Thoughts from the Deep End... of the Kiddie Pool

We all have our vices and our faults... mine is consuming caffeine before I have to make coherent arguments.

At what point does freedom become inhibiting? Perhaps at the phrase: "All you can eat buffet".

Never flippantly question a(n) angry stubborn crazy woman.

Sometimes you have to chose your battles wisely... like if you want to spend the extra four dollars for the color-safe bleach in your laundry soap.

Just one time, instead of going to war, we should have our three best freestyle rappers battle the other country's and have neutral country like Belgium judge it.

S.C.U.B.A.: Some Come Up Barely Alive

I wonder how much pot was consumed before the idea of edible underwear came into existence...

Lets start a revolution! ...or a movement! ...or a maybe just a really intense game of Yahtzee?

Questions You Hope You Never Have to Ask/Be Asked

"Did you just propose?"

"You mean, you AREN'T that guy from the Village People?"

"Where are my clothes?"

"Why do you keep shining that light in my eyes?"

"Why do you keep referring to me as: Papi?"

"Are you supposed to have a permit for that thing?"

"Did you just chug that whole gallon of milk?"

"Did they blow up my car again?"

"When did you become related to me?"

"Are you sure that thing isn't loaded?"

"Wait... when did we get a new President?"

If My Life Experience Were a Videogame

You wake up in a strange world. You are not sure if you were there when you fell asleep. As you sit up, you realize that your clothes have all disappeared. Not because someone stole them, but you remember that you left them at the building where the washer machine is a few blocks away. Scowering what is left in your room, you find some dirty shorts, two non-smelly shirts, two unmatching socks, and one clean pair of underwear. (+1 outfit) You remember God is on your side every morning. For bonus points, you find breakfast, consisting of some sugarless peanut butter, two over-ripe bananas, and some locally made honey. Flies are intigued by your breakfast choice. You are intrigued by the guy who told you, pound for pound, flies have more protein than steak.
      Poking your head outside, you survey the party from the night before. (Not YOUR party, but the ones the neighbors had last night). Although there are no neighbors sleeping in the yard (this time), empty bottles of jack daniels, empty boxes of Miller lite, and a three wheeled baby stroller litter your homestead lawn (-1 fung shui). After picking up the big pieces, you double lock both the screen and the main door, and head off for caffeinated nourishment. On your way, you are ambushed by homeless. You hope for the best, expect the worst. Armed with a few ones and enough knowledge of the Bible to get yourself in trouble, conversation is engaged. You are then schooled on who God really is, why you are in the neighborhood you are, and a renewed sense of purpose. You are also three bucks lighter.
      You enter the Circle K allured by the smell of coffee and artificially flavored goodness. Avoiding the glances from the patrons patrolling the store, you assure yourself that your hair doesn't need to be combed today. The clerk at the desk smiles at you, as you make small talk. She is twice your age, but you swear she is flirting with you. (+1 ego, +4 creeped out factor). After making a joke to avoid the awkward silence, she then proceeds to tell you about her husband's (husband? -2 ego) dog being run over for the third time and how funny that is (+1 morning irony). Finding nothing to say except "wow... I'm sorry 'bout your dog..." she responds by making an extremely racist joke, offending every decent bone in you... and yet, for some reason, you laugh.
      The liquid norishment leaves you feeling buzzed and atwitter. You begin to wrack your brain for things to write about in the morning. Your brain has left a note scribbed in black sharpie on a candy wrapper, "Gone to find myself. If I get back before I do, tell me to wait for myself". You consume more caffeine to compensate as the screen fades to back.
     Level 1 complete.

"God not only invented the nap, but He ordained it as holy."--Jeff Dempsy

There is no such thing as good news before I've had my coffee.

Most corporate conflicts should be settled with a massive waterballon fight. Driest person standing wins?

Don't be sexist... chicks hate that...

I sort of kind of think that maybe, if you think really hard about it, that passive voice in writing should be eliminated you know or whatever.

I'm not sure if we ticked them off, but I'm pretty sure the guy running at us with the bat doesn't look too pleased...

America: The only place where racial slurs and rap albums can live together peaceably.

Political debates would probably be more interesting if they were forced to only speak in Elizabethian dialogue.... either that, or they must freestyle rap battle each other about foreign policy.

So I played that song backwards and all I got was GLIBBLEWHIBBLEFLAGFLIPPINJESUSLOVESMETHISIKNOWFLRAGGIN'!

From Tip to Toe

Yesterday a homeless woman give me all she had
when she said “what you said to me that day that way made me see that my brother, though dead,
was alive, and that resurrected inside I could survive and kill this pride.”
And I cried because, she reminded me that day, I lived too.
And all she had were the hugs of the empty promises of yesterdays that reeked of the yester-ways which told me the things you said from the things you read only matters if you put it to your flesh. 'Cause when we see our neighbors flesh we refresh the Jehovah M'Kaddesh to see the plan. The plan that was plan B, to show that through our redemptive sin we win because what once was, has been, and we nothing but forgiven. For given grace to see how free we could be if we would stop sinful fate, debate, and delineate the great and find that the Great is I AM.
I AM is not to say that I am God, but I know it is odd to think that it stops with me but I know my own frailty and blight and know that my rite ain't right because all I deserve is crucifixion. Because after that dereliction I have a suspicion that we began to believe this fiction that this affliction was something we could overcome.
Now we can only see self help books, and give prayers dirty looks and call all people crooks and listen to stupid rap songs with meaningless hooks.
But that's what we're lookin' for right? Some sight? Less fight?
To sing with Bob Marley and say, “Every little thing, gonna be alright?”
See, that's why this rhyme was designed to defibrillate, to shock and stalk and consecrate, that we are holy, even in this jacked up state.
So when we walk this earth we must state, before we close off each other or reach for hate, or get pissed off during political debate, that we can only see part of this past
This rhyme won't last and these words are frail, though meant to impale, like the the spear that was put through by Roman guard, to bring peace to this dead flesh.
And three days later, did what we couldn't to refresh, and make all we have from death to life,
and we are the church, a whore and God's wife.
So when we say, “God is dead” as it seemed, remember He causes the dead to rise,
redeemed.

Not Goin' Insane... Just Wakin' Up My Brain

When will we realize that physical poverty is not the problem but a symptom of a much deeper poverty of the soul?

Ever wonder who is responsible for making the glue on the back of the stamp taste so dang delicious?

Perhaps the honesty of barber shops (not salons) and diners (not themed restaurants) should be unleashed upon this nation.... maybe we'd get more stuff done.

Sexual education should be taught in public schools and in church. At the risk of sounding like a heretic, today's youth are being fed lies from the media. Why don't we talk about it the places it should be talked about: In church (or, at the risk of sounding crazy, at home) under proper context.

I took a test to see if I was obsessive compulsive, and it turned out it was negative. So I called back nine times just to be sure...

Ever wonder if the first person to ever dance was first suspected to be experiencing an epileptic seizure?

Protecting my Identity

Yesterday, I went to try and figure out how to replace my driver's license. After following the phone recording, (If you are trying to get a new registration card, press 1. If you are trying to get a land permit, press 2. If you talking to a machine, press 3. [presses three] Thank you. You will be connected to somebody in India in approximately sixty-eight minutes. Please enjoy this horrible music by an obscure 80s band that should never be played,ever, while you wait), I finally figured out that I needed some money.
      The bank I use is very customer service oriented. I had applied to a job there before and we had rehearsed doing transactions for the interview. As far as I can tell, I don't think I got the job because I lacked a double X chromosome. The very attractive teller nodded me over. "Hi! Welcome to [bank name omitted to prevent riots]. How can I help you?"
"Yes, I'd like to cash this check. I don't have a driver's license. I need the money to get one."
"Oh... okay... one second..." She then begins to tap every key on her keyboard.
      We are now in a game of interrogation. One wrong answer, and I will have to talk to a five star general, or worse, A MANAGER!
      "Your date of birth?" "May 12, 1987."
      "Your mother's maiden name?" "Jones."
      "The name of your favorite childhood pet." "Obi."
      "The name of the greatest dictator of the French revolution?"
      "Before or after the 'Reign of Terror'."
      "After." 
       I squint, "Um... Bonaparte?"
      The teller shakes her head, making her beautiful blonde bounce. "TELLER ASSISTANCE!" she screams, never losing eye contact with me.
      "Oh no..." I think. I think of all the instruments of torture they will use on me: Water torture, the chair, FINGERPRINTING.... 
      A very professional looking effeminate man came over, "Hi.... how are you?" he does not wait for an answer, nor does he make eye contact. He merely stares at the computer and slams down the keys, then back into my soul.
      He looks at me, then back at the screen, then at my social security card and two other forms of ID, "Um... where is your driver's license?"
     "I am here to get money for a replacement license."
A belabored sigh falls out of his lungs. Like a child who was just told to share by his mother, he responds, "Okay... FINE... cash his check...." (as he walked away, I think the name "stupidface" exited his lips).
      With a pocket full of cash, I head down to the Mesquite Market, which I found is a local grocery with a MVD station inside. I walk in, wearing a flamboyant Hawaiian shirt (which I am later told is a bad choice to wear in this area). I walk over to the station. The woman behind the desk is very obviously flirting with a man twice her age and size on the other side of the counter. She immediately looks up and says, "YES..." [nervous cough] "I can help you right here."
      "I'm here for a replacement ID."
      "Oh... you can't do that here. You have to the other one across town. And you need two proofs of residency, a Swiss bank account, a contract signing over your first born, and $60."
      "Oh man... now where am I going to get $60? What do you think I am, made of money?"