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April 09, 2004more on child supportI did the math this evening (I know-- I'm an English major and I don't do math, but I might surprise you sometimes). If I took my retirement at $1,036 per month, I need to live another 15.9 years to break even on the deal. That means that I'll need to live to the age of 69 before my choice proves to be a bad one. No man on the Smith side of my family ever lived past the age of 62 as far back as we can trace down the family tree and MY FATHER set that record by hanging on by his fingernails as long as he could. I don't expect to see my 69th birthday, nor am I certain that I want to. What is the purpose of child support? I always thought that the man paid to give his child a good standard of living, to keep a roof over his head and to put groceries on the table. But that's not what the law wants in Georgia today. Child Support is a goddam bludgeon that can be weiled by a wealthy woman with a craven, scum-sucking lawyer to beat the shit out of a man, while SHE fucks around like a mink in heat. This sordid affair isn't about Quinton-- it's about killing ME. How a supposedly wise judge can see it any differently is beyond my comprehension. But most of the law is beyond my comprehension. Maybe that's why we end up with so many complete dickwits wearing black robes and sitting on a bench.
calling all lawyersWhen I took my retirement in a lump sum, I did it because of the tables I saw on the form the company sent me. They calculated my length of employment, my pay scale and the average life-span I was expected to live, and they offered me $1,036 dollars every month, based on the fact that I was expected to live 75 years. I took it all in one bundle, because I believe in the "bird in the hand" theory. I doubt seriously that I'm going to live to the ripe old age of 75. I have too many bad habits. But that lump sum will show up as "income" on my W-2 forms next year and the judge expects me to pay child support based solely on that one-time windfall, even though I no longer have a job. I have a question to ask: Even though I took my retirement all in one bundle, shouldn't my child support be based on the same tables my company used? I'm not trying to avoid paying child support. I have paid child support for 2 1/2 years now and NEVER missed a payment. I am attempting to prevent the pure-assed looting of my retirement fund by a bloodless cunt of an ex-wife. Charge me with 17% of $1,036 a month and I'll pay it until the day I die, then Quinton gets half of everything I own anyway. That way, I bleed, but I bleed slowly. Why does the law in Georgia want me thrown on an Aztec altar and my heart torn out all at once? Do I have a case?
shut the fuck up!Do you know what I really despise about American politics? It's the short attention span of voters. I watched the Condi Rice testimony on TV the other day and my reaction was "look at those dumbfuck gas-bags posturing for the cameras." Did you see that shit? It was disgusting. I thought that Condi comported herself a lot better that those asshole poseurs did. I also thought that the testimony was arranged to search for truth about who knew what and when they knew it before 9/11. That's not what happened. It became a circus, where the most venal and self-aggrandizing politicians who bestink this country showed their true colors, while Condi sat in her chair and maintained her composure. What a contrast. Now, we have jimmy Carter gnawing his way out of the woodwork again, like the big-toothed rat he is, to pontificate on an issue that he would fuck up like a Chinese fire drill if he had his incompetent hands on it. I wish that he would shut the fuck up and go build houses in the Amazonian jungle. He might be good at driving a nail. The worthless bastard NEVER could govern worth a shit. Do the American People remember his Presidency? I started to post a couple of quotes from the link above, but I'm not going to waste my time. Jimmy Carter was incompetent when he was governor of Georgia. Jimmy Carter was even more incompetent as President. He rode the tide of an anti-Nixon wave into the White House and proved to be nothing but a piece of driftwood once he got there. 18% inflation. The Iran hostage crisis. Huge unemployment numbers. With the United States mired in the muck and sinking fast, HE booked the White House tennis courts, while grinning like a shit-eating dog the entire time. You want him back? You want HIM telling the President what to do in a crisis? If so, I have a great deal on a bridge in the middle of New York City to offer you. I humbly submit that Jimmy Carter is largely responsible for turning the Middle East into the powder-keg it has become. If he had taken firm action, INCLUDING THE THREAT OF BLOWING THE ENTIRE AMERICAN EMBASSY TO SMITHEREENS during the hostage crisis, we could have rescued the hostages and nipped that problem in the bud. Oh... wait a minute. Jimmy Carter gutted the military to the point that it couldn't complete a helicopter rescue mission. Man, he taught Islamic fundamentalists a valuable lesson, didn't he? Yes, he taught them that we could be bluffed and defeated. That lesson took root and it grew. Carter planted the seed, and he produced what we have in the mid-east today. He has his nerve to get up and criticize what President Bush is doing today. Bush is cleaning up Carter's mess. I wish that man would just shut the fuck up. I always liked Billy Carter better anyway.
the home frontI visited with my daughter today over at Mom's house. Almost two years have passed since I last saw Samantha and I had forgotten just how beautiful she is. She's tiny. She MAY be 5 feet tall, but she's probably an inch or so shorter. She weighs less than 100 pounds, but it's all shaped in perfect form. Her skin is smooth and glowing now, after a successful bout with adolescent acne, and she owns the most equisite pair of feet I've ever seen. She was wearing red tonail polish today, and I wonder if she did that just for me. She DOES read this blog. Sam and I had our serious ups and downs over the years, but she's done well since she went out on her own. A lot of the She and Stacey want to eat oysters today and usually I would go with them because I LOVE oysters. But I'm still feeling kinda puny and my body will not accept solid food. (Is an oyster "solid food?") I told them where to go for good local oysters, which are better than anything shipped out of the Gulf, and Samantha knows how to get there. I hope they enjoy themselves. Mama is finished with her chemo treatments and the results look great. Her hair is beginning to grow back and she's feeling better every day. The doctors pronounced her "cancer-free" after the last round of tests they ran. The news is good, at least for now. Have you ever seen a Yorkshire Terrier with a Marine Corps haircut? I did today. When I saw "Fancy," Mama's dog, who ALWAYS comes to greet me and cavort when I visit the old home, I asked, "Ma, you've got a rat running around your house! What the hell happened to your dog?" Mom explained that Fancy had so many tangles and knots in her long hair (it dragged the ground and picked up sticks, leaves and stickers everywhere the dog went) that Mom couldn't brush them out. She took Fancy to a Poodle Parlor and let the experts go to work. They shaved that dog down to the skin. That is one ridiculious sight. Mom was very upset at first, but she's starting to see the bright side now. "Look at it this way, Mom," I said. "Now, you and your dog are BOTH damn near bald. Misery loves company." "Fancy will like it when the weather gets hot," Stacey observed. "She's got air-conditioning now." "She doesn't look THAT bad, Mamaw," said Sam. "I think she looks cute." I think Fancy looks like Fido's ass, but if I were a long-haired dog heading into a Savannah summertime, I believe that I could handle the cut simply for the heat-relief I gained from it. I've buzz-cut my head more than once. It's not the end of the world. I had to leave sometime around 1:00 today, because I've developed a new set of peptic ulcer symptoms (or symptoms of whatever the hell is wrong with me): I get a severe pain in my gut all of a sudden and I break out in a cold sweat. Goosebumps raise up on my arms while I perspire like a blacksmith at his forge and shiver like a virgin on her wedding night at the same time. I needed to go home a lie down for a while. I barely made the drive. I feel better now, but I know that this crap isn't over yet. I wish to hell that it was, because I don't like being sick and I've never been this sick before in my life. Just Damn!
April 08, 2004BoskChris got the right answer: Name comes from "Nomads of Gor" written by John Norman. It chronicles the adventures of Tarl Cabot when he was among the 'Wagon Peoples'. What can I get when I redeem my 20 points A "bosk" was a beast of burden similar to an ox. Later in the series of Tarnsman of Gor books, Tarl Cabot became disenchanted with life and changed his name to "Bosk, of Port Kar." He was a ballsy bastard, known as a fearless warrior and lover of many wimmen. When I saw the nuts on that hooded rat, the name "Bosk" came immediately to mind. The Gor books were written by "John Norman," but I've heard rumors that the name was a pseudonym adopted by Michael Crichton, who actually wrote the series. I haven't researched the matter. Does anybody know if that's true?
i'm guiltyIf this is a crime, I'm a got-damn felon.
he should steal my truckHere is a bizarre story about a guy who steals cars just so he can wash, wax and clean them. I wish he would take my truck for a spin.
Talk to meHere is an interesting idea. Follow that link and you can HEAR a lot of bloggers speaking. I like it. Kinda puts a personality with the words you read on their pages. Hell, I may give her a call myself.
April 07, 2004uh-oh!Some people will call this one a racist post. It's not, but I am certain that it will offend some delicate sensibilities. That's not difficult to do today.
it's trueI once owned a pet rat named "Bosk." (20 bonus points to anyone who can tell me where that name came from!) He was a nice, hooded rat with a set of nuts on him the size of grapes. I could put his cage on the floor, open the door and let him run around my apartment. He would explore, scare the shit out of strangers by popping up on the back of the couch, then come sit on my shoulder when he was ready to go home. If I held out my hand, he would crawl down my arm into my palm and allow me to place him back in his cage. That's where the good food was, and he knew it. When I met Holly Beth, she felt sorry for Bosk and recommended that we buy him a woman companion; so, we went to the pet store and bought a female hooded rat for $3.00. I named her "Slut," and she lived up to the name. I believe that she went into heat about every 12 hours. Have you ever watched rats fuck? It's good entertainment when you're half-drunk and half-stoned. Old big-nutted Bosk tackled Slut from behind, bit her ear and plowed her into the cedar chips at the bottom of the cage. He was finished in a couple of seconds, but he was ready for a repeat performance about once an hour. That cage became a den of iniquity. When the first litter of baby rats were born, Bosk killed and ate them all. I suppose that he wanted no rivals imposing on his turf. I bought a second cage, and removed Bosk when the second litter was born. (I could sell baby rats back to the pet store at $2.00 each. I was thinking about becoming a rat-farmer at the time.) Bosk didn't like that new cage one bit. He was away from his pussy, he had a new generation growing to claim his throne as King Rat, and he was pissed at me. The bastard even bit me once to let me know how he felt about this turn of events. I raised about 18 rats and sold them before Holly Beth left and took Bosk and Slut with her. She waited until I was gone to work and cleaned out the house. She took everything she could load, including the head off my shower, my monogrammed satin fuck-sheets and every dish that I owned at the time. How about THAT for a tale? Yeah, my woman left me and stole my rats. I believe that it was a "birds of a feather" thing. At least she left my dog behind.
newsGood news first: *I did my income taxes today and I'm not going to get raped as badly as I first thought. I still pay the feds a lot of money, but I withheld enough to almost cover the balance. I get a small refund from the state. *My daughter is coming to visit this weekend. I look forward to seeing her. *I still feel fairly human, with no flu-like relapses so far today. The numbness in my fingers and toes kind of comes and goes now, and it's not nearly as bad as it was. *I ate a boiled egg today. That's the first solid food I've been able to shove down my gullet since last Saturday. Bad News: *I hatched a great plan yesterday. Young Jack came over to borrow a Playstation II game, and I gave him $5.00 to call Quinton and let him know that his sister would be in town this weekend. I also told Jack to tell Quinton to call me. (That's not a violation of the restraining order.) Jack checked back with me four times after that and said that he got only the answering machine every time he called Quinton. He offered me my $5.00 back. I told him to keep it. He held up his part of the bargain. Jennifer must be out of town with Quinton and her latest lover. *I saw a program on the History Channel today about the carving of mount rushmore. I never knew that the project ran out of money and that it is an unfinished work. It looks pretty good to me. One part of the narration mentioned that another such monument will never be created in the USA because environmental impact studies would take 5 to 10 years to be approved, and even if they WERE approved, environmentalists would find some kind of endangered species of red-tailed blowfly that lived in the Black Hills, sue the shit out of everybody around and delay construction for another 20 years with the case tied up in court. That's one reason I despise environmentalists. *I live near The Highway That Will NEVER Be Finished. this guy (even though he hasn't updated his blog in a while) probably remembers when the truman parkway began construction, amid the biggest tax-and-bond boondoggle I've ever seen in a town known well for its boondoggles. I believe that I was in high school at the time. I am now 52 years old, and the Truman Parkway runs all of about five miles. Some environmental nutball spotted a bald eagle's nest on the construction route once, and shut down building for two years, until the eagles flew away and didn't come back. Then, ANOTHER environmental nut-case insisted on soil samples near the golf course that removed two holes to accomidate the parkway. Sure enough, since the golf course was built on an old city dump, "experts" found levels of lead, mercury and cadmium high enough to declare the place a goddam Superfund site and require five years of remediation before construction could continue. Millions of dollars went down the drain to "clean up" the site, despite the fact that people have been playing golf there for 50 fucking years without dropping dead. I despise environmentalists. *Troll spottings seem to be increasing on this blog. Fuck 'em, the nasty-assed, booger-eating, pimply-faced assholes. I detect a lot of envy in what those dickheads write. What, butthead? Nobody reads YOUR blog? I wonder why? Grow up, learn to write and come back when you move out of your mama's house, you evil, misguided brat. Somebody needs to bitch-slap your mama for raising a piece of shit such as you. *I watched Harlan County War on HBO the other night. I wanted to puke. I like Holly Hunter and I believe that she did a good job in the movie, but it was all so fake to me that I couldn't stand it. I took one look at the background and I knew right away that the movie wasn't filmed in Harlan County (Ottawa, Canada is where they shot it). Holly went to her best Southern accent, but she sounded like a woman from Georgia, not a hillbilly. Nobody else seemed to care about the regional sound that is so familiar to my ears. I'll give you a few examples: Pear. That's how you pronounce "power" in eastern Kentucky. ("I know whatcher problem is. You got no pear to that starter.") Hit. That means "it" in eastern Kentucky. ("Hit made me laugh 'till I thought I was gonna bust a gut.") A. That means "hey" in eastern Kentucky. ("A, Ernie, A, Rob! Wanna play some bowel?") Bowel. That means "ball" in eastern Kentucky. See above. Got-damn! If they were going to claim any kind of authenticicty, they should have hired a dialogue coach familiar with the sounds of hillbilly-talk. I don't speak that way anymore, but the sound remains music to my ears. I missed hearing it in that movie.
getting betterToday is the first time in several days that I feel like a human being again. I am not good at being sickly. I find it difficult to believe that the pills and potions the doctor gave me worked such magic in such a short time. I think I was getting well all by myself. Chocolate milk is indeed a wonder-drug. I don't know about the tests the doctors want to run. They want to poke tubes and cameras down my throat, up my ass and into any other oriface they can find in my body. I don't believe that I'm going through that shit unless I start to feel badly again today. I've had enough probing by doctors to last me the rest of my life.
strangeFor some unknown reason, I've had several people email me over the past few days asking for information on the texas chainsaw massacre. The writers wanted to know whether or not the movie actually was based on a true story. Just follow the link above and you'll know.
it's trueI'm still alive (much to the consternation of my ex-wife, I suppose) but I have a few medical problems to deal with before I'm back in the pink again. The doctors want to run some more tests on me, but I don't appear to have anything truly life-threatening wrong with me. I'm not going into any gory details. I AM sick, but I should recover. Hah! Take THAT, Jennifer!
April 05, 2004something is wrongI spent most of yesterday in bed. I am sick as a dog again. I don't know what the hell is going on, but it's not pleasant. The numbness in my fingers and toes is getting worse, and my equalibrium is all screwed up. I can't walk down my own goddam hallway without keeping one numb hand on the wall to keep me propped up. I took a pratfall in my kitchen yesterday while trying to make a sandwich and I believe that I re-broke my left foot. I just browned out for a moment, lost my balance and fell on my ass, with that left foot underneath me again. I must have laid there a good fifteen minutes before I felt oriented enough to crawl back to bed and experience feverish dreams. I'm starting to believe that I may be dying. What the hell. I should go to the doctor, but I'm not going to do it. If the Reaper wants me, come on and get me, you dark-robed motherfucker. I'm not really happy with the life I have now anyway. Death would be a sweet release.
April 04, 2004either you like me, or you don'tI'll accept praise wherever I can find it. If you want pussy-writing, go to some place that doesn't post a DOT "Corrosive" label at the top of the page. We have too many people with delicate sensibilities in this world today. They get their feelings hurt too easily. Goddam! This world is not a nice place. Grow an ass. I watched Dennis Miller (who cracks me up because I GET his metaphors) on HBO the other night and he said, more or less, "Life is 75 years of being hit in the balls by a series of events." I couldn't agree more. I've had my share of blows to my nuts and they're not over yet. I have to jock up tight, fit my cup and take what's coming my way. If that's a "mean" attitude, then so be it. You never have to read this blog if you don't want to.
April 03, 2004high-heeled shoesMy baby say she loves me That's the first verse of a teriffic blues song written by one of the great undiscovered songwriting talents in America today. Modesty forbids that I mention his name, but I WILL say that I'm probably the only person on the planet who knows all the words. I like the chorus, too: Baby, if you'd let me I haven't played that song in a long time, but I howled it out tonight in the key of "E." My ex-wife wore high-heeled shoes to court for our divorce hearing. I know that Jennifer cannot wear high-heeled shoes. She wears a size 7 shoe, but most of her foot is made up of long toes, and she has incredibly narrow heels. High-heeled shoes give her blisters after 30 minutes. But she wore 3" heels to court that day. She's a long-legged woman wearing high-heeled shoes across my heart.
just a suggestionIf you're ever driving up or down I-95, and you pass through Pooler, Georgia, stop and visit the Mighty Eighth Air Force Museum. It's a cool place and history comes alive there. You can check out two of the most robust airplanes ever built-- the B-17 and the B-27. They could take a licking and keep on ticking. I am old enough to know a couple of guys who flew their 25 missons dropping daylight bombs over Germany during World War II. They told me that they came back to England more than once with "two churning, two burning and the plane shot to shit." But that bird got them home every time. More than 200,000 men lost their lives in that air war. So, if you're driving on I-95 and you don't have anything better to do, go to the Mighty Eighth Air Force Museum in Pooler, Georgia. Take your children inside and let them see what bought them the freedom they have today.
this puzzles meI appear to have been banned from this site. I really don't know what I did to piss her off so badly. Gal, have you learned to play the fiddle yet?
bite the dustI went out and shot up another deck of cards this morning. This time, I used both the single-shot .22 and my old Ruger .22 with the 16-shot magazine. I cleaned and oiled the old Ruger yesterday, then mounted a scope on it. I think I bought that rifle from K-Mart for $39.00 in 1976. A similar model today costs $150.00. I mentioned before that where I go to shoot, behind the pond on the land I once owned, is used by other people to sight their rifles for deer hunting. Somebody left a sawhorse there with a wedge cut out of it. It's not quite as good as a vise to set your scope, but it's pretty close. I took only four shots and a couple of minor adjustments before I had the old Ruger as right as rain. I was shooting from about 40 yards, and I took all four corners off the nine of clubs with four shots. I took out the ace of diamonds, right through the middle, with one shot. I shot the spade out of the ace of spades, but that took five shots because I missed with my first bullet, hit the corner of the card and turned it semi-sideways. I didn't feel like walking all the way to the oak tree to readjust my target, so I just blew the center out of it the way it was. I had a lot of trouble with regular iron sights after I had my eyes fixed. For a while, I couldn't focus my vision on the front and back end of a rifle. I needed a scope to see what the hell I was doing. I don't have that problem anymore, although I still need reading glasses to read a restaurant menu. I took the single-shot and blew away the rest of the cards one at a time. I shot about 300 rounds and I feel good right now.
preach on!Here is a very good post from someone I admire and respect. He's damn near as contrary as I am. Give 'em hell, Denny!
April 02, 2004I am tiredThis old body just doesn't have the stamina it once possessed. I remember when I could run all day and party all night. I can't do that shit anymore. I have arthritis in my neck, a slipped disc in my back, no cartiledge in either one of my knees, a broken foot that is not going to heal correctly and numbness in my fingers and toes when I wake up in the morning. I need 30 minutes and a hot shower before I can walk when I get out of bed. Working on my book is more tiring than I thought it would be. Writing is something that I enjoy doing. But editing is drudge work. Everything foolish I ever did in my life is catching up to me now, and it's closing in fast. I think young, but my body feels old. I know which one to believe. The mind plays tricks on you.
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