Barbarians At The Door
The church bell chimed ’til it rang twenty-nine times
for each second it took for her herald.
The leaflet she left I did throw on the ground
not a green way to grub for my money.
I believe that God has a plan for all of us.
I believe that plan involves me getting my own planet.
And I believe; that the current President of The Church, Thomas Monson, speaks directly to God.
I am A Mormon,
And, dang it! a Mormon just believes!
Q. Oh, where can I go to learn about God, religion, being humble and serving the poor? (Remember: When claiming he out-gave Barack Obama, Mitt Romney referred to giving money to his church as “charitable donations.”)
A. Take this road two miles, hang a left at the oak tree, and look for the most opulent building in town. You can’t miss it. It’s the one that makes the Tower of Babel seem like child’s play. We call it a Temple. Don’t ask us how it was funded, though. Our financial records are more private than your phone calls.
This weekend, Thomas Monson, the 16th President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, had a message for his faithful flock of 15 million worldwide via the LDS General Conference in Salt Lake City, Utah. We’ve built 142 temples, he proudly said, the most recent one in Gilbert, Arizona, and there will be a modest 172 of them by the time all current construction projects are completed.
Another Mormon leader had a slightly different message for the record number of nearly 85,000 Mormon missionaries crawling around the surface of this planet. Jeffrey Holland, an official member of a select group known as the Quorum Of Twelve, called on missionaries to “defend” their faith.
Holland pointed out that missionaries should stay strong and defend their faith despite the inevitable personal abuse they will encounter. (Source: FOX News.)
Since I couldn’t make the conference this year, I guess you could call this an open letter of sorts containing an opposing point of view from the Abyss. Maybe my invitation got lost in the mail?
Tom’s Law #42
You never have to defend your religion to me if you don’t stick it in my face in the first place. In other words, please don’t put me on the receiving end of your missionary position.
Source: Tom’s Infinite Book of Infinite Laws
Breaking News: Weather affects cars
I remain committed to producing the best quality graphs based on made-up data to support my inane points regarding the issues I really care to rant about.
What does this mean to you? Not much. Hey, just like the local evening news! I think I’m onto something here.
Our top story tonight. Ominous fluffy clouds, pregnant with expectation (and moisture), have birthed innumerable litters of chubby drops that the WeatherTrac9000 computer calls “rain.” These drops are currently on a collision course with the place most of us live. The WeathTrac9000 calls that place the “ground.” We are currently projecting that these drops of mostly water will make the ground “wet.”
We start our exclusive News42 team coverage with Alex on remote location standing by a street. Alex?
…three seconds of awkward silence from Alex as he stares into the camera with a fake grin plastered on his face not realizing yet that he’s already on…
That’s right, Cassandra. Weather is coming to a street near you and it is pissed off. I’ll step aside to see if we can get a shot of this. You can clearly see drops of water hitting this street. And that is creating a dangerous situation that leaves some drivers out in the cold.
Earlier today this was the scene, with street surfaces wet. In one case, we found a car pulled over on the side of the road with its blinkers on. That driver was forced to sit and wait and hope that conditions would improve.
Even worse conditions may already be on the way. For that we go to Marko in the WeatherTrac9000 Weather Center. Marko?
That’s right, Alex. We are currently projecting alternating periods of light and dark at approx. 12 hour intervals until further notice. This means some rain may be less visible at certain times. Viewers are advised to remain on this channel for the latest updates as they become available.
For the intelligence-impaired here’s tonight’s Weather-Pick-Toe-Graph. This patented WeatherTrac9000 system helps those suffering from small brain syndrome to help prepare for the weather. Tonight’s picture: The Gorton’s Fishman in bright yellow slickers including full-frontal hoodie. We’re showing him holding a ship’s steering wheel but you don’t actually have to have one of your own.
For the rest of you I will now show lots of slides and animations and maps and use a lot meteorological words for eight full minutes of our 16-minute broadcast (not counting commercials).
Highway To Wazzit?
Highway To Heaven starred Michael Landon as an angel on probation, sent to Earth and given assignments by The Boss to help troubled souls.
Shouts From The Abyss stars yours truly as a self-proclaimed guru of negativity, given (purloined) a blog which serves as a metaphorical highway where daily poop bullshit is dispensed to The Reader.
The parallels are uncanny.
Hell, I’m just like Johnny Appleseed only slightly different. And, like Mr. Appleseed, I’ve got places to go and things to do. For that I will, occasionally, use a highway.
Highway to Hell was a rockin’ little ditty by AC/DC.
One thing is for sure: That’s a lot of highways! And the other day I was on one of them.
Verily I say unto you, the highways shall be covered with billboards and they shall be legion but do not be tempted by the advertising messages contained therein lest thou’st risk thy immortal soul for they are abomination.
—The Book of Guru, Transportation Chapter
It’s not the destination, it’s the journey. A serendipitous journey dappled with billboards containing messages like “Eat at Joe’s” and “Billboard Space Available.” Hell, who wouldn’t appreciate a journey like that? God forbid that even during the act of driving we might temporarily forget that the world is 24/7 after our wallets.
Continue reading →
Drive Thru Your Face #mcdonalds
It seems self-evident to say this, but you don’t go to McDonald’s for the service. Nor do you go there for great-tasting food. #obvious
Wait a minute. Why the fuck do you go there?
Oh yeah. Now I remember. Because you’re in a hurry and you need to cram something barely edible in your fucking eat hole because you think you’re hungry. (Even though that’s a sensation you’ve never really experienced.) Yeah, it all comes back to me now.
Continue reading →
The grocery store checkout round up
The other day I received this little nugget in my Inbox:
You may however, make me popcorn later if you’re good to me.
–Email from the Mrs.
It’s nice to have something to look forward to. I was going to be allowed to make popcorn if I behaved well enough. Oh boy!
Someone was hankerin’ for popcorn. On Friday night it didn’t quite work out, but Saturday it finally did. Here’s how it happened.
Saturday morning we woke up and headed out to the country to hit the fresh produce stands. The first stand didn’t have any tomatoes, but the second one did. They were also unloading corn from a truck which had just been filled in the field next door. Four ears of the freshest possible corn for only a buck. Yes!
Continue reading →
Bonus Post: Drivin’ It Home!
This post is brought to you by your friends at the emotion “anger” – a proud sponsor of the American dream.
In the beginning I made this blog. It took six beers. On the seventh beer I rested. Ooops. Did I go too far?
It’s time for a mid-post reboot. Eat that, J.J. Abrams.
In the beginning of this blog, I worried a bit that it would be all about the wacky wide world of driving. Somehow, someway, I found the intestinal fortitude to branch into other areas and a guru was born. Yeah!
Even though, sometimes I have to return to my roots. This is one such time.
Tonight on the way home I began to notice that something was amiss. An urban assault vehicle in the lane next to me seemed to be going out of its way to seriously fuck with my Wheaties.
I tried to be calm. I tried to not let it bother me. I tried to assume it wasn’t personal.
A few seconds later I blew up. It probably didn’t help that I was still recovering from a self-induced embolism early in the day at the shit sandwich factory. I probably shouldn’t have been driving in my condition.
I tried to get around and in front of the asshole. No dice. Same result when I slowed down and tried to get behind. This person was clearly messing with me and I had no clue why. I hadn’t done anything wrong. As usual I had been a perfect angel, an innocent babe in the woods, yet somehow the Universe was giving me the what for.
Finally I was about to get around the idiot. As I went by, I turned to look at my opponent and gave the classic stare down of “I’m passing you, motherfucker.” Also known as the glinty eyes of steely death.
It was a woman who looked like she had stepped out of that famous American Gothic painting by Grant Wood. Her hair was pulled back tighter than … well, suffice it to say it was pretty damn tight. The only thing missing was the pitchfork. I assume that was in the back of her gigantor SUV.
S H E W A S R E A D I N G ! ! !
I repeat, “She was motherfucking goat clusters of evil reading.” She had something stretched across her entire steering wheel and she was driving at the same time she was intently studying it.
This was game on time. She picked the wrong time, wrong guru, wrong place to beg for someone to finally straighten out. It’s never too late to teach an old dog new tricks, right?
My lawyer advises me to cut this post short. But he will let me add this:
Yellow line fever
This weekend my wife and I drove out into the country with our aunt and her friend for lunch. For some strange reason we ended up taking two cars. I think the reason for that was a plan to go separate ways at some point, but they stayed glued to us and that never happened. I’m actually thankful for that since my aunt’s driving scares the bejeezus out of me.
It was a nice day. I took some photographs, we went to a bakery that was rustic and smelled great, even if the actual product didn’t live up to what my nose was telling my brain. We pulled over a got some fresh produce from a self-serve roadside stand. And we had a nice lunch at a grill out in the country.
The roads to get there were rural and in some parts were pretty curvy.
So there we were in our little two-car caravan. My wife was driving so I was relaxing and enjoying the scenery. Out of the blue I heard my wife swear under her breath which immediately got my attention.
We were on a curve with a double-yellow line. That means “no passing.” Not because it’s illegal. It means no passing because attempting to do so on a blind curve will get yourself and probably others killed.
That didn’t stop this guy, though. He was driving like a maniac. I looked just in time to see him fly by on the double-yellow line. “What an asshole,” I said. My wife informed me he had just done the same to our aunt’s car that was directly behind us.
As often happens in cases like these, a little bit of mini-karma was dispensed. In other words the asshole car was now behind the truck that we were previously following. The roads were still curvy and Mr. Asshole was tailgating that truck like no tomorrow. Suddenly he saw a little opening, still on the double-yellow, and made his move. Yikes, a car was coming right at him! He managed to get out of the way and back behind the truck just in time.
That seemed to mellow him out some. He remained behind that truck all the way to his destination, which turned out to be the same parking lot as our restaurant. The asshole’s crazy move had saved him a grand total of fifteen seconds.
My wife, who is a skosh more assertive than me, wanted to go confront the guy. I settled for standing there and glaring at him. He backed into a parking spot in front of the country store and got out of his car. He looked pretty much like you’d expect – a total scuzball.
“What was so friggin’ important?” my wife and I both wondered.
We watched the dude pop his trunk and proceed to unload lots of bags full of cans and bottles. The big hurry was that the dude was about to get his $2.00 in friggin’ bottle money!
Now that I think about it there just might be a chapter about driving in the book I’m writing entitled Society of Assholes. (Deliberate understatement alert.) If I knew the dude’s name I’d dedicate the chapter to him.
What an asshole!
Please enjoy the musical pairing that has been selected by our chef for this post: