Get up!

Mike Adams, quite possibly his best column ever:

This summer, I met a fellow named Darrin by a poolside in Wilmington, North Carolina. Darrin had long hair and lots of tattoos so, before I introduced myself, I already knew he’d be a good conversationalist. I wanted to ask him whether it was possible to get sunburned through his tattoos or whether he needed to put suntan lotion on top of them. But it was getting late so we decided to talk about God, Satan, and salvation.

Darrin told me he had gotten saved when he was 13 years old. But things didn’t work out for him after his salvation. He went astray and eventually joined a satanic cult and started getting lots of satanic jewelry to go along with the tattoos. His commitment to Satan lasted far longer than his commitment to Jesus – 24 years to be exact.

Read the rest of it here.

A Cat-less Bag

I really do have some splainin' to do.

To begin with, if I'm ever doing poetry, something's up! I don't do that. Sure, I'll try to rhyme a little every now and then, but if it's not in some way smarmy, jokey, or jack-donkey-ish, something has gone way wrong. I just don't think that deep. I really don't think that deep about school. I'm a geek, not a nerd.

Therefore, one would have to assume I had just been smacked in the head with an estrogen laden two-by-six for publishing this piece of poetic dredge back in August:

Walking softly
never slowly;
part of me leaving
never this quickly.

Perhaps I will stop,
present a smile;
woefully I go
to again find my way.

Now in these hours
tall days, short nights;
finding my way
til time is done.

Now that makes about as much sense as... well, I don't even have an analogy, it's just that ridiculous. Which was the general idea...

You see, I had a huge secret - a white elephant, if you will. I wanted to shout to the world at the top of my lungs. What secret, you say? Well, for those that couldn't figure it out, here's a hint - it's right up there, just above these very lines. Hidden quite plainly, but cryptically. All you need is the cipher - first letter, first line; second letter, second line, and so on; a period resets the sequence. The answer is here, in invisiotext (highlight to see): we're pregnant!

Shall we play a game?

My wife and I have misplaced our white elephant. One person has found him - good for you, but don't spoil it for the others. Here are the rules and hints:

• No comments!!! We don't want to ruin it for others that might be playing. Email me your specific finding and I'll let you know if you're right or not.
• For those of you that are local and know my wife, there is to be no asking her. The penalty for doing so will be a 124 gr. JHP replacing a toe of your choosing.
  
• Our elephant is large. It is also (almost) invisible.
• Our large, nearly invisible elephant has only been missing for several months.
  
• He is on this blog; however, that does not mean the only clues to his location are on this blog.
• Words mean nothing, but their constitution means everything.

The game will end sometime between now and then, where "then" is equal to a product of the sum of the amount of time I have to put up the post. In other words, all I can guarantee is 24 hours.

My moat

Soooo...

I come home yesterday and notice my wife has finally granted my year's long dream. I thought "Finally! The ultimate in home security is mine! I will perch myself atop my ivory tower and laugh at all the infidels that circle the cul-de-sac below me! Knowing they can and will not penetrate my fortress!"

What is this you ask? A new gun? A minefield? An ADT sign in my front yard? Nooo....

Ladies and gentlemen - I have a moat.

Here, you will see the primary water source - the Great Geyser of Costliness, wisely embedded under the Drive Way so as not to arouse suspicion:


My moat.


Up close view to discourage unwanted visitors - this is about half an inch 10 feet of water. It has ants. With laser beams. Swimming ants.


Strangely, this man who called himself Amigo from the land of Day Labor, showed up and began digging...


... wherever Sir Crack of the Plumbers Guild of Rooters told him to dig. His other henchmen, Bob, appeared with this deviled machinery. Apparently a siege was forthcoming!


The siege ended without bloodshed, though my kingdom has been branded for all to see:


Alas, the enemy has sapped away my moat. In representation of the day's glorious battle, the Royal Heineyness's begonias sprung back to life. Freaking 10 gallons an hour for about two weeks will do that. Also note the large pile of triceratops poo: