Annual Thanksgiving post

Howdy, folks.  And Happy Thanksgiving!  I hope you're all spending it healthy, happy and in good fortune.

I can't believe Iwrote this post 4 years ago.  Since then I've been reposting it every year at Thanksgiving.  That makes it a tradition, so I can't stop now!

Before I cut-and-paste the text, I should take a few minutes to consider what I'm thankful for.  Let's see.  I'm thankful for my wonderful family and friends.  Also, I'm thankful for discovering Facebook!  I'm thankful for first-shooter games, my new 24" Samsung montior, David Hasselhoff, The Silversun Pickups, my sweet-ass Casio G-Shock, my newly remodeled home, and not least of all, my readers -- some of whom go back 4 years now! 

Some Thoughts on Thanksgiving

Every Thanksgiving I get to thinking about the Indians. I wonder if they celebrate Thanksgiving. I don’t imagine so. The way I see it, Thanksgiving is like theirPearl Harbor Day -- nothing to celebrate. Let’s just hope Indians don’t retaliate with an atomic bomb like we did! Ah, why worry? They’re way to poluted with "fire water" to split an atom. Good luck, Chief Tumbling Dice!

Being a paleface, I love Thanksgiving. I enjoy the way we celebrate with lots of food. Thanksgiving is the time of year I wish I had 4 stomachs, like a cow. That would be great. As long as I had a crapper near by, I could eat non-stop by circulating my four stomachs. Come to think of it, better throw in a couple extra poop shoots. You don’t want to bottleneck the system. If I break off the bigger part of the wishbone, I’m going to wish for that -- and for my enemies to be in pain, and a bigger penis if the wishbone can get around to it.

I love the kinds of food you find at a Thanksgiving feast. Turkey is traditional fare. Cooked correctly, it’s lean, tender and juicy meat. Some people claim an ingredient in turkey acts as a sedative and induces slumber. I’m skeptical. I account the after-meal drowsiness to stuffing one’s gullet with a lawn bag-full of food, and all the hooch in the egg nog. Here’s a tip for this year’s feast: marinating the turkey in Rock Star and seasoning with crushed No-Doze offsets the drowsiness. After all, you’ll need your wits for those inevitable family fights -- another Thanksgiving staple. I always pocket a shard of wishbone in case I have to stab my drunk uncle in the neck and make a quick getaway. That’s another tip I’d like to share.

I love egg nog, too. Eggs, milk, cream, sugar, and your favorite liquor. It’s chock full of calories. I drank two glasses of egg nog last Thanksgiving and didn’t recover my appetite until Cinco De Mayo. It’s filling stuff. We could nourish the entire continent of Africa with a few pints of egg nog. Happy Kwanza, Kunta Kinte. Drink up. Incidentally, I pride myself on being a non-judgmental person. But if Africans celebrated Christmas instead of Kwanza, God wouldn’t let them starve.

After a huge meal, the family has to unbutton their pants to accommodate full bellies, all except my uncle, a Class 2 sex-offender who remains under court-order not to unbutton his pants within 50 feet of a minor. Unbuttoned pants are the hallmark of a good meal, aren’t they? That, or a really good adult website. I can barely move by Thanksgiving evening on account of my alimentary canal being full of food. But who needs to ambulate when you’ve got all those wonderful Christmas specials on TV? Every time I watch Macaulay Culkin get his genitals caught in the food processor while watching himself in the mirror, I laugh my ass off. “Agggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” It just keeps getting funnier every year. Some people think it’s the cologne he applies to his face. Not true. This year, pause your TiVo and look at the bottom of the screen. Freggin’ pervert is copulating with a Proctor Silex Salad Pro.

Anyway, I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving this year. Enjoy, Turkey.


The New Bush

I remember with nostalgia the George Bush bashing.  It was cute in its naivety.  People rolling in $40k SUVs, zoning out on an iPod or whatever new gadget they blew a wad on, drinking a $5 cup of Starbucks, going home to their Ikea remodeled homes and custom entertainment centers – all the while decrying the sad state of the economy.  You know, the one with the dismal 4.5% average real growth, skyrocketing worker productivity, 4-5% unemployment and virtually non-existent inflation, year after year.  That whole mess.

And oh, how they hated the war.  That was all Bush's fault.  The other 30 nations came along because they heard the Jonas Brothers were playing Baghdad.  And Saddam wasn't such a bad guy.  That mustard gas on the Kurds and Iranians was just party gag gone amok.  The very notion of terrorism offended his humanitarian sensibilities.  I wish we had him back so we could do away with that damn fledgling democracy.  What's with all the noise, Iraq?  Keep it down, over there.  They're fighting and killing each other for something so trivial as freedom.  What a drag.

So we chanted, “I support the troops, not the war.”  Hey, is it possible to support AIDS victims, but not a cure for AIDS?

I always figured Bush bashing was just a strain of wishful thinking. What a tempting thought to attribute all our problems to just one man. It makes the fix so easy: get rid of the man, get rid of the problems.   Millions of Muslims hate us and thirst for our demise – don't worry, they just hate Bush.  Europe has lost respect for our nation and holds our culture in contempt – not really, they just hate Bush.  OPEC is fleecing us – it's just Bush and his oil buddies. Healthcare is too expensive – Bush.   Another war is jolting us out of our feel-good buzz for 5 minutes on the evening news – that damn Bush!

I wonder if Barack's national healthcare system covers cognitive dissonance therapy? Because we've got a bad case of CD brewing: Bush is gone, but the problems endure.  Where will we pin the blame now?  I suggest David Hasselhoff.  I kid, I kid.  I love The 'Hoff.  I wish I could be half of Hasselhoff. Then I would be twice as cool.  Anyway, now that the elections are over, we need a new scapegoat.  We don't dare choose Barack Obama.  He's brilliant.  He's flawless.  He's the messiah incarnate.   He's equal parts Einstein, Mother Theresa, Bill Cosby and Snickerdoodle.   Besides, the ladies on The View find him sexy.  That's reason enough for me!

Obama's out. So who's the lucky guy? Who do we blame?*  Who do we hate?*  Who's the cause of all our problems? I'm afraid we've made our choice:


*Yeah, yeah.  I know it's "whom."  But "whom" always sounds so pretentious. 


Some thoughts

*I founded my model for explaining and predicting human behavior on the presumption that we are all the same.  I figured those who hated Americans and yearned for our demise simply needed access to a local Walmart, a drive-thru McDonald's and an occasional blow job from a busty blond American floozy.  Once they traded cave dwelling for mall shopping, they'd see the virtue in American life Then I read about affluent terrorists with iPhones, stripper girlfriends and Neiman Marcus decorated condos.  My model broke down.   I'm perplexed.

*My handwriting is much nicer in pencil than in pen.  I think it's because I trained in pencil.  It's my native medium.

*Whenever I take pains to remember something by writing it down, setting my wristwatch alarm, tying a string around my finger, or some other device, I find that the act itself makes an indelible mark on memory, so that I don't need the reminder.  The thought stays fresh in mind.  Knowing this, I can't force myself to write the note or employ whatever trick for reminding myself of important things.  It seems such a waste: once I do it, I won't need it!  But because I skip it, I don't mark my memory and sure enough, I forget whatever the hell it was I needed to remember.  Paradox.

*Never make an important decision when you're hungry, horny, frightened or angry -- unless, of course, you're always at least one of those things at any given time, in which case, do the opposite of what you think you should do.

*I have a get-rich quick scheme: slight-of-hand trickery.  First, I enroll in the David Copperfield Junior College of Magic and Illusion.  I take every slight-of-hand course offered, practice relentlessly and perfect the techniques.   Then I get a job at Circle K.  Why Circle K?  Because that puts me in charge of a cash register.  Now I put my plan into action by shortchanging unsuspecting patrons. Some poor chump buys a pack of smokes and a six pack with a 20-dollar bill he earned by selling a 100 dollars' worth of food stamps.  I hand him back what appears to be 7 dollars and 25 cents in change.  He pockets the change and leaves.  Later at the titty bar, he reaches into his pocket for a dollar where he instead finds a soiled napkin, a condom wrapper and a Sucrets throat lozenge – my calling card.  Hey, that Circle K clerk ripped me off!  Too late pal – you've been had.

*The president-elect is considering Hillary Clinton for Secretary of State.   Fine, just as long as he doesn't make her a White House intern.  With her big mouth and pension for revenge, we could have another imbroglio brewing in no time.

*I miss having enemies.   I don't miss the enemies, per se.   In fact I hope they die or go away forever.  I miss having enemies.  We're no long allowed to have enemies.  Now that we've accepted the absurd notion that all religions are equally correct (and equally worthless!) and that all cultures are equally virtuous, we can't have enemies anymore.  Sure, some people thirst for our destruction and express it with any number of hostile acts, but as these people are equally worthy of consideration, they're simply unaccommodated special interest groups trying to have their voices heard, or to overcome oppression and bigotry.  I remember the good old days when antisemitism, terrorism, despotism, and genocide were evil acts and the people who practiced them were bad guys.

*Linda Tripp of Monica-gate fame recently praised Barack Obama's “purity of soul.”  Congratulations, Barack!  The woman who betrayed a friend and confidante, eavesdropped an affair and published the damming information to the entire planet, whereupon a friendship, a marriage, a political system and several people's lives hung in the balance – has identified you as a man pure of soul.  High praise, indeed!   But wait, there's more.  I hear Mel Tillis has praised Obama for his remarkably smooth speech.


Bad boys need spankings

A note to the reader

Don't get the wrong idea. I love blogging as much as ever. A bombastic big-mouth by nature, I always have something to type. The problem is this damn time-sucker, Call of Duty 4. It is a black hole and I'm a helpless beam of light. I can't escape the gravity. How many times I've began writing a post only for the following thought to seduce me: “You could be killing ex-soviet bloc terrorists right now.” I succumb to temptation. And consider this particle of irony: the same egoism that drives me to blog, drives me to practice my skills at the first-person shooter, Call of Duty 4.

And even as I type, my PS3 is downloading SOCOM 5: Confrontation (released 15 Oct.). Long-time readers may remember that SOCOM is where my devotion to first-person shooter games began. Non-gamers won't understand the pull of COD4, just as non-drinkers fail to understand the gravity of alcohol. And after all, it isn't “Call of When-I-Feel-Like-It” or “Call-of-Just- a-Video-Game.” It's Call of DUTY.” Alas, it's my duty to kill.


Today's post is about punishment. I find it a fitting theme given the results of the presidential election.

Our Constitution prohibits cruel and unusual punishment. Yet ironically, the punishments courts apply in lieu of cruel and unusual punishment are crueler and more unusual. Consider what we do to criminals: prison -- we lock them in a cage. Often we don't let them out for years. Serving time, inmates ward off abuse from the guards, violence from other inmates, and an occasional lunging hot dog. I can't think of too many penalties crueler than that. Look at what 10 minutes of “time-out” will do to a youngster. Now imagine 10 years. Most of us wouldn't lock our pets in a cage.

As cruel as prison is, it proves to be a dismal deterrent. Recidivism rates among criminals are high. Prison lacks something important. To be effective, punishment must have an element of humiliation. Many convicts wear their prison sentence as a badge of honor. Prison is a criminal's Valhalla. This is counterproductive. That's why I'm an exponent of public flogging. You can't beat a flogging in terms of cost-effectiveness and expediency. And it humiliates the subject just as an effective deterrent requires. One must understand the machismo that so often occasions the criminal mind. Criminals' minds don't work like ours. Sensible, law-abiding people imagine having to serve a lengthy prison sentence and consider committing hari kari. But criminals, ipso facto, don't consider the future; they don't think in terms of “quality of life.” Instead their thoughts never stretch beyond intoxicants, mixed martial arts broadcasts and women of absent virtue. That's why we need public floggings. Flogging is a here-and-now thing. It's a language thugs understand. A few years in prison makes little impression on a hardened criminal. But bind his wrists, pull his pants down to his ankles and spank him in front of every lady in town, and he gets the message. He's scarred for life. It's tough to pull off the whole bad-ass criminal image once you've received a bare-bottomed spanking before the public you aim to terrorize. That'll learn ya, macho man.

Do you remember years ago when an 18-year-old American punk named Michael Fay embarrassed our nation by vandalizing cars in Singapore? Authorities caught the “Spray Paint Picasso” and promptly sentenced him to half a dozen canings. Predictably, Americans were up in arms over it. I guess locking him up in a cage for 2-3 years was the “humane” thing to do. But Singaporean justice called for an ass-whipping. And that's what our precious Michael got. I personally supported Singapore's notion of justice. During the 1994 controversy, I wrote my congressman requesting that America lend, as a conciliatory gesture, professional athlete Jose Conseco to administer the flogging. Strike one, strike two, strike three – you're out, you little bitch.

American objections notwithstanding, Singapore gave Michael his comeuppance. How effective was the public flogging? Fourteen years later, Michael not only hasn't vandalized another vehicle, he's afraid to paint the aluminum siding on his house. He doesn't dare to click the icon for Microsoft Paint. Recently, Michael suffered an anxiety attack while attempting to spray Pam in the frying pan before cooking eggs. No thanks, man. I've got a spatula. I'll just scrape the shit off afterward.

That's effective punishment.

Consider the gamut of inexpensive and effective punishments we pissed away because Dr. Spock wrote a couple of books. Flogging, tarring and feathering, the stockade, eye-for-an-eye sentencing, ostracism, bombarding with rotten fruit – all wasted resources. Dr. Spock has a lot of explaining to do. Regarding the “time-out” craze sweeping child psychology literature. It's bunk. What is a time-out? It's making the kid remain quiet and motionless for a spell. Do you see the error in that? If we could quiet and still the child, we wouldn't need the time-out! Kids occasionally spin out of control. When it happens, adults need to escalate punishment to bring them back under control. Even when you can force a kid to submit to a time-out, what's the punishment? What's the message? Now that you've exhausted yourself with your tantrums, antics, hijinks and conniptions, I'm going to force you to rest in peace and quiet! Deterrence, indeed.

When it comes to raising children, our brains have taken a time-out. Don't get me wrong, the intent is admirable: mold kids' behavior without traumatizing them. But logically, the center doesn't hold. And ironically, limiting our kids to time-out deterrence sets them up for that big house of time-outs with the grey bars and metal toilets.

I digressed into child rearing. Let me return to public floggings. Some may still not be convinced that public floggings are worthwhile. Corporal punishment offends their sensibilities. I ask these people to consider Catholic schools. I know Catholics for whom corporal punishment was part of daily life. Two choice punishments come to mind. The first involved an architect's scale ruler. It's a three-sided ruler that stands on two base sides while the third points upward. Imagine a ninja star for nerds. Anyway, when you misbehaved, the teacher had you kneel on your scale ruler for several minutes, so that the edge of the ruler gouged into your knee caps. How's that for good measure?

Should that fail to bring the student's behavior back into code, he or she would make a mandatory visit to the gymnasium, where he was outfitted in boxing gloves and deposited in a boxing ring. His opponent was Father Pommeling, the gym teacher and amateur boxing champ, who would kick the holy crap out of the unruly student. That's how we used to deal with kids who dared to backtalk or chew gum in class. Pain.

If schools were to administer such punishments today, Einstein's theory that matter cannot travel faster than the speed of light would be disproved by child welfare agents and tort lawyers zooming toward the superintendent's office at Star Trek Warp 10 speed. Do you suppose we could put lawsuit-abusing lawyers in time-out for a couple of decades?

The time to honor our Constitution's prohibition against cruel and unusual punishment is now. Contact your congressman and ask him to introduce public flogging into the criminal code. If time and resources permit, ask him to see about tarring and feathering, the stockade and ostracism. Remind him how much money we'll save by keeping prisons virtually empty. Also, give him a slogan. All political movements need a good slogan. Here's one for starters:  Break the Law and Your Ass is Raw. That would fit nicely on a bumper sticker!