My Fifty Cents on the Bundy Issue...

Good morning kids.

Believe it or not, no matter how many fliers I may take off into deep right center over some issue or another that has pissed me off beyond human recognition, I actually try pretty hard to not come off as some ultra-right wing conspiracy theorist Bill of Rights spewing wackadoo.  I’m usually the guy telling someone else to adjust their tin foil fedora for a little better reception from the mothership.

And then something like the bullshit that’s going on in Nevada right now over the whole Bundy Ranch issue starts up and I have to seriously consider taking stock in some good ol’ aluminium (British spelling sir, calm down) myself. 

I’m not going to take the time here to educate you on what’s going on if you’re not aware.  If you have no clue what I’m talking about I suggest you stop being a dipshit and learn a thing.  This is serious business folks and it sets a very, very dangerous precedent.

I’m also not going to preach and rant and rave on this subject.  I’ll save that for the radio show Thursday night. What I am going to do is to speak my mind on a few points and leave it at that.  We’ll debate whatever points you all wish or discuss ad nauseum at a later date.  I just need to get this out there.

So here are my points for thought on this issue:

1-      Mr. Bundy is in the wrong.  He’s illegally grazing his cattle on that land.  It’s a fact.

2-      This is a civil issue, not a criminal one, in all but the most narrow of interpretations.

3-      We have civil courts and a Sheriff’s Department in every county of this country to resolve these types of issues.  At its core this is an issue of imminent domain, jurisdiction, adverse possession, and overreach.

4-      Sending officers armed with automatic weapons and placing sniper teams on overwatch to effect the removal of illegally grazing cattle is akin to using a SWAT team to kick some dumbass out of government housing for not paying his $15 a month.

5-      The “militia” showing on said property was not effected by some group of nutballs.  These are concerned citizens who saw the potential for a complete erosion of their rights.  I’m not saying however there aren’t a couple o’ nutballs present, however.

6-      Question:  since when did the federal government become involved in a state land issue LEGALLY without either the purchase of said land from the state or the exercise of imminent domain?

7-      If you think for one minute that this situation has de-escalated because of the temporary withdraw of force by our government, you are sadly mistaken.

Folks, I have a bad feeling about this one.  I’m concerned that some moron, be they government employee behind a desk, law enforcement officer just trying to do their job, a law abiding citizen trying to protect their rights, or some asshole looking for a reason get his or her gun off is going to start an incident that will get someone, if not a lot of someone’s killed.  Cooler heads have to prevail here people.  Armed clashes are not what we need as a country UNLESS we’re ready, as a populace, to go all in and I just don’t see that as the case.  Not yet anyway.

However, that being said, I’d like to point out one thing.  Yes I understand the Supreme Court has upheld the right of the LOCAL AUTHORITIES to cordon off 1^st Amendment zones when protests can turn violent over known issues.  However, the same decision states that 1^st Amendment zones are illegal unless a clear and demonstrable danger exists BEFORE they are instituted.  Otherwise, and please pay attention Mr. Obama and company, OUR 1^ST AMENDMENT ZONE EXTENDS FROM THE FUCKING CANADIAN BORDER TO THE MEXICAN ONE AND GETS RATHER WET ON ITS EASTERN AND WESTERN MOST SIDES AND UNTIL I SEE OUR CONSITUTION BURNT TO A CINDER ON THE ALTER OF ULTRA-LIBERAL HOMOGENY THEN YOU CAN TAKE YOUR ATTEMPTS TO CONTINUALLY DEGRADE MY CONSTITUTIONALLY PROTECTED RIGHTS AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR HIGH AND MIGHTY SOCIALIST ASS.

I’ll be waiting out front for the black SUV’s. 

I’ll be the one in the tin foil hat if you’re not sure how to find me.  

They seem to be becoming fashionable.

Let's Talk About the Dog

This is Max.  Max is my brand new, now 13 week old and nearly 60 pound American Bulldog brother in law.

For the sake of everyone out there, we need to have a talk about Max and all those like him.

I'm talking about intact male puppies.

Simply put, Max's breeder recommended allowing Max to reach about six months old before he was taken in for his snip and clip.

I'm also blessed to have a large animal vet in the family, Dr. Emily Gilmette of New Bern, N.C.  And yes, before you start cracking jokes, she is both the person who provides most of my medication for me (kidding) while subsequently reminding me that most of her patients are easily four times my size (not so much with the kidding).  Her opinion is that ol' Max and his beans of manliness (or dogliness as the case may be) needed to have parted company at eight weeks old.  

Usually I agree with her train of thought regarding my own animals, however, maybe this breeder knew something I didn't.  Not to doubt Dr. Emily's deity-esque level of knowledge in the veterinary sciences (yes I am very, very scared of what she can do with a shoulder length rubber glove and some of the toys in her truck), but I decided to do a little digging myself on the interwebs and see what there was to see on the subject of American Bulldogs and their boy nuggets.

The consensus is that Dr. Emily is right and they need to get the neuter done asap.  The other interesting thing I found in my reading is that intact Mastiff breed puppies in general tend to go through what one writer referred to as a "grumpy" phase around six months old that can be disastrous when combined with other older intact males.  

So why bring the case of ol' Max up to everyone's attention.  We all like to think we're great pet owners, just like we all like to think we're good parents.  The truth of the matter is that we all could probably use a bit more education and do a bit more reading when it comes down to it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to find an excuse to stop by my in-laws' house and get me some puppy snuggles!

For Discussion

Smith and Wesson Bodyguard .380
One of the front runners for my next EDC weapon.
I've always been a Glock guy but sometimes you just have to branch out!

Good morning kiddies!  As most of you know that have read the blog for a while, I'm a big proponent of the average person exercising their second amendment rights and not only owning firearms but LAWFULLY carrying a concealed weapon whenever possible. Believe me, it's not because I want us all devolving into some Wild West Part II society. Sadly I'm a realist and an unfortunate pragmatist.  We don't live in a safe world and as any instructor in personal defense of any form, be they anywhere from martial artists to tactical CQB specialists, will tell you the first step in safety is preparation.  

I bring this obvious hot point for contention up because the following business posting was blowing up Facebook this morning:

Depending on your screen resolution you can see that this particular business owner has stated that should an individual feel they need to carry a gun then they would decline their patronage.  Well okay, he doesn't exactly put it that politely.  Now while I may obviously disagree with this person's opinion, I also posit that they have every right to not only feel that way about the issue but to say exactly what they do in their sign. While the douchebag comment might be a bit much and not very professional, I think they're completely within their rights. 

The Facebook comments on this picture were very, very negative.  Some keyboard warriors were even calling for the local law enforcement to require the owner of the business to be "informed" of state law in that regard. Unless South Carolina law (where this particular PUB is located) is very different from most of the country, not only should you not be carrying a weapon while consuming alcohol BUT a business owner can deny carry rights when reasonably posted.

I'm interested in what you think on this issue, gentle reader.  Drop me either an email at thecynicalsarcastic@gmail.com or simply reply to this post with your thoughts.  Let's see if we can't get a little back and forth running.  I'm particularly interested in hearing from those of you who actively carry on a daily basis and those who find the whole concept repellent and can articulate express why without having a Feinstein-level fit of uninformed lunacy.

I'm looking forward to reading your responses.  Now play nice kids! Remember that the only true morons are those that justify their own beliefs with the words "just because."

The Gym Monkey Mindset

Now kids, before anyone gets all up in arms about me using the term "gym monkey" and thinks I'm applying it in a negative connotation, take a deep breath.

It's cool, I'm taking the phrase back ala Randall in Clerks II.  (Sorry if you don't get the joke.  You have some movies to catch up on sir or madam.)

Instead of breaking into old tried and truism laden labels for people who frequent the gym, let's skip a few steps and just distill everything down to two groups: those who want to stay "in shape" and those that are there to "get shit done."  As in move weight.  As in the big sidewalk crackin' motherfuckers, all credit to the will probably be immortal CT Fletcher.

The folks in that later category are the ones that the rest of the crowd refer to as the gym monkeys; everything from the chimpanzees over in one corner hootin' and hollerin' over each other's accomplishments on the bench to the gorillas in the other corner that cause foundation damage when they finish that next set of three Balrog sized deadlifts.  Yes I fall into the later category although perspective-wise I think I'm somewhere between orangutan and actual gorilla.  

The actual purpose of this piece, yes I swear there is one, is to discuss a little bit of the answer to that wonderful question that keeps popping up: "why do you do that to yourself?"  It's also worth noting that usually that miraculous piece of interrogative laced derision occurs the day after leg day when getting up from the toilet requires both divine intervention and an advanced degree in engineering.  

So why do I and the rest of the crowd who have been doing this so much longer than I have tear our bodies down to the point of oblivion so frequently?  It's all about the gym monkey mindset.  You see, those of this ilk have found something in the gym other than the ability to run that extra half a mile on the treadmill before yoga class.  We've found a way to excel in competition against not one but two groups: the masses around us and the person staring back at us in the mirror.

When you're a beginning lifter you're all about the numbers and the numbers are usually the next plate you put on the bar, or as the overweight powerlifters among us like to call it "the next piece of pie."  You're focusing on getting stronger and stronger until you realize you're stronger than most of the "average" folks running around. (Which by the way isn't all that tough since the average man can't bench press 165lbs.) Then one day something changes and that "mentality" sets in.  You realize that this isn't just a sport about competing against the next guy, it's about finding that thing within yourself that pushes you forward when a big part of your brain is pushing you to become one with the gym floor, grab your binky and call it a day.

Why do this to myself? Why at thirty eight years old did I decide to start back down this road and why, at now forty, do I continue to push myself to endure day after day and week after week?  Well, here's a look at this gym monkey's mentality:

1 - Henry Rollins said that he finds the Iron to be the great reference point, the all knowing perspective giver.  It is his greatest friend.  It never freaks out on him; it never runs.  Friends may come and go but two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.  In short, no matter how jacked up life is, there is a consistency in the gym that exists nowhere else.

2 - The ultimate competition when lifting weights, be it as a beginner, powerlifter, or even world champion bodybuilder, is always against the person staring back at you from the mirror.  Yeah you may be competing against someone else on the outside, but the real fight is inside yourself.

3 - The gym is the only place on this rock where the true animal inside me is allowed out to play.  The longer I lift the more I find places to employ the anger I carry inside my psyche.  I'm able to get something good from the urge to destroy that all of us deal with.  The iron gives me a battlefield that the barbarian part of my soul can run rampant across.  I can picture myself lifting a vanquished enemy as I pull its carcass to pieces while everyone sees me finally breaking 500lbs on a deadlift.  You get the point.

4 - There's something to be said for being the guy who has a hard time getting through the door from the shoulders and not the gut.

and 5th, and probably most importantly - I know now that at 40 I'm stronger than I was 22 and will continue on so that at 50 I can say I'm stronger yet than I was at 40.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not dumb enough to try to chase eternal youth.  It's just nice to know that middle age me could whip my 22 year old self's ass!

Alright kids, enough babbling for today.  Hope you enjoy the 'why' and we'll continue on to other things tomorrow!

My Itis Is Acting Up, Where's My Check?

I had the sublime pleasure of standing in line for breakfast yesterday morning behind this creature, we'll call it a woman just so we can move this on along, who was loudly airing her personal business into her cell phone.  The comment that came from her mouth-hole as I stood there behind her with post-early-morning-radio-haze was "my tendinitis in my elbow is so bad that I decided to go on disability, so no girl, I don't work no more."

At that particular point the little alien creature in my head that's driving this here Brian suit (yes the MIB reference is intended) wanted to hit the escape hatch button, walk across the floor on his own two-inch legs, and bite this moron in the ankle out of pure hate before he died of oxygen exposure.

What the bleeding fuck lady?!?!

If tendinitis in the elbow is enough to qualify for disability then my daily aches and pains ought to qualify me to be the god damned president! You do have to be completely ineffective and non-functioning right?

I don't want to run off on some psychotic rant at the moment but folks, I've got to tell you, I am so sick of the disability / public assistance racket in the country that I can't see straight.  Granted I deal with it every day on my job but my dear sweet God am I sick of these perfectly able to work pieces of shit making $60,000+ a year on mine and your nickel because their na-na hurts and they popped out a pile of mouths to feed.

Pant-pant.  Deep breath.  Woosah...

Screw it I'm going to the gym...

Mail Call: Just Tell Me A Damn Story

Hey kids.  Hope everyone is having a great Monday.

I guess this will make the first official Mail Call I've done in a very long time, sad to say.  For those who have just started playing along at home, Mail Call is the title for any post where I attempt to answer emails sent in with questions, comments, concerns and the like.  I can't always promise that the response is always the most kind and gentle, but I do try to cut through the usual "pet-the-public" type of drivel you get from some out there who toy with the written word and just get to the truth of things.  Well, at the least the truth as I see it anyway.

Well today's email was interesting.  The overall theme of the email was asking technical questions about story structure down to the extremely minute details.  There were questions regarding character arc mapping over a standard three act structure, the necessity of multiple conflicts, should tension building begin in Act 1 or 2, the necessity of a protracted denouement, etc.  It essentially read like the Q and A portion of a defense for a thesis on creative writing.  

I replied to the email in two parts.  First I answered the questions as intelligently as I could (after all it has been about twenty years since my last college lit class) and I pointed them to a pile of online resources. Then I referred them back to my blog for the second half of my reply.

And now for the rest of that response:

One of the biggest missteps I think our education system makes at ANY level, be it elementary, secondary, or post secondary, is to try to teach a maddening level of structure and rules on "how to write" before they even turn a student loose to just write.  Fiction writing at its core should be one thing and one thing only: telling a story. So many people get so caught up in the process of a "novel" that they forget that they are simply telling a story from start to finish.  They are relaying a narrative to a reader, not creating some mythical piece of technical mastery.

I think there is only one best place to start with writing a novel:  an idea. 

Pure and simple, nothing more. If the idea sucks, well, you know what they say about houses with bad foundations.

Once you have an idea, develop a basic story around the idea.  Whether or not you begin at the start, middle, or last page is up to your style as a writer.  I personally start with an idea, develop a couple of characters, then literally start telling myself stories along the lines of the idea until they start to take shape.  Then it's off to the legal pad or keyboard we go.  Some authors create massive story maps for each novel.  I'm not a linear thinker but hey, whatever helps them get the job done.

My point in summary is this: story first, structure second, formal structure only if you're really up to the technical challenge.  Don't misunderstand me: a novel needs structure for it to be readable.  If you don't believe me check out the free ebooks section on your Kindle or Nook.  There's a chunk of people out there in self publishing land that have no clue what structure even smells like.  Just don't lose sight of what you're doing for the sake of "oh-God-what-do-I-do-next-for-Act II - subclimax 3 - and-how-will-that-relate-to-my-planned-reveal-in-my-denouement?"  

Dear God that was tiring just writing it...

That's all for now, catch you all tomorrow.

Integration

You know, there's a funny thing about being a busy-ish person.  

Sometimes you just run out of time in the day.  As to what exactly you end up running out of time for, well, that pretty much varies on a daily basis as well.

I just read an highly informative article entitled "Life Integration" that proclaimed the virtues of literally micromanaging every moment of every day via whatever form of electronic calendar / personal assistant.  The chucklehead who penned this opus (if that doesn't tip my hand and give away my opinion too far in advance), and no I'm not even going to bother linking anyone to this fiasco of bad advice, seems to believe that the only way to live an effective life is to have everything so scheduled that not one minute of the day in unaccounted for in any way.  This is also most likely the kind of efficiency expert wannabe douche nozzle that secretly jerks himself off with a circa 2000 DayTimer to an autographed picture of Steven Covey.

I'll save you the Google time.  Steven Covey founded Franklin Covey which publishes day planners and the like.  Now you get the joke. My bad, let's move on.

The problem with being that organized is that there is no room for spontaneity in life.  No time to smell the roses, play with the dog, or even stare off into space.  Hell, I'd be willing to go out on a limb and say that under this dude's idea of life that even taking a big ol' satisfying dump requires a time limit.

Sorry but my big ass just can't live like that.

+po/akf/aop'jpigq

+-+9*-+6

333333333333

Apologies.  Those last few lines are courtesy of my new cat who feels it is her mission in life to draw my attention totally away from my keyboard even if it involves lying across it.  Charming little thing, ain't she.

With all that being said, I'm going back to taping together what's left of my week and trying to get some honest to Jesus work accomplished.

Be good kids...

Neglecting the Critter

 I'd like to take a moment today to speak to my fellow creative people out there.

Why, you might ask?  Simply put, they're the only ones who will get what I'm about to bitch and moan about!

Well actually, to be honest, pretty much everyone with any level of talent in any area will more than likely get my meaning but my compatriots in the creative endeavors will understand the acute nature of the suffering I'm choosing to whine over.

I've been neglecting my critter.

(No that was not a veiled attempt at double entendre or any other form of dirty joke, although I do have to chalk it up to a missed opportunity.)

By critter of course I'm referring to my need to write.  You know, express myself on the page. The blissful regurgitation of verbage / garbage, etcetera and so forth.

I know it came from frustration with my current book.  I've had Hurricane Carolina "completed" for over six months now as long as you judge completed by having a start, middle, and end.  I can't really complain about the first two acts of the book but the third act, well, how can I put this delicately. . . let's just suffice it to say I've seen leavings on the applicator swab for anal fissure medication that looked more compelling than this drivel.  Suddenly I've managed to turn my writing into something that a bucket of molasses, a vat of tree sap, and Nicholas Sparks would sit around a campfire and mock relentlessly.  

After constant retools and rewrites it still hasn't gotten any better.

And so I just stepped away from the keyboard a bit.

And began getting grumpy.

Needless to say every single creative person can empathize with that feeling that comes from neglecting your gift/passion/curse/etc.  Everything just sort of sucks and you can't quite figure out why.

So, with that being said, I recognize that I've got to step away from this book for a while.  I always have three or four ideas for projects percolating and I think it's high time I decided to explore one of those for a bit.  Maybe after a little time away BUT STILL OPERATING A KEYBOARD IN A CREATIVE CAPACITY I can actually get that little bastard of a narrative put to bed.

And with that I'm digitally drop kicking HC into the old Google drive and temporarily moving on with life.  Stay tuned and we'll see what I manage to get into next.  Believe me, it will probably surprise all of us. 

Getting Back To Business

As promised (yes please hold the applause), today is March 1, 2014 and The Cynical Sarcastic is back up, slightly made over, and ready to rock 'n roll once again.

To quote the immortal Billy Bob, "I'm back, pukin' rowdy!"

Well okay not pukin' rowdy but slam a few beers down me and I'm still liable to ask Ms. Davis to go to prom with me...

Just sayin'...

Okay, silly gif jokes aside it's definitely good to be back doing what at least a few of you twisted and demented souls out there seem to think I do best which is ranting and raving away from the comfort of my own keyboard.  Hey, I missed all four of you psychotic little bastards, I really did. The great thing about having taken nearly a few months totally away and, for that matter, nearly away from anything resembling on a regular basis, posting is that I've been able to take a good look at my game such that it is and decide on a few new directions for the blog and the writing career in general.

The other great thing is that for a brief moment I think my fingers nearly forgot how to type the word fuck in quick succession, but that's probably more a win for whatever religious leader is willing to tolerate me for the moment. 

It's also come to my attention that we're (yes I'm including the five or six of you still listening) going to be joined now by some new victims I mean readers.  I can't promise you that you won't inadvertently read something here that you'll find splattered on the walls of your mind palace at some inopportune time in the near future (yes that was a Sherlock joke, deal with it and move on), but I promise after enough time here you'll even stop noticing the spasms.

Formatting is going to be pretty similar except there is a lot more content heading everyone's way on a regular basis.  The goal is for regular posts to come out by noon Monday thru Friday and whatever other brain droppings that choose to burst forth from my mental man-womb will just show up whenever God and technology smile and allow it.

So on that note, it's on with show once again...

Oh, yeah and Ms. Davis... prom is for amateurs... and porn is for Duke students.    

Happy scribblin' y'all!

Neither Gone Nor Forgotten...

Hey kids.

Just a quick little note to let you all know that The Cynical Sarcastic is currently undergoing some rather drastic redesign / rehashing / rebirthing / insert your own term here.  

It's been almost two months since the last post and I didn't want anyone to feel I'd forgotten about them!  

Talk to you all on March 1st!

The C.S.

Priorities

Hello all and welcome to 2014 on the Cynical Sarcastic! 

And no, contrary to a couple of emailed opinions, I have not completely quit the blogging and writing game to go play powerlifter.  

Really, I swear!

Seriously however, in the spirit of the "new year" I think it's important to talk about something that's been on my mind a lot lately: namely examining my true priorities in life and getting this ship back on track, so to speak.

It's not that I've wandered away from writing in general, mind you, or that I got sick of the whole blogging game or even just grew tired of answering emails.  The fact is that I did get overly bogged down in trying to keep too many projects alive at one time.  The sad and simple fact of it all, I've come to understand, is that I actually am human after all!  Seriously, I went to a doctor... I have proof!  

After a fairly lengthy period of evaluating and re-evaluating and scrutinizing and over-thinking the whole damn thing, I've come to a couple of conclusions that I thought I'd share with those of you still dedicated and/or bored enough to still be reading what I have to say after all this time.

First and foremost: being exceptional requires sacrifice.  Anyone can phone in their existence.  There is an entire herd of humanity out there that is doing nothing more than hitting their 9 to 5 at precisely 9:01 and leaving at 4:55 and living in a slowly decaying swill of TV and fast food.  It's easy and it's pretty much expected out of all of us.  Being exceptional, however requires sacrifice. You have to be willing to give up some of that mundanity (pretty sure that's a word - if not I call it) to become great.  My problem lately is I've had so little free time to myself to actually pursue the things I want to do that I've let them get completely out of focus.

Secondly: work must stay in perspective.  You work to fund your life.  That's it and that's all.  Anything else is out of focus.

Third, and one that I have particular trouble with it would appear: your passions must get equal time on the average.  I moved away from writing to focus more energy on training in the gym and the result was a lot of gains from the iron and a stagnant book that's fighting me tooth and nail as I try to finish it.

Fourth, and last I promise: the true definition of who you are will either be decided by you or by what you let everyone else decide for you.  I want to be a husband, writer, and powerlifter and be more than moderately successful at all three.  God help me when we get to add father to that list too, huh?  I notice more and more how people seem to be discussing what's keeping them from doing something instead of what they've accomplished.  I want very much to be the latter instead of the former.

So with all that being said, here's a couple of changes I'm going to be making.  Effective today I'm shuttering my secondary blog "The Big Fellas Guide" and moving it over as part of the CS. Yes, that means that you'll have all my powerlifting brew-ha-ha scattered in and amongst the rest of the ranting and raving.  Sorry but I've only got enough time to keep one house in order at the moment.  As time goes on and things in that arena progress I may move it back to its own site but for now everything will be under one roof.  You're also going to see a wider range of topics on the CS, more focusing on writing but also more on general day to day life.  What you'll probably notice a bit of a reduction on are the flaming rants that were a fairly regular part of the blog.  Call it maturity or just lack of sleep but lately things just don't piss me off as easily as they used to.  Guess turning 40 has a few upsides after all.

Well, thanks again all for sticking with me and here's to a great 2014!

So 40 Happened...

Well here's one for the record books kiddies: last Sunday I turned a bright and sunshiny 40 years old!  Yeah I know, in the overall scope of the steaming sack of grandeur we all lovingly refer to as the universe my little wannabe-Bigfoot ass managing to survive for four decades isn't really that big of a whoop, but hey, it's my blog and I'll wax introspective if I want to.

But I don't want to, trust me.  Sorry if I scared anyone there.

They say that turning 40 is supposed to be some kind of milestone, as if you've officially reached the age where you're old enough to know better or some such shit.  Folks, I'm as sorry as I can be to have to tell you this but you're favorite emotional twelve-year old here didn't magically awake to some form of transcendental maturity.  Actually, if memory serves, all I did actually awake to that morning was a gentle reminder that it's not yet time for Viagra and a need to take the dogs outside so they'd let me get a few more minutes of sleep.  Yes I know, too much information by a long shot, but dammit I'm given to understand that at 40 these things are to be celebrated.  Kind of like buying the inevitable Ferrari or just barely of age girlfriend.  Classy I know, but hey, since when have we devolved into bullshitting each other here?

Okay, other than that time...

Fact is, I remember throwing my father an "Over the Hill" party when he turned 40.  I don't feel over the hill, and come to think about it I'm beginning to seriously doubt he did at the time either.  I'm still accomplishing things in my life: I made the commitment to and then competed in my first powerlifting meet this year, I managed to figure out where I apparently belong in this world, and as-God-as-my-witness my third book will be out one of these freakin' days!  

I will say this, however.  Turning 40 did give me a moment of pause to reflect.  Not over my life mind you; years one thru twenty-nine don't really hold much of merit at this point in the game.  Nope, I actually had to take a moment and take account of my thirties. I realized that I started my last decade at the end of a shit-ridden marriage and a job that was killing me probably faster than I want to even think about.  I'm still not sure exactly how I pulled it off but over the course of the last decade I managed to find the career I'm actually good at, the exact perfect woman to marry (Lord if I didn't hold some auditions though), and the place in this world that I not only call home but where I actually am home.  

I'm reminded a little bit of the Tim McGraw song "My Next Forty Years" while I sit here and type this.  The song is basically a list of the things he hopes to do better in the second half of his life. For those of you that know me well personally this will probably make more sense than it may to those who know me through the blog or through my books but for the "next forty" I'd like to steal a page out of the movie "Legends of the Fall" and finally come into the quiet part of my life. I've had the first 40 to make, try to fix, and hopefully learn from my many mistakes.  Now is the time I can hopefully move forward and finally build the life I've always wanted.

Although I have to admit that I am looking forward to pulling the mirror stunt from "This is 40" on my wife.  Just for g.p.  After all, sometimes it's still fun just to hear her yell "ewwwww!"

(And by the way, just so it's out there, NO THE BEARD IS NOT A MIDLIFE CRISIS.  I'm just furry by nature and finally gave up fighting it.  That and to be honest is was the cheapest way to offset the age related ugly!)

Have a great one folks and talk to you soon!

Children Are Not Currency

Pardon me for just a self-indulgent moment boys and girls.  I need to say something publicly to get it off my chest because I can't say it to the person or persons that need to hear it the most in person.  I just don't trust myself to not start throwing punches.  I also honestly have to say that if I started I really don't know if I could trust myself to stop so it's just best to say what I have to say here where hopefully that person or persons can read it, hang their head in shame, and hopefully find some way to creatively end their sorry ass excuse for a human self.

I'm going to say this very carefully and succinctly.  I'm even going to use small words.  It won't be hard to understand.

CHILDREN ARE NEITHER CURRENCY NOR A COMMODITY.

Period.

If you are a parent your job is to raise that child and give them the best life possible.  Being a parent does not mean that you now have a tool to use against others to get what you want / cause them emotional harm at your whim.  It also does not mean that your child is your guarantee of income from the federal government.  That meal ticket is the kid's, not yours.

If you use a child to inflict emotional harm on others...

If you use a child as a tool for financial gain...

If your child means little more to you than a monthly check...

If you think you can do as you will with a child, good or evil, and the world can just deal with it...

I urge you to remember one thing:

Not only is the rest of the world watching and remembering BUT SO IS THAT CHILD!

The worst sentence I've ever heard uttered from a child is "Mommy's mad at me because my Daddy's check isn't on time."  It ranks right up there with "Daddy won't let me see Grandmommy and Granddaddy because they won't pay our cable bill anymore."

There are some people in this world that I can't decide whether the best cure for them is an axe or a sledgehammer.

With that said I'm going to go throw something heavy across the room now.

Dear Lord Watch Over My Bank Account

First and foremost, I know deep in my heart that I am about to piss off a lot of devoutly religious people with this post.  I understand that up front.  

I’d apologize but, well, that’s just not how I do things. 

I have a simple and honest question that I wish someone could answer for me without 

simultaneously calling me an unbeliever, heathen, or suddenly feeling the need to baptize me or pray for my immortal soul.  Why is it that a segment of our population seems so hell bent on mixing God up with their money?

As many of you know, I work in the rent-to-own industry and have for a decade now.  It never ceases to amaze me how many of our customers seek to solve their financial problems through “the power of prayer” instead of actually doing something about their situation.  Not a week goes by that I don’t have at least five discussions with customers where the answer to their financial situation is that they will have to pray about it and see what God will provide.

Now, don’t misunderstand me.  If your faith is such that you take your problems to the Almighty in prayer than I admire your dedication.  What I have a problem with is that so many people seem to think that simply praying over the problem will solve it.  I can’t tell you the number of times that I’ve had to repossess merchandise from a customer who couldn’t pay their bill because the “divine handout” didn’t get there in time. 

I’ve been in desperate financial straits many times in my life and yes, some have resulted in prayers for guidance but I can’t for the life of me understand why someone would pray for the holy money truck to dump on their front lawn!  My faith has always landed more to the “God helps those who help themselves” line of thinking I guess. 

Where I fail to reach any form of understanding is when an adult who lives in the real world (sorry to burst any Matrix bubbles that may be hanging around but Neo was actually fiction) feels that prayer will magically solve the problem.  Where I get frustrated is when the solution to the problem is in fact as simple as a phone call to explain a period of hardship and make some arrangements to handle the problem.  Where I get enraged is when someone tells me they’re going to sick God on me and pray for my ruination because their decisions led to a negative outcome for them.  I hate to tell some people but if I show up on your front door to repossess your television, it’s probably not because God didn’t send mana from heaven to cover your bills.  It’s most likely because you decided to spend your bill money on weed and beer last weekend and want to use your break-glass-in-case-of-uhoh faith as an excuse or worse a shield to gloss over your failings.  

Look I’ve made some seriously bad mistakes in my life when it comes to the almighty dollar but I can promise you right fucking now that God, Jesus, Buddha, Allah, Jevohah, Yaweh, Odin, Thor, Loki, The World Turtle, nor good ol’ L.Ron had a damn thing to do with them.  They were my mistakes and I had to solve them on my own. 

It seems that I have the same conversation year after year in my line of work.  I can never quite get over the lack of responsibility for personal actions that seems to permeate so much of our society now.  Granted I see a lot more of the 40 year old adolescent mentality given what I do for a living but still, at some point someone has to say there is a line here folks! 

Does God belong in a family’s finances? Hey that’s totally your call and up to your beliefs.  The only problem I have is when your beliefs, as with so many other things, get in the way of common sense and you stop acting in your own best interest and start relying on a religious crutch instead of just simply doing something to solve your own problems yourself.

See you next time kiddies!

And I'm Back...

Hey kids.  For those of you that have been keeping track or playing along with the home version of the game, you have no doubt noticed that it’s been over a month now since I posted anything to the blog.  To be quite honest, I didn’t intend for it to have been this long in between posts but to tell the honest truth, it’s probably been better that I’ve kept my mouth shut over the last six weeks anyway.

The simple fact of the matter is that on top of always trying to be honest and upfront with my opinions on this blog, I’ve always intended for this thing to be a fairly open space.  I’ve even patted myself on the back a few times (publically) for inviting other schools of thought to voice their opinions and op-eds to what I had to say.  Well, to be blunt, the political events of the past few months including the government shut down and the Obamacare debate and debacle have really weighed heavily upon my thoughts.

Okay, that’s putting it lightly.  I’ve been so wound up about it I’ve found myself ranting to the bathroom mirror while I had a mouth full of toothpaste.  Yeah, let’s just say the whole situation crawled up my ass a bit.

I was ready to set the keyboard phasers to kill and tear a whole lot of people and their ideologies a new asshole when a friend of mine made a comment to me during a Facebook conversation regarding the whole shutdown issue that really made me think.  He remarked that I’m so conservative that even when I’m trying to be open minded I’m being conservative.  In the space of twenty minutes red alert had been cancelled, the weapons systems had powered down, and if you’ll pardon the extended Trek metaphor Captain Kirk had wandered off in search of green tail to chase.

It occurred to me that while I have a really strong opinion on this subject, I was also possibly going off a bit half-cocked and partially misdirected on the whole issue.  So I did something that has been very uncharacteristic of me to say the very least.

I shut the fuck up for a bit.

(I know, right?)

Look, the Affordable Care Act is gonna be a mess in one form or another for quite a while, whether it’s in its implementation or execution or whatever.  I personally think a lot of people are going to be in for a surprise down the line but hey, I could be wrong.  What I am going to do is get my head right about the whole situation.  I have two choices, deal with it and move on or rant and rave until I have to deal with it and move on.  It seems to me that at this point my lazier nature needs to win out and we’ll just call it dealt with.

So am I back to ranting raving cussin and fussin?  Yep.  Am I suddenly embarking on a nice swing to be all up with people and shit?  Oh puhlease.  But, when it comes to the politics of the last few months that made me so upset that it ran me away from my keyboard I’m just going to somewhat gracefully let it pass me by. 

So let’s get back to the business at hand, shall we?

Welcome back to the Cynical Sarcastic boys and girls!

Let's Talk About Sex

Okay, that was a dirty trick.

Sue me.

Kids, today I'm going to dazzle you with a little mental gymnastics and give you my well thought out and actual rant-free opinion on our country's involvement /place in the whole Syria crisis. Your dirty little monkey ass now should feel obligated to read it word for word because you clicked on the blog title wondering what the hell kind of perverted, right of center, oh dear God can you actually do that with a hogfish kinda of deviant crap I was gonna talk about after reading the word sex in today's title.

Dirty, dirty little monkey.

My opinion is simple.  We should not in any way shape or form, as individuals or collectively as a nation, endorse military action that is simply a save-face maneuver for our clueless commander in chief.  Our military personnel should in no way have to risk their lives because our president waffled a threat over the front door of a despot and then didn't have the stones OR A LEGITIMATE REASON to back it up.  This is nothing more than yet another distraction to keep our attention away from Obamacare in all its illustrious glory and a dozen other instances of political malfeasance conducted by our leadership.  Yes what's happened in Syria is horrible but guess what folks, it didn't just start, now did it? Hopefully someone in Congress will actually listen to their constituency and this will all silently fall by the ditch somewhere before we end up facing more significant tragedies than the one whose anniversary rolls around this Wednesday.  

And that's my thoughts on Syria.

You know I'm starting to feel bad about the whole sex ruse.  I feel I owe something.

Boobies.  

There now I feel better.  

Rest In Peace Elmore Leonard

Elmore Leonard, one of my favorite authors, passed away Tuesday at the age of 87.  If you're not familiar with his work I would hazard the guess that you've either seen or read something of his and just not realized it was his to start with.  Instead of some long winded diatribe about how much his work meant to me as a writer in the decade since I was first exposed to it, I'd instead like to share his 10 Rules for Great Writing.  The following is copied from a Detroit Free Press article in which Mr. Leonard discusses his 10 Rules.  Even if you're not a writer, I think it's still worth a quick read.  RIP Sir.

1. Never open a book with weather.

If it's only to create atmosphere, and not a character's reaction to the weather, you don't want to go on too long. The reader is apt to leaf ahead looking for people. There are exceptions. If you happen to be Barry Lopez, who has more ways to describe ice and snow than an Eskimo, you can do all the weather reporting you want.

2. Avoid prologues.

They can be annoying, especially a prologue following an introduction that comes after a foreword. But these are ordinarily found in nonfiction. A prologue in a novel is backstory, and you can drop it in anywhere you want. There is a prologue in John Steinbeck's "Sweet Thursday," but it's O.K. because a character in the book makes the point of what my rules are all about. He says: "I like a lot of talk in a book and I don't like to have nobody tell me what the guy that's talking looks like. I want to figure out what he looks like from the way he talks. . . . figure out what the guy's thinking from what he says. I like some description but not too much of that. . . . Sometimes I want a book to break loose with a bunch of hooptedoodle. . . . Spin up some pretty words maybe or sing a little song with language. That's nice. But I wish it was set aside so I don't have to read it. I don't want hooptedoodle to get mixed up with the story."

3. Never use a verb other than "said" to carry dialogue.

The line of dialogue belongs to the character; the verb is the writer sticking his nose in. But said is far less intrusive than grumbled, gasped, cautioned, lied. I once noticed Mary McCarthy ending a line of dialogue with "she asseverated," and had to stop reading to get the dictionary.

4. Never use an adverb to modify the verb "said" . . .

. . . he admonished gravely. To use an adverb this way (or almost any way) is a mortal sin. The writer is now exposing himself in earnest, using a word that distracts and can interrupt the rhythm of the exchange. I have a character in one of my books tell how she used to write historical romances "full of rape and adverbs."

5. Keep your exclamation points under control.

You are allowed no more than two or three per 100,000 words of prose. If you have the knack of playing with exclaimers the way Tom Wolfe does, you can throw them in by the handful.

6. Never use the words "suddenly" or "all hell broke loose."

This rule doesn't require an explanation. I have noticed that writers who use "suddenly" tend to exercise less control in the application of exclamation points.

7. Use regional dialect, patois, sparingly.

Once you start spelling words in dialogue phonetically and loading the page with apostrophes, you won't be able to stop. Notice the way Annie Proulx captures the flavor of Wyoming voices in her book of short stories "Close Range."

8. Avoid detailed descriptions of characters.

Which Steinbeck covered. In Ernest Hemingway's "Hills Like White Elephants" what do the "American and the girl with him" look like? "She had taken off her hat and put it on the table." That's the only reference to a physical description in the story, and yet we see the couple and know them by their tones of voice, with not one adverb in sight.

9. Don't go into great detail describing places and things.

Unless you're Margaret Atwood and can paint scenes with language or write landscapes in the style of Jim Harrison. But even if you're good at it, you don't want descriptions that bring the action, the flow of the story, to a standstill.

And finally:

10. Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip.

A rule that came to mind in 1983. Think of what you skip reading a novel: thick paragraphs of prose you can see have too many words in them. What the writer is doing, he's writing, perpetrating hooptedoodle, perhaps taking another shot at the weather, or has gone into the character's head, and the reader either knows what the guy's thinking or doesn't care. I'll bet you don't skip dialogue.

My most important rule is one that sums up the 10.

If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it.

Or, if proper usage gets in the way, it may have to go. I can't allow what we learned in English composition to disrupt the sound and rhythm of the narrative. It's my attempt to remain invisible, not distract the reader from the story with obvious writing. (Joseph Conrad said something about words getting in the way of what you want to say.)

If I write in scenes and always from the point of view of a particular character -- the one whose view best brings the scene to life -- I'm able to concentrate on the voices of the characters telling you who they are and how they feel about what they see and what's going on, and I'm nowhere in sight.

What Steinbeck did in "Sweet Thursday" was title his chapters as an indication, though obscure, of what they cover. "Whom the Gods Love They Drive Nuts" is one, "Lousy Wednesday" another. The third chapter is titled "Hooptedoodle 1" and the 38th chapter "Hooptedoodle 2" as warnings to the reader, as if Steinbeck is saying: "Here's where you'll see me taking flights of fancy with my writing, and it won't get in the way of the story. Skip them if you want."

To All The Skinnies Out There

I'd like to dedicate this little piece of rabid, vehement diatribe to all of you overly skinny people out there in the world who seem to feel a sense of entitlement regarding your body condition.

For the rest of you, let's put it this way.  Back a decade ago when I worked for T-Mobile a close friend and I used to make good use of the play dough they'd put out on the desks to keep our hands busy during meetings by creating a stupid button that we'd take turns slapping when the speaker was being a dipshit.  Immature and disruptive? Highly, but hey that's how we rolled. So in that vein I would encourage you all to steal some play dough from the kids, form a big ol' pseudo-Staples-easy-button, and gouge the letters NSFW in the top of it.

Now slap the shit outta that bastard cause this post is DEFINITIVELY not suitable for mature adult consumption, let alone work!

Go ahead, I'll wait...

Don't mind me.

Dammit isn't anyone gonna play along?

Fine, your funeral.

First of all I'd like to forward a great big shiny heaping helping of GO FUCK YOURSELF to all the entitled skinny people out there who feel you are better than someone else due to your body fat percentage.  Go anally dry fuck yourself with the stick of your choice, pull it out lovingly, and continue doing strip-aerobics on it until you no longer notice the smell you flaming douche nozzles.

Look, I get the idea of taking care of yourself and I'm all for it.  Hell, I'm in the gym three hours a day three days a week pursuing my goals as a powerlifter.  I'm stronger now than I've ever been in my life.  If you're doing what you do to take care of your body and reach your goals for personal well-being and what not, by all means go forward with my blessings boo-boo.

However, if you find some sense of "better-than-thou" over the fact you've only eating yogurt today to maintain your waistline, you're a shit head.  Unless you're Jeffrey Donovan (Michael Weston off of Burn Notice), in which case you're a badass and you're excused sir.  I am sick to ass raping hell of these obnoxious ass skinny shits who feel that they are somehow more worthy to suck down God's good oxygen because they fit into skinny jeans.  First of all cock nugget, I've got news for you: the only guys that can fit skinny jeans are anorexic little fucks with no substantial dick to speak of so please sit the fuck down and hire a wardrobe consultant. Bitch.

You may be wondering why I'm a little tender over this subject.  After all I could really give a pile of duck shit what others think of me in the real world.  I'm riled up over this because I've officially had my fill of looks and off hand comments.  To give you an example, I went into the convenient store near my job during lunch today to pick up some Monster Muscle....

STOP... QUICK FREE ADVERTISING PAUSE FOR THE LIQUID AWESOMENESS IN A CAN THAT IS MONSTER MUSCLE CHOCOLATE.  IF YOU CONSUME PROTEIN FOR ANYTHING OTHER THAN SEXUAL ACTIVITIES THAT USUALLY ONLY HAPPEN ON SOMEONE'S BIRTHDAY, YOU OWE IT TO YOURSELF TO TRY THIS STUFF AS SOON AS YOU FINISH READING THIS COLUMN!

SORRY I DRINK SO MUCH OF THIS STUFF I FIGURED I MIGHT AS WELL PIMP FOR IT.

Moving on... so I went into the convenient store to purchase said heaven in a can and stood in line behind some mid-twenties little princess who mentioned to her boyfriend that if he didn't stop eating all the junk food he was going to get fat like the guy behind them.  Meaning me.  Little dude, all five-five buck thirty of him, turns to face me and I give him my best "I'm going to crush you, drag your girl out of here by her hair and flip your smug little Smart 4-2 over on her head" look.  He made her put her bottle of water on the floor and leave post haste.  I felt justice had been served.

Hey, people are shitheads.  I know this.  I'm just as much one on a random basis as everyone else is.  But what just kills me is that while I may still weigh three bills and have some tummy, the little twat monkey had no right to just out and out assume I'm some Twinkie chowing pig who walks around with my own personal gravy boat while she stands there conveniently and completely engulfed in my shadow.  It's been a long time since I've wished a really sloppy, gooey yeast infection on anyone but I swear I hope that little turd wakes up one fine morning soon with her panties full of biscuit dough! And people wonder why I hate smurfs...

The fact is that people who choose to carry some extra are not uncommon in the gym.  The majority are powerlifters.  Not of all us have come to embrace the fact that you can be strong as shit and lean at the same time (yes Ben, we know it can be done we just don't have your will power).  I really wonder sometimes if some of these starved cardio-wonders have ever taken the time to realize that all that running and calorie-control-taken-to-extremes is actually damaging their bodies far worse than anything I'm doing picking up twice my body weight and smiling at their silly asses?

So am I really just sad to be a little chubby and had my tenders hurt by some mean little thing only to run home and profanely spew all over my blog?  Well maybe but that's sort of my thing.  Actually I'm pretty comfortable with what I'm hauling around until it comes to those god forsaken pieces of diabolical machination called pullups, then I'm a fat shit who needs to put down the donuts! In all seriousness though, it's not the comments that piss me off, it's the sense that some of these ass-clowns run around with that they're skinny and are therefore automatically better than all others.

And here's an object lesson to all those pretty little bastards out there who are so proud of their abs.  Abs aren't sexy brother. They may help get you to the bedroom once, but having the strength to pick your woman up and carry in there yourself will get you invited back!

Now if you'll pardon me I need to go ingest a protein shake, some bacon, and a couple of Tastee Cakes with Hershey's syrup before bed.  Oh yeah and skinny bitch, while you're home trying to cure that baking bread smell coming from your fuck hole you're dealing with (if my wish came true), I'll be sleeping happily next to my wife who loves me just the oversized furry beastly sasquatch/grizzly bear/silverback gorrilla hybrid way I am. So tell your vibrator goodnight for me you deeply unhappy and clueless piece of fake blonde arm candy.  Hopefully you'll still feel pretty next week after he's used you for Spider Man target practice and is therefore now done with your simple ass and dumps you for your sister. Or your dad, take your pick.