's simply no logical explanation why every time I stop at a light your giant schnoz eclipses the sun as it makes that beeline for my tailpipe. It's wearing me down man. really. I'm tired of looking into my rear view mirror and being able to tell the gender of every bug stuck in your grill because yeah....YOU'RE THAT CLOSE!

Exactly whyyyyyyyyy you feel the need to tickle the crack of my ass with your nose hairs at regular intervals is really what's keeping me up at night. Believe it or not I'm truly not writing this to gain some kind of understanding into your inner psyche. And that's not only because I believe it consists of little more than the 3 minutes of internet porn you rocked your world with last night along with such mind-bending questions as: "why does my belly button smell like my asshole?". No, I'm writing this to bring closure to myself and by default any number of other people just like me who find that the coins rattling in their ashtray aren't due to the kickin' bass emanating from their satellite radio. Most likely, it's because you have what I like to call the all-body-vibrator package installed on the exhaust system of your ego-stroke of a tin box you call a truck and you've just parked it on their rear bumper.

So whadya say? Can you ease up a bit off my ass? This isn't your bedroom and I'm not some underage girl on your messenger who's just as impressed with the fact that you don't, in fact, still live with your mother as she is with the fact that you can drive and maybe, like, take her to the mall later and like buy her a pack of Virginia Slims to like share with her friends....like. Your personal statement is completely lost on me. I'm not impressed and I think you look embarrassing.

Kindly fuck off.

What to do, what to do

In light of Karla's instantaneous confession, I've found I no longer have any use for some of the surveillance, combat and rescue gear donated to us by concerned citizens within Karla's community. I know I'm not alone in my disappointment at this sudden and sad turn of events. It's not every day you get to witness a group of rookie cops straight out of the academy taking down a 30-month pregnant mother of seven* who just so happens to also be the world's leading manufacturer of crystal meth and Cooter Cozies.

Here I thought this would involve months of late-night stakeouts and at the very least a chance to see her on COPS. I've never seen them take down a person of her girth before. I'll admit, I feel cheated. No tapping phone or sewer lines, no strip-searching and probing her relatives as they come to bring food for the kid, and I was really looking forward to that. The Chief even told me I could keep whatever I found on or in whomever I searched! What's not to like about that? And now that's completely down the shitter!

So, in addition to being really bummed. I now have to find some other use for some of this equipment. Raise your hand if you find anything you need....

Don't go jumping all over this one Karla, just because you think they might provide you with a few extra minutes of sleep each night. I'll have you know, they're not made for just lounging around as one would assume based on their purpose. Not that I did or would mind you! But I've heard talk of such things. And I must say, who in their right mind sits around in a diaper for 12 straight hours watching reruns of Charmed and drinking sweet tea? Well, besides you Karla and that other crazy lady. Although, I'll admit, I admire her determination, she's no quitter that one. And I do like me some sweet tea. Regardless, unlike some people I know who get all knocked up and then decide to swear off mobility altogether, some folks actually use these things to get out there and interact with the world. Grant it they're the stinkier of the interactors, but they're trying. While you're what? Laying in state hoping the Schwan's van breaks down in front of your house so you can pounce on it's frozen delicacies? You know, on second thought perhaps you can have the three I had left. It'd do you good to get vertical again.

Also, we sort of broke the budget on this next item. I'd really like to keep it since you just never know who I'll piss off next. But it only gets like .007 miles to the gallon and I'm getting really tired of stopping to fill up at every corner. It comes equipped with a fully functioning live-fire, retractable gunnery system which can hold several types of standard tank ammunition in calibers 105mm and 120mm, through the substitution of easily available caliber .50 ammunition types. The trajectory of caliber .50 SLAP-T (Saboted Light Armor Penetrator-Tracer), M962 ammunition is an excellent match to 2,000m, sufficient to exercise the tank crew with the standard half-scale or full-scale targets. 1,500m capability can be achieved with the use of caliber .50 APIT, M20 ammunition. And lets you think I'm all business and no fun....it also has built-in dual DVD players in the head rests as well as an old-style Atari gaming system that includes Pong, Centipede, Ms. Pac-man, Frogger and Break-Out. Only serious inquiries need respond to this one as I'm more than happy to hang out in the thing in lieu of driving it just to get away from my family. So it's not like I have to get rid of it or anything. But if it could be put to better use elsewhere, then who am I to withhold?

Lastly I had about 300 of these shirts printed up. I was envisioning protest rallies, sit-ins and candlelight vigils organized for the sole purpose of saving those poor children. One might argue that the crisis is far from over and while I agree, I also must admit that my own kids might need clothes in the near future so perhaps peddling a few items at the expense of a couple of kids I never met wouldn't be that bad. It doesn't hurt that there are enough sick adults out there that would get a charge out of it too. If you think it's depraved then I apologize profusely and assure you that I in no way meant to either dehumanize a mother doing her best to care for her crotchlings nor profit on their collective plight. If, however, you like one of the items....send $20.00 cash (NO CHECKS YOU WORTHLESS BASTARDS!) to me in an unmarked envelope. The shirts are available in infant sizes as well as XXXL adult for the fatties. Don't' ask me why a fatty would want one, I just know my target audience.

Oh...and leave the money on the green bench outside the Baskin Robins on 33rd and Marshall.

*what, like you're keeping track?????

p.s. if the above picture if blurreee, yo'ure probably drUnk.

Ironically, not about Karla.

Ohmygod! I was just blindsided by my boss' boss. It's what I like to call a "drive-by thesaurusing"...you know where the person (who by the way NEVER talks to you to begin with) suddenly decides to tell you very important facts about a very important report that you NEVER (yeah, NEVER) deal with. And these facts of such importance? Well, they need to be told to your boss (who did I mention is out for two days?) verbatim. Your boss, of course, is responsible for these facts AND this report but suddenly.....suddenly it's all on you! Because the proverbial torch of accountability has been passed into your unwilling hands.

No, not passed exactly. More like forcibly hurled without regard for the target, the manner in which it was so nonchalantly flung nor the effects said tossing would have on it's recipient. It was basically vomited at me. And I took it full in the face. All wide-eyed and surprised..."did....did he just....he didn't. No he did! oh god stay focused!"

And that's how I feel right now. Thoroughly soaked in the slimy residue of our President's (not to be confused with The President's) fiscally inspired technicolored yawn.

No warning. No agenda or pie graphs or flow charts or even one goddamned slide show!

Just "Make sure the minutes include our discussions on blahblah interest rate sensitivity blahblah Examiner’s blah profitability blahblahblah net worth blah ratios blah rate scale blah peak spending blahsnoozeblah."

*crickets chirping*

uh.....

who the.....

yeah.

Okay, I can do this. But I'm going to need to shower the stench of his bastardized use of Managerial Accounting 101 off my frontal lobe. Then I'll google all of the above words that don't begin with "b" and come up with a nice little sentence or two that incorporates them all.

Or I will call in sick the rest of the week with an inoperable brain tumor; an excuse I've been saving up for just such an occasion.

I might be free to work in Karla's sweatshop afterall....and I'll likely know by week's end.

I've been coerced

nay...threatened! to create a place where all 3 people who accidentally stumbled across my parenting blog might be able to congregate and discuss in lurid detail exactly who the father of Karla's baby is.

Okay, that might be a lie.

The "3 people" is really more like one. But since that one is Karla herself, I honestly don't know if she's planning on FINALLY confessing to what I've long known to be the truth about her current pregnancy...here where people won't find her. Or if she's hoping to befriend me, as she's rumored to have done to others, after which she'll be able to use me for god only knows what deviant purpose. I'm quite naive see.

*shudder*

Anyway, I won't lie; she scares me. I mean, between the internet legends, the extensive series of psychological case studies, her lengthy criminal background and a series of heartbreaking videos recently leaked by one brave survivor (a man being held in protective custody) who only managed to escape her soulless clutches after gnawing through his own leg...it's become quite clear: she's absolutely bonkers! I can almost see her now...bed-ridden in that filthy hovel of a home, enraged and unable to prey on people as often as her many personalities demand. She's seething at the confinement imposed, ironically, by the only shred of her life that's allowed her to pass for normal all these years. Biding her time, she continues to coax me (and others!) into her deceptively sweet snare with her wily ways and pretty profile picture until one day, BAM! She changes from the docile, mildly retarded persona everyone loves to that of a depraved degenerate. Viciously demanding we supply her with trophies of toenail clippings and earwax candles while systematically wearing us down with her incessant phone calls and blog comments (No Karla, I don't want or need gently used storm windows from New Orleans and I already have several 5-gallon drums of cookie dough!). She's really sick ya'll!

...

But anyway....in my horror I seem to have digressed...where was I?

Oh yeah, her purpose for wanting me here. Yes, more than simply satisfying any of her many, twisted addictions, I think her heart longs to confess. To tell the world (okay, just me) the truth: that her second (I know. My GAWD this isn't the first time!) crotchling is not the result of one night of unbridled passion with the man she calls husband as she's led so many to believe. That poor, sweet, unassuming man (bless his heart) still clings tightly to the possibility that he fathered the first one when it's well documented with the Border Patrol that he was, in fact, working 167 hour weeks at Karla's insistence, smuggling midgets from Columbia to work in their basement organizing her extensive, sickening collection of porn and used band-aids. The word on the street (the only place anyone seems to talk about her....coincidence? I think not!) suggests that this time she's having somewhat of a celebuspawn. Seriously! See my guess is, coming here is her way of lightening the already suffocating load from her conscience without anyone finding out. I'm a huge nobody see. So it's damn near perfect for her.

The guy, who as I mentioned is somewhat of a celebrity in addition to potentially being the man given an all access pass to Karla's no-no special place when it mattered most, may have actually played "Spartan #247" in the movie "300".

I managed to locate this picture of him. And I don't know about you, but he kinda looks like her first son as well. Tsk Tsk!