My occasional, frantic, spell-checked, fancy ramblings.

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Ghost Lur king



I’ve always wanted to see a ghost. They seem so interesting, and wild. So silly and famous. So raucous

and glib. I’ve always been drawn to their ability to be so nonchalant about existing, and the way they don’t care what other people think. And how they can wear whatever they want, or nothing at all.

When I was young, I often stayed up very late to try and see them, but to no avail. I even tried using some ghost bait, like when I put a can of ‘chain polish’ in my living room with a net above it. However, there was nothing there in the morning except some urine near the can, which myself (I sleep piss) or the cat, might have done. Such a disappointment really.

Another time I put a chandelier on the floor and leaned a picture of my grandparents against it, thinking that this might lure in an invisible lurker such as a ghost, but this was not the case, and something peed near them.

On a totally different occasion I tried wearing some high heels, and a sheet, over my head and down to my feet, while I slept at night. I hoped that some ghosts would think I was a hot passed-out female ghost, and try to put some of that faint cock on me, and that’s when I’d surprise them, and see them. But nothing happened, except I wet the bed, or the cat did.

The one time I came closest to seeing a ghost was in a dream about 3 years ago, but it actually ended up being a bit of trickery. I dreamt I was in a Claire’s boutique after-hours, and I heard something in the corner. “Boooooooooo,” was the sound, real low and slow. I looked over and saw what appeared to be a ghost. Then I heard, “Booooooo. Heyyyyy, boooooo!” And I realized it was an African American ghost: a negrost. Then I heard more “Hey Booooo. Hey. Let me holla at you shorty. Let me holla at you for a hot minute. Let me take a peek at your living ass.” I approached the ghost and it beckoned me under its sheet with its ghost hand. Scared, I proceeded. When I got under the sheet I realized it wasn’t a real ghost. It was just R.Kelly, peeing on some school kids. I was upset to say the least. Miffed actually.

Since that day I haven’t had any experiences with the ghosts I so long for. I have seen a UFO (2005), and I have seen a goblin get its shirt stuck in some barb wire, and I have seen a Loch Ness monster chew with his mouth open, but none of that means anything when you’re sitting around a campfire, because people want to hear ghost stories specifically.



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Remember the rainb ow?



Remember the rainbow? I do. I remember running outside after a summer storm, craning my neck to the vastness above, and searching for that magical little strip of R.O.Y.G.B.I.V.; the exotic strand of colors, arching itself across the sky, like a disco belt of the heavens.



I remember learning as a child that each little color of a rainbow stood for something AWESOME; Red meant COURAGE, and orange meant LAUGHTER, and green meant APATHY, and so on. But that’s no longer the case, now that Gay people have taken the rainbow. Now each color stands for GAY; like Red means GAY, and orange means GAY, and green means GAY APATHY, and so on.

The rainbow is no longer that stripe of fun that makes us believe in unicorns, and elves, and fairies. Now it makes us believe solely in fairies. It’s a big strip of Gay Graffitti sprayed out of can of gaypaint. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing that gay culture has taken the rainbow hostage, but it is sad that the rainbow isn’t a free symbol like it once was. It’s a bummer that my little nephew saw one the other day, and asked me “What’s that Uncle the Theo?” and I immediately covered his little hetero eyes and told him, “that’s nothing boy, that’s nothing at all.” And he said, “but isn’t there a pot of gold at the end of it?” And I answered him honestly, “No boy. Not anymore. Not a pot of gold…. A pot of guys. Now run along. Go put some thick pants on, and play a contact sport.” (cuz I figure if a guy touches you hard enough on the outside, you’ll never let him touch you on the inside).

Of course I could have explained to him in more detail what the rainbow stands for these days: Andy Dick,

coke binging, and David Bowie albums, but I didn’t think he needed to be pondering ‘boy love’ everytime he sees one. Especially since we live in Louisiana. Where it rains and shines a couple of times a day. You explain something like that to a boy and the next thing you know he’s blowing a guy for an eightball after a summer storm. The old adage goes: April showers bring gay powers.

And that’s where we stand today, under an ‘emblem de gay’. And I think it’s a bit wrong. I think we should release those colorful beasts back into the blue pastures of having no sexual orientation. But that’s just me. That’s just what I think.



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Newsex ual



I date girls. I like the way they are put together. I enjoy their parts, their scent, their softness and natural beauty. I like the way they walk, and smile, and the way they apply lipstick while they are driving, and overall I love the way they use their wiles to drive men up the walls. The problem is, that if I chose not to date girls, then Id have no other options for dating, because i don't like fellas 'like that'. And if a girl chooses not to date guys, but doesn’t necessarily like girls ‘in that way’, then she has no other choice for dating. What i'm saying is that there are no genders other than man and woman. And I must say that I’m a bit pissed off about it all, because it leaves you stranded if you aren't into the opposite sex, but aren't interested in playing with your 'own' team.

How hard would it have been for God to just toss out one more new brand of life form? How complicated would it have been for him to piece together one more type of genitalia and slap it on a body? Maybe some little mix between our two current types of genitalia; maybe a pengina or a vanis? Sure the names are a little strange, but no stranger than the names we already have for the parts that hide between our legs. Maybe a ‘pengina’ sounds like some stone- age snowbird. And maybe, ‘vanis’ sounds like a new model unveiled by Toyota, but the bottom line is that it would be nice if there were a new line of bottoms. It would be nice if a man or woman who was tired of the opposite sex, could resort to a different sex; a way out of the norm. Because, if you get tired of loving women, and don’t love men, then you are sexually stranded.

Could you imagine if there was a whole new gender? A gender that was compatible with both men and women. I’m not talking about ‘hermaphrodites’ or any other mythological sex freaks. I’m not talking about the ‘men with tits’ sort of chicanery that Howard Stern invites on his shows, or that MAXIM features in their magz. I’m talking a new and innovative human being that gives a whole new option to the human race and to sexual interaction. Maybe a type of person that is sexually compatible with both existing sexes. Like an old Shetland pony, that anyone can saddle up on. Do you see what I’m saying? ‘Hee-Yah!’

Maybe some perfect creature with a toy between its legs. That way, you go out to a bar, you don’t meet a chick, you’ve always got Plan B. Maybe this being has a Kazoo between its legs. Everyone can work a Kazoo. Maybe a little set of elevator buttons, so you can do the old ‘up and down’. I don’t know, I’m just brainstorming here. But I’m sure that the world would be a better place with more types of people; more genders of humanity.

I don’t know.. maybe I’m out of the park here. Way out. Maybe I’m upper deck. Hell, maybe I’m not using my upper deck. But I’m sure there are a lot of 60+ year olds out there who are tired of banging the same old drum, and are looking for something new, but not looking to go ‘gay’. Wouldn’t it be nice if God unveiled his latest model of manwoman being? Something fresh. Something compatible; a whole new choice. A whole new genre of person; a new mix; an innovation; a reprieve from the same old two-step. Maybe they’ve got two heads, and four legs and one big arm. Maybe they look a bit more like a bird, and have feathers. Maybe they have a fruit salad between their legs. Who knows? I’m just ready for some sort of revolution. Some sort of change aimed toward advancement of the way we socialize. I’m the kind of person who likes ‘meeting new people.’ And also, who doesn’t love a good fruit salad??

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The Father.. the Son.. and the Goal Po sts



It’s returning… like it does every year about this time. Its been waited upon all Summer long; and now, the resurrection is upon us… It’s here… answering the call of our growling stomachs… ready to satiate the hunger… ready to anoint us with hot dogs and highlights… It’s Football and its back; bigger and better, with more fans and followers than we’ve ever seen. Whether you like Pro ball or college, or sitting in the stands under the high school heat lamps, football is here to take our attention and slowly, yet adventurously, digest it over the next 5 months. The pigskin is back… and ‘oinking’ louder, it calls upon us in all walks of life… to put down our thoughts, and ideas, and beliefs, to close our briefcases and be overwhelmed by its’ presence. It’s like a religion… only more people show up for Sat. night, than Sunday morning services could ever imagine.

And why is that? Why is it that today’s game of football, creates more followers and fanatics than any popular American religion, or sport for that matter, can gather? Seriously. The bleachers for college and high school football games are filled to the brim, with excited, eager, jubilant fans. Some have face paint… some, a hidden pint… but they all come for the opportunity to watch their heroes take the field; to see their Gods in jerseys and their Goddesses with pom-poms. To witness the spectacle that is American football.

What preachers and bishops in my town, and probably in yours, wouldn’t give to have the turnout of a Sunday afternoon Packers-Vikes matchup, all crammed into the pews of So-and-So Methodist Baptist Apostolic Church that morning? With everyone cheering, and howling, and impatiently waiting for the coin-toss.. I mean sermon… about to take place? How great would that be?! How long would the communion lines be if it were hot-dogs instead of wafers? If the body of Christ were wrapped around a sweet Ballpark frank? How funny would it be if someone in the last pew complained that they couldn’t see the pulpit because of a group of cheese-heads in a closer row? Or a Florida Gator fan is clamping his arms up and down in true Gator gesticulation. It would be interesting. It would be fun. Unfortunately, it’s not the case.

Organized religion has become organized boredom. You walk in, you sit down, you be quiet, you stand up, you kneel, you sit down, you be quiet, etc. There’s usually an older man at the front, leading the charge; reciting old stories, in a senior fashion. The entire experience lacks the zeal and appeal to maintain fans and, more importantly, to ignite the desire in young followers. There’s no face paint, no over-sized fingers waving in the air, and no youth; which usually means, ‘no fun and no future’. Most children who do go to church, are either too young to make the choice to go, or they are commanded to go by their parents. Alot of parents are more concerned with ‘who will be at church and notice if we are not there’, than they are about the sermon or the meaning behind their families’ attendance. Parents must beware of turning your Sunday service into too much of a social scene. This is something that kids can pick up on, and which may cause them to reject religion if they feel like a social pawn of their parents. If there is any group of people that know about being pressured into ‘social scenes’, it is our youth. The same youth that choose the excitement of other organized, and sometimes unorganized, avenues of entertainment, over the repetition of religious services.

Many religious services are mundane and lack the entertainment value that is required if the average person is to invest their time. Though the sermon may be different each week; most sermons are in the same monotone lull that make them sound redundant and overdone. As a New Orleans Saints football fan, I know that redundant and overdone (like the Saints history of ‘broken promises’), doesn’t hardly attract new viewers, or new investors. Though the fact that the team continues to change their game plan and strive for new levels of entertainment value, does keep them afloat as an entertainment interest. Organized Religion needs to find ways to do the same. Draft some new preachers. Change up the game plan. Hire some new Coaches. Try a trick-play.

At the Catholic service I occasionally attend, the loudest most energetic voice is often the voice of a child who is crawling around under the pews playing with action figures, giggling and shouting through the mouth full of Cheerios his folks shoved in him to keep him quiet. And once everyone yells ‘Shhh’ and ‘Quiet’ to the little fella, then the only person who was having a good time is forced to sit and stew, chewing a mouthful of dry cereal as quietly as possible (we all know how tough that is). Once again the fun is dead…

Religion needs more of a draw… it needs more glamour and glitz, and revitalization. It need its fans to have stronger support for its’ teams; Catholic, Baptist, Presbyterian, Judaism, etc. Sermons should build more like football games, with the interest swaying back and forth, good battling evil, until the Righteous side is victorious, but only after a 65 yd. Hail Mary from the Lord to one of his Disciples. It needs to stop kicking field goals and go for six.

Certainly we can’t really turn religion into a game, but we need to find a way to make it more entertaining, unless we want the pews to continue to lose fans, or not to gain new ones. Now, I’m not just talking fans who show up dressed in their ‘good clothes’, who sway back and forth in anticipation of brunch; but die-hard fans. Like Oakland Raider fans; like Alabama Crimson Tide fans; sort of like Baptists. Fans who show up wearing their support deep in their hearts, and who chant and cheer the whole game. Organized religion has the great players, it just needs more Public Relations and better coaching. After all, Jesus was one heck of a Quarterback.

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GAY BABY

In my life there have always been a few things I never thought I would see; a penguin hug a man, a natural male Asian porn star, a three sided coin, a scratch and sniff prosthetic limb, and a gay baby. However, times change and I have seen one of these ‘happenstances’ occur.

I’m sure you’re thinking I saw a penguin hug a man. But, with its short straight wings, a hug will always be something a penguin cannot enjoy. That is why I’ve never trusted a penguin, or any bird for that matter, because I don’t trust anything that can’t hug, or even sort-of hug. (Vultures, are actually the only bird that has the physical capability to hug).

I saw something more wild and outrageous. I saw a GAY BABY ! AH HA! Yes I did. I saw one, I held him, I know him in fact. He lives in my own family tree. My sister conceived a boy. And for six months he’s been alive, doing normal baby things. Goo-Gooing and Ga-Gaing. Pooing. Groveling in his own existence. This whole time his sexual tendencies lying dormant within himself. Until recently.

It was an afternoon like any other (between noon, and five p.m.), and I had just come back from the swimming pool. I was still in my bathing suit, trunks only—a one-piece, when my sister asked if I’d like to hold this male baby of hers. So I’m holding him against my haired male bosom, and I don’t know if it was a full moon or what, but he put his mouth on my…well… I guess its called an ‘aeriola’, and began to suckle!! RAAAAHHHH I yelled, like a Meisner-taught cheerleader in a horror film. . RAAHHHHHH ! I yelled again and plucked him off, because we’re BOTH fellas, AND because we’re related. Even though I’m from the South, this is wrong on two serious fronts. I couldn’t believe he would do such a thing, and at such an early age. I gained my composure, and looked all around the room like it hadn’t happened. And somehow in the ruckus, his head got loose, and I guess his head sorta rolled around, as if he was kinda looking around the room tryingt to play it off himself.



As his head was just dangling there, I realized how feebile and incapable he was, and how his ‘gay act’ towards me may have been an accident. So I put him back against my chest… and I’ll be damned if he didn’t again press his young pursed pair against my late-twenties nipple, and DO IT AGAIN. So I pluck him back again, a little faster and more forceful this time, so much so that he let out a small sound, like a burp-squeal. The same sound a seal makes if you prod him with a walking cane. And I yelled GAY BABY! And then I did what anybody else would do. I called the police. And when they didn’t show up, I took care of it on my own, and spray-painted Q-U-E-E-R in his crib.

Oh, the savageness of it all !! I’m sure its only a matter of time before he’s asking for an extra pacifier for his hind-mouth, and performing favors for cigarettes at day care. Soon we will see this transformation come full circle when his typical baby ‘Waaaaah’ has an extra syllable or two in it, and he can’t crawl because his weak wrists won’t support him. It’s a wild world people. And maybe its not a world I’m ready for, but I’m here and dealing with things the best I can. I’m sorry to have to share this with everyone.



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A Mediocre Look into Childhood Obesi ty

So I pick up a recent issue of Time magazine, and the cover has a picture of a fat kid’s face, and the heading reads something like ‘Childhood Obesity: America’s fastest growing issue’. My first thought after looking at the kid on the cover was ‘Wow, that kid is fat!!” (Ironically, I was eating a fried fish sandwich while I was looking at the magazine giving the whole ambiance a real 4 dimensional feel. Fried fish can be sooo greasy and fattening). Anyhow, back on track. My first thought was that the kid was puffy as a lil newborn manatee. But my second thought was, ‘Why is that a problem?’

And it was this thought that began to resonate inside my mind. Why is it a ‘problem’ that a kid is fat? Can’t a kid be fat in America? Wasn’t a good bit of the America we know today created by fat adults, who were once fat kids? Every drawing I see of Thomas Jefferson and his compatriots shows a band of fattened, cross-dressed wig-wearers. And for the most part, TJ and his Declaration designers fared okay didn’t they? So, is ‘childhood obesity’, or ‘kiddie fat’ as I like to call it, really America’s next big issue? Is America really gonna have to ‘take on’ the issue of a child being fat. Are we gonna have to declare a ‘weight war’ against children with big belt-sizes? Are we gonna invade elementary schools and attack kids who are helping themselves to ‘seconds’? Will there be snipers hiding in the distance, with their scopes aimed at the cafeteria dessert bar, ready to drop a ‘dope dart’ into the neck of any child who dares to raise a piece of chocolate cake to his yapper?? Are there gonna be raids on ‘ice cream parlors’ and in the ‘shade covered’ areas of playgrounds (places where bigger kids usually hang out)? What are we gonna do, accuse our ‘robust young ones’ of hiding weapons of mass destruction, so we have a lame excuse to declare all out war against their ‘overweightness’?

Are ‘fatties’ (as some larger kids are called) gonna have to wear a special ‘alert collar’, so that an alarm goes off every time that first MnM falls into the vast warm wonderland that is the empty belly of their big breasty self? And will that alarm notify a ‘youth fat swat team’ (who has nicknamed themselves the ‘blubber clubbers’) that rush in and mace the kid with an un edible pepper spray and then beat the candies out of his system? Is this really the answer? ARE WE KIDDING OURSELVES?? Are fat kids really a ‘serious issue’? Aren’t their bigger problems than ‘a kid with an extra doughnut, whose hands always look swollen’?



This is ridiculous; a child should be able to be FAT. There is nothing wrong with that. (Hell, if it weren’t for fatter kids, who would play catcher on the baseball team, or tuba in the band?) The bottom line, and the moral of this malarkey, is the fact that a child should be loved in this world, no matter what he/she looks like. The problem is not the fat child, but the way that we judge one and other. After all, God made none of us perfect. In fact, I recently read in Cosmo that Mary Magdalene was overweight. A child may be fatter and smarter, while a prettier child may be an idiot. For every child that is fast and weak, there is one that is slow and strong. We all know this to be true. I’d rather have the fat kids around snacking and napping quietly, than the sneaky, smirkey, slender kids, who lie to your face and touch animals, and pull all sorts of stunts like that. Those kids are a bigger issue than the issue of ‘bigger’ kids.

The last thing we need in this country is to have our children worrying as much as our adults do. I say we let the kids eat, and let them eat what they want, within reason of course. I don’t want to see some kid trying to swallow an iron or a bag of hair. And as they grow older, then let them decide if they enjoy being a physical product of whatever diet they’ve chosen. I think all kids would be happier if they could down a case of Capri Sun whenever they want, or ‘slam a yam’ before getting on the school bus, or carry around a pocketful of ‘tater tots’, like the famed ‘Napoleon Dynamite’. Any kid would be happy if he could pound a can of condensed milk as he rolls out of bed, or a stuff a cheek with cranberry dressing at the drop of a hat. And so I hope kids will eat their little hearts out, and lick their lips after they do, and run through their childhood years with a fat happiness that makes the world envious. And I hope the next magazine cover I see tells about a worthwhile article; maybe something along the lines of ‘Americans: Overly Judgmental of our Fat Youth.”

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America

Let’s hear it for America. I’m serious, people. Let’s hear it for this country of ours. Put your hand’s together ladies and gents, and other species. If you’re a pup, lets get a round of ‘ap-paws’, if you’re a bird ‘flap your wings’… if you’re a crab, click your claws. Let’s hear it for America; an amazing country that thrives on its own hypocrisy and ineptness. Our dear U. S. of A; land of the red, white and blundersome.

What was the land of milk and honey, ironically, is now the land of lactose intolerants and diabetics… the home of fake tits and Christian rock… false teeth and loose women…. Crooked politics and ab-rollers… canned veggies and middle school kids with guns.

Give it up for America. The land of the free*, and home of the surcharges, shipping fees, and applicable taxes. America, the international hub of hair dye and animal testing, trick or treating and the KKK, loose morals and the Statue of Liberty, break dancing and gold teeth, over priced gas and terrorist attacks.

This land is your land…. This land is my land… from the fires of California, to the landfills of upstate NY. From the chopped down forests, to the dark brown waters… this land was made for you and me.

Give it up for this lovely little country where the deer and the antelope play behind bars, with visiting hours. Where if you get a family pass you and your whole crew can visit them as much as you want for a whole year… but you can’t feed them.. no matter how hungry they are.. and the family pass may not apply during holiday hours… YAHOOO !!!! AMERICA !!!

Let’s hear it for what our country was founded on….. someone else’s land. (i.e. Native Americans/Gamblers). Give it up for tap water that isn’t safe to drink and women that aren’t safe to fuck… Give it up for a country where Roger Lodge can get a job… who cares if he has one of those ‘for just 7 cents a day’ physiques’, and wears a turtle neck year round.

Come on, give it up for America, the red, white and brutal. Home of Betty Crocker, who’s been causing diabetes for decades. Home of the homeless. Home of sports idols who get away with rape and murder, and sometimes both—the two point conversion. Home of designer jeans, and designer DNA. The birthplace of Jazz, Rock ‘n’ Roll, and Attention Deficit Disorder. C’mon people give it up.

Give it up for America, from sea to oil slicked sea. Where we celebrate our Independence in the middle of the hottest month of the year, by eating ourselves into oblivion, and then going for a swim. That’s bloatation. “Look, Dad’s in the deep end, he must love America!”

Let’s hear it for gorgeous U.S. destinations. Like West Texas, and every square inch of new jersey. You haven’t lived til you’ve played a round of ‘bad breath’ with the vagrants of Santa Monica, or ‘STD Roulette’ with the hookers of Nevada. Til you’ve been bit by a shark on a Florida beach, or shot at by a DC sniper. Til you’ve been accosted by a ‘steroidal cop’ or had your flesh ripped open by an American Pitbull. Til you’ve been so scared by Fox News about the deadly bird flu taking over your small neighborhood that you kill your cousins pet parrot he’s had for a decade. You haven’t breathed til you’ve taken in a lungful of Detroit air, and you haven’t seen true natural beauty til you’ve toured our Oil Refineries, and gotten a photo of the kiddies next to a barrel of crude.

C’mon people. Let’s hear it for PCP and the PS2, both of which keep our Amerikids busy. By God this country is beautiful!!!

We are Elvis, and we are overdose. We are the Jackson 5, and we are bedtime stories. We loved Marilyn, and she loved pills. We elected George Bush, and he went crazy. We are the cause, and the affect. The bigger we get, the harder we fall. We put a helmet on a kid, but we don’t’ teach him to ride his bike. The Rockies are eroding. Mount Rushmore is dismounting. The liberty bell is cracked, and Old Faithful is working part time. But this is America. And we are resilient. And we are strong. And we offer anyone a second line of credit. And the truth is, that no matter how bad it gets… or how bad it is… this is still one hell of a country.