Change Is Coming

Sorry to those who don’t like change, but it’s coming. You can’t stop progress, but – if conservative politicians are an example – you sure as hell can piss and moan and drag your feet the entire way. Pile all your players onto it’s back and make it drag all of them over the touchdown line. That is what it’s called right, the touchdown line? I haven’t paid attention to football in so long.

At this point, progress has shaken all the players off. It’s crossed the touchdown line, went over the grass, headed through the tunnel, into the parking lot, got in its Honda Civic, and is now driving off out of sight.

Progress is happening! Which means this little blog is moving and changing its name. Something a little shorter and easier to remember. At the moment I am uncertain if I will be giving wordpress.com $14 U.S. for a redirect. I’m kind of leaning towards no, because I know my enterprising readers can just update their RSS feeds or hit a subscribe email on the new site. If you follow through social media, you won’t have to worry about a thing.

Some may be wondering why I am doing this. Well, it’s as simple as saying that I don’t like the idea of walls. Whether that is Trump’s wall, the people down the street with the surname Wall, or the pay wall that wordpress.com puts features behind, I don’t like it. Why should I have to pay through the nose to edit templates that are available for free elsewhere? Not to mention all the plug-ins I can customize my site with. Not bagging, it’s just time for me to spread my wings and leave the nest.

Stayed tuned. It’s going to happen real quick.

Nutella Pops

I was thirty-six before I recall ever eating Nutella. It came in a donut from the current version of Tim Horton’s, the one after the trans fat apocalypse cuing buy out by Burger King. An action that makes me wish I would have bought stock in whip cream. As that is the ingredient that Tim Horton’s now uses to determine if a donut is deluxe or not. The chosen few are just slathered in the stuff. I’ve seen them cut a chocolate filled donut in half and fill it whip cream and call it a whoopee pie. I’ve seen them eviscerate a long john and desecrate the corpse with whip cream and call it an eclair. An eclair!

 
Where was I? Oh yes, maybe I had had Nutella before. Maybe it was in things and I failed to notice the light hazelnut taste nestled in between all the chocolaty goodness. Either way, I had never gone out and bought a jar of it.

 
That is until about seven months ago. I realized I kept going to Tim Horton’s and buying the little danish things that contained Nutella. I figured that I might as well cut out the middle man and fried dough. I swore to myself that I would be a responsible owner of a jar of soul renewing chocolaty goodness.

 
For awhile, I held myself to that vow. I used toast, fruit, and crepes as my chosen delivery vehicles. That was only twice a week. Then one day, while I was in the house by myself – don’t worry this is not going to get weird – I invented a new taste sensation. Something that reduced my carb intake and non-essential calorie consumption. Which means I annexed all the calories for Nutella. I call them ‘Nutella Pops*.’ On lookers may say “Look at that poor sad husk of former human significance shoving a spoon into the Nutella jar. He licks the spoon in an effort to add validity to term Nutella pop.”

 
Sure it seems like I have absolutely no will power what so ever. That I am simply cracking open a jar of goodness and just digging into it like a certain unambitious, pants-off-dance-off enthusiast, red polo shirt wearing yellow bear would do. Well I will have you know that I at least have pants on! And since I typically only do less than a table spoon once or twice, that is less than two hundred calories. So when needing a shot of chocolate, it’s better than eating a piece of cake, donut, or candy bar. Delicious, portion controlled, easily accessible, Nutella Pops! Afterward, one could wash the spoon by hand and burn a calorie or two.

*Nutella Pop Recipe:

1 Jar of Nutella

1 Spoon – depending on your stance on double dipping

1 All The Self-Control and Respect You Can Muster

Truth Bomb: Rocks In Space

Hey everyone. Hope things are going well or at least as well as they can. I’ve started so many possible posts recently and several are almost done. Last night though, this one came from out of now where. I’ve had some of these thoughts on my mind for some time. Just bits and pieces floating around. The time finally came to link them up and put more words around them.

The gosh dang election in the States just can’t be over with soon enough. I know I am part of the problem, but there is so much stuff on social media and according to some data, none of it means jack. No one is going to change their minds based off of the shit we are all posting and sharing. It’s just people spouting their opinions none stop. It doesn’t help that much of it is polarized for either the left or the right. It doesn’t help that we are told we only have two choices. Both of which are like arguing whether a burger from Fast Food Joint A or Fast Food Joint B is the healthiest food in the world. Where the hell is the moderate stuff. Seriously, why is it so either or? Where is reason?

I was down and out with no hope. How could I be anything else with thoughts like these. Then I posted a video that renewed some of my hope for this world not going to absolute shit. Yet I’ve run into some with questions and concerns about the message in the video. Also, I would be in direct contradiction of the video if I didn’t at least try to understand and help them understand. Yet I have to say, what is so damn hard to understand. Accept and tolerate! Try to do it for everyone. Sure it may be a statistically impossible task on the individual level. Yet, once we start assigning these numbers to groups of people, TAH-DAH we will have generalized success – much like we have generalized fear and hate now. Regardless, it isn’t going to hurt to be a more tolerant and accepting individual. To try to understand and learn about those we don’t know about or understand.

This bit is for everyone, but especially for those who are afraid, filled with hate, or both. I want you to know something. Whatever color your skin is. Whatever religion you are or aren’t. Whatever you believe. Whoever you find attractive. Whoever you’re going to vote for. We are all, each and every single one of us, on a fucking rock hurtling through space at one thousand six hundred and seventy four (1,674) kilometers an hour. That is 1040 mph. That is freaking fast. Not only are we on a rock hauling balls through space, we are orbiting around a zillion atomic bombs! And if that isn’t making you shit your pants, there are other rocks that are just zipping along with nary a care what they run into. Don’t even bother getting another pair of pants yet. Because someday that light bulb in the sky will probably go out or explode. That is if the theory of the

Don’t even bother getting another pair of pants yet. Because someday that light bulb in the sky will probably go out or explode. That is if the theory of the ever-expanding universe that will eventually ripple collapse back in on itself – like throwing a rock in a puddle – doesn’t become a law first. Either way, we are toast or nothing. Take your pick.

Now go get some new pants, I’ll wait here. Maybe spray a little air freshener or light a match. You owe it to yourself. And if you were reading this out loud to someone, tell each other “You are sorry and that you love one another. It will never happen again.” I didn’t hear that last part! “It will never happen again.” There you go!
Here is the good news. Seriously, it is the best news I’ve made up all week. With space trying to kill us, there is no reason for us to continue trying to do it ourselves. In fact, we kind of suck at it in comparison. How could we compete with the sun going out or exploding? How could we compete with the universe collapsing on itself? How could we compete with a meteor? Sure we have our ways, but none of them are as successful as we like. None of them are as capable of total eradication as whichever self-righteous, flag waving, imperialistic, xenophobic political juggle nut wants them to be. Someone always survives and chances are good that they will retaliate in another shitty and not super successful way.

 
What I am saying is. We can all just chill the hell out and go meet people. Chat someone up from a different religion. Go hang out with someone who is your gender and also finds folks from your gender attractive. Spend a day with someone who is darker or paler than you. Discuss something with a capitalist, communist, Marxist, satanist, baptist, racist, socialist. Be a better and more accepting person. If you want to grumble, choke that down and try as hard as you can. Don’t tell me you can’t do it! You’re a goddamn American*!

*Or a citizen of one of the many equally fine countries that this little blog gets hits from. Thank you for reading!

 

Trollin’ Hard

A little while ago, I earned the ire of full fledged Trump supporting internet troll. Some crazy angry, metaphorically green skinned wart covered creature straight out of D&D. Did I deserve it? Well, I wasn’t innocent in drawing his attention, but it was one little smart ass comment about Trump that got him all riled up. Next thing I knew, I had several messages from him. He was already pissed and after I retweeted one of his messages, all hell broke loose.

There was just so much hate festering inside this guy. Building up pressure from years of god knows what. All of it blasting forth like a pimple’s creamy center smacking up against the bathroom mirror. Honestly, Satan’s dilated zit encrusted sriracha sauce shootin’ anus with an asthmatic Darth Vader like turd hanging out of it is a less hateful thing. Ever watch a movie with a villain that is over the top evil or wants to blow up the earth? Ever think, What kind of asshole would actually want to do this? Yeah, that is an internet troll.

I responded a few times saying, I asked one question. It just seemed to piss him off more. He began threatening me and trying to draw attention from some of his south of three thousand followers. None of them showed up, but I wasn’t sure how much of a bad ass this guy actually was. Nor did I really feel like winning an argument against him. Like how cool would that actually be? Not very. Who am I going to boast to? No one. I figured it would just be best to not respond back anymore. Besides, what the hell could I do? I don’t have a degree in psychology nor do I have the ability to prescribe anti-psychotics. This guy was going to win and he may have been able to organize a crew. I couldn’t really tell.

During all this I was thinking, Jesus H! It must suck to be a female on social media. Here I am getting just the tip. Just one guy. For saying one little smart ass comment. If I had been a female, I can only assume that his friends and other like minded douche corvettes would have shown up. That the memes would have been more graphic and that the comments would have just kept coming. Which in reality didn’t happen. He went away.

Here’s the real kicker though. While all the stuff was going on. While I was getting lots of notifications and memes. While I was being accused of sending memes – which I hadn’t – and being a troll – which I guess I had been. While I was reading that I should look out for HIV needles and used condoms – something I don’t really get. I guess I was supposed to be offended, but being reasonable seemed to negate that. I thought to myself, in some other life. Perhaps he and I could actually get along on some level. Sure, we probably wouldn’t agree politically – unless my parents had done a terrible job raising me. Yet in all actuality, he is probably just some dude who wants some attention to have a purpose. Just like many of us.

Camping

 Ah camping, the time honored tradition where people take the insides of their house and put them on the outside. A chance to reunite with nature, at least until the battery in the iPhone and iPad die. A time when people can commune with the silent majesty as they skull fuck it with the tact and bravado of an 80’s movie SEAL team yelling at one another during a firefight.

 My wife and I went camping last weekend. We did have a good time, just us and the dogs. There was a fire ban which wasn’t much fun. However, we had plenty of food and beer to pass the time. Not to mention that we just got to talk to one another with no distractions. Well, except for the yapping shart crowns that surrounded us. After about as much fun as two people could have staring at an electric lantern and being eaten by bugs, all while being serenaded by the chatter from surrounding sites, we went to bed.

 We slept off and on until 2 a.m. The Ernst* family reunion was in full swing. At least, that is the surname that I thought I heard the guy tell Captain Change His Pants as he welcomed him to the family. They were all over the place. Every camping site was somehow connected. Even the ones that didn’t seem to be related at first just turned out to be the introverted black sheep of the family. We were surrounded by Ernst’s, who insisted on staying up until 2 a.m. reminiscing about Christmas mornings at Granny’s and Pee-Pa’s and polio vaccines.

 Around 2 a.m. the wind picked up and miraculously, everyone shut the fuck up. At least for a few minutes. Then most of them forgot something in their car or really big truck that had to be retrieved. Maybe it’s a habit, but locking doors remotely and tripping the horn while others are trying to sleep is a dick move. Not to mention that whoever did it forgot their Twilight novel and had to do it one more time. The site across from us refused to close the hatch on their SUV manually opting for the button that causes the door to beep repeatedly as it slowly closes. I quit counting after the second time.  

 Captain Change His Pants didn’t have a name until the following day. That was when we saw him change his pants and shoes three times in half an hour. Pants with boots or cons? Shorts with All stars? No. Jeans with a different pair of shoes. Yes! The only thing that never changed was his “super cool” jean jacket. Then he backed over the post with the campsite info on it has he left. Which was something I had predicted he would do. Sadly, I didn’t announce that to my wife.

 Also, there was Admiral Doesn’t Use The Outhouse With Responsibility, who was also a problem. Our site was between the two outhouse areas. Both have two outhouses and garbage cans. One of these areas was closer than the other, but one of the two outhouses was out of order. I was in a lazy mood so I rolled the dice and went with the shorter walk. That is when I ran into the Admiral’s thralls who eagerly awaited outside the outhouse. I could hear him talking and they giggled at his inanity. He was droning on about the smell as his mind was blown by the darkness of the pit below.

 I mostly ignored this as I hadn’t yet established a dislike for him. When he stepped out his thralls chortled with the lobotomized glee and flocked to him like the least ambitious of flies to the glow of electric light. He greeted me with a friendly tone and I responded in kind. Then I went inside the outhouse. Not only had he left the lid up – which is a no-no because the stench goes everywhere – he had also left the seat down while he peed. There were at least two misfires that I could see.

 Not feeling like wiping some guys piss off the lid, I returned to the site and notified my wife. She decided that she would walk the longer distance for the remainder of the trip. Which was a good idea because the Ernst family exclusively used the one ruined by the Admiral. Way to pee on your grandma’s butt you jack-rag! The next day had repercussions of the stench kind. Which is also why campsites are not to have more than two vehicles. Which many of these sites did. There were just too many damn people.

 That was when we decided to pull the cord and leave around 6 p.m. the next day. We just knew that it was going to be more of the same the next night. Were we sad to go? Heck yes! Are humans the worst? You bet your ass!

 

*Changed for privacy sake.