This is hot! The production value is ridiculous. Just when I thought I was a video editor.
Enjoy!
T-Pain - Can't Believe It ft. Lil Wayne [OFFICIAL VIDEO]
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Friday, September 05, 2008
Is It Just Me or Does Solange Knowles Look Like Orlando Jones...In Drag?
Hey, I ain't one to celebrity bash (that's if you want to call these two 'D' listers celebrities), but if you put some make up, lip stick, and a dress on Solange Knowles, doesn't she look like Orlando Jones in drag? I don't think I would have gone here had it not been for the nasty response Solange gave to a television host whom she thought mentioned Jay-Z when she was introduced (google that shit, I'm too lazy to post the link).
I don't know if she has talent or not, but I hear the CD sales and downloads are moving like cooling lava.
TPOKW?
Thursday, August 28, 2008
My Baby's Been Bakin'
While I was out slaving over a hot keyboard, Nancy was keeping the Nancy's Kitchen cooking show going on her own. Take a look at the beautiful quiche she baked.
TPOKW
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Jamie Cullum Live! Singin' in the Rain/Umbrella
His performance was too short last night, but this was definitely the highlight of the evening!
Thursday, August 14, 2008
What The Hell???
I don't knock people for having fun-adult fun. To each his own. But to have a baby at the festivities? This photograph is CRIMINAL and everyone in it (excluding the baby) should be arrested and convicted of child endangerment. What the hell is this world coming to?
TPOKW
TPOKW
Monday, August 11, 2008
I've Been Saying This All Along
Why won't we just wake the fuck up? Don't be scurred. There's nothing to fear but fear itself. The truth shall set you free. Yada, yada, yada. WAKE UP!!!!!
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
It's Been a Long Time...
since I left you, without a dope rhyme to step to..... For those of you who remember the infamous Rakim, I just wanted to start off with something that some of you may recall, and others (R. Lawrence) may have never heard of. Be that as it may, I'm blogging again. Why? Because it's Sunday, and I've never been a fan of the day. But lately, I've really been a HUGE fan of Sundays. My significant other (if I can be so blatant as to call her that) and I usually spend the mornings reading the paper and sipping on lattes at a local Starbucks, then we come back to her place and lounge around or hit the beach. Sunday tradition consists of her preparing BLT's for lunch because the both of us are MEGA fans of bacon and she has the sense enough to know that over indulging shortens one's life expectancy, thusly, Sunday is the day of bacon. Our evenings are usually shared in the kitchen preparing dinner. My job is preparing the meat-something I enjoy because I'm able to experiment and try new recipes.
How did I ever become so domesticated? Well, it's simple. I think it's something that's a part of every male, you just have to find someone who won't force you into the kitchen against your will, but who will highlight the finer points of a masculine male who knows how to prepare meat. Yeah, I know I'm being tricked here, but I enjoy it nonetheless. To share the kitchen with Nancy is such a joy for me. It's like team work at its finest. I even help with the cleaning (sometimes).
So today is Sunday, and here's a list of things I've accomplished:
1. Donated to the Starbucks/LA Times fund
2. Had a BLT
3. Walked the dog (twice)
4. Visited every electronics store in a 10 mile radius (twice)
5. Configured Nancy's wireless network (welcome to the world of wireless baby)
6. Transferred all pertinent software from my Mac to her newly purchased Mac Book (welcome to the world of Mac baby)
7. Lovingly seasoned salmon filets and grilled said filets to perfection
Now I'm about to have a seat in front of the tele and enjoy a meal fit for a king!
Wish you all were here!
TPOKW
Monday, July 07, 2008
Loose Cannon
If you were to poll other societies that Americans deem "ancient" or "outdated" you would probably find that they are societies who have defined roles for each member. Children play a role, men play a role, women play a role. Through the eyes of America, however, we usually take a myopic view of the male roll and label him "overbearing" or "domineering". And in a vacuum, this may be true, but when you juxtapose those adjectives to the responsibility of the male in any society, you might see the necessity in one being a bit overbearing.
I love to use the pilot analogy-at 30,000 feet, you don't want your pilot allowing wanton chaos in his cockpit. Why? Well the fate of the passengers hang delicately in the balance, that's why. A man's role in any society is to protect the members of his family and community. There was a day when invaders would regularly compromise the security of small communes and men were expected to lay down their lives to protect the women and children. Now that we've convinced ourselves that the police are the protectors of men, women, and children, every thing has gotten completely skewed. If you don't believe me, I'd like you to research the average response time for a 911 phone call. Based upon what I've read, the average response time is 8-10 minutes, and we all know that varies depending on the neighborhood you reside. Let's say that you live in a middle-class neighborhood and the response time is 8 minutes. A lot can happen in 8 minutes. One can be stabbed, shot, strangled, and the list goes on. I know people don't like to think about these things but sticking your head in the sand doesn't make them go away. And all of this speculation doesn't take in the possibility that you might not even get an opportunity to call for help.
Men have a place in society and it has nothing to do with just paying child support to women who decide to have children to increase their income or paying alimony for the purposes of allowing some useless societal goiter to suck the life from the members of society.
Over the holiday weekend my brother-in-law and I got into one of our many political debates. His wife, my sister, immediately intervened and attempted to quiet him. We are on opposite ends of the political spectrum and our debates are usually heated. I immediately see red when she intervenes. When did we get to the point where men can't discuss politics? How do we solve societies problems if we cannot discuss them? My mother then piped in and my blood began to boil. I posed that very question to her and she asked me repeatedly, "What problems have you solved?" I'll address that later.
First of all, problems aren't solved from the top down. They are better addressed at a community level. It's easier to kill one ant than an entire colony. But my mother and sister seem to think that the politicians actually solve problems. Well in a way they do, but not for those of us on this level.
(Some) American women have become loose cannons and they are doing more damage than good. And one day we're going to look up and this society will be beyond salvaging and we'll all be able to share responsibility-women for interfering and men for allowing them. I'm often reminded of something an ex-girlfriend once said to me after she railroaded our relationship. I was going over all of the detrimental things she'd done and after it was all said and done she said to me, "Well if you knew the end result of my behavior, why did you let me do it?" The sentence speaks volumes if you read between the lines.
American men have lost their balls. The government has given them the power to excise a man from his rightful position in society and in the family structure. She can decide for the entire family and tear it apart. Sometimes it's a necessary decision. But often times it is because she wants to shirk the responsibility that comes along with raising her family. Or, perhaps, she'd like to chase the latest stud that is giving her attention. Of course he's going to treat her better than the husband, he has a fantasy that he has to create-and she buys it hook, line, and sinker.
Even so-call Christians, whose bible tells them that a man should head his family, ignores the scriptures. Women will circumvent their husband's authority for a pair of worthless, over priced shoes. She'll literally jeopardize her family's security for a pair of shoes. It wasn't always like that, women were once our partners. But along came liberation-and now they are free to fuck up everything they touch. Sure, they're free to vote and burn their bras, but they are also free to loot the very bank account that will keep a roof over their heads to serve the consumer gods. Sadly pathetic.
This isn't an indictment on all women. But their are guilty ones out there who are turning this society into a shit hole of worthlessness. And when it's all over, we'll all be worse off for it. When did we get to the point whereby men can't discuss politics amongst themselves? And we wonder why women weren't allowed in certain quarters centuries ago. If you don't understand what's going, they don't have the sense to keep their fucking mouths shut. And the wealthy parasites who feed on our labor like blood-sucking vampires understand that the common man has no control over their mate-she is a loose cannon and, even though I have no Christian affiliation, I can see the wisdom espoused in those verses that instruct women to follow the lead of their men. If a man is abusing his authority, every man in his community should rally against him-even if it means you kill him. No society can tolerate a tyrant. Innocent people should not be abused-I don't care who the abuser is and he should be eradicated like any other cancerous cell.
As for what I've accomplished-mom, I'll have you know at the tender age of 18 I took on the U.S. Air Force on numerous occasions when I was being persecuted because of the color of my skin-and I won each time. This type of abuse continued until the final attempt in 1985 and I was 21 years old and 5 members conspired against me over a non-incident. It was blown up to be a major incident. And when the smoke cleared, I walked away unscathed. I was pitted against a tribunal who had a combined total of over 70 years of military experience, and all I had was 3 1/2. And when it was over, they were left scratching their heads, wondering how I was able to, with no legal counsel, assistance, or experience, defeat them at their own game.
At the age of 25, I assembled a group of employees and saved a fellow employee who was being unfairly accused of a crime we knew he was innocent of-and we were able to have that employee reinstated along with his back pay.
Later in life, when a company I worked for, in an attempt to fire one employee, retroactively wrote up everyone in the department for tardies that had occurred well over 12-15 months prior, I stood alone and refused to sign the documents-others began to take notice and also refused to sign. The matter silently went away.
At the same company, when our commissions were cut in half, I organized a slow down in production-we literally refused to work. A month later our commissions were returned to their original state.
My life is filled with instances where I've organized and gone against those who attempt to bully those who are considered weak and our political power lies in numbers. But how can you get the message across if you're unable to discuss it? Sadly, I don't ever see things getting better-I'm getting too old to fight. And frankly, what am I fighting for? Those who would benefit from a good struggle don't even have a clue as to what the powers that be have in store for them. As long as they can shop and party, what's the problem.
Noah built an ark once, and by the time the rest of the people got it, it was too late.
TPOKW
I love to use the pilot analogy-at 30,000 feet, you don't want your pilot allowing wanton chaos in his cockpit. Why? Well the fate of the passengers hang delicately in the balance, that's why. A man's role in any society is to protect the members of his family and community. There was a day when invaders would regularly compromise the security of small communes and men were expected to lay down their lives to protect the women and children. Now that we've convinced ourselves that the police are the protectors of men, women, and children, every thing has gotten completely skewed. If you don't believe me, I'd like you to research the average response time for a 911 phone call. Based upon what I've read, the average response time is 8-10 minutes, and we all know that varies depending on the neighborhood you reside. Let's say that you live in a middle-class neighborhood and the response time is 8 minutes. A lot can happen in 8 minutes. One can be stabbed, shot, strangled, and the list goes on. I know people don't like to think about these things but sticking your head in the sand doesn't make them go away. And all of this speculation doesn't take in the possibility that you might not even get an opportunity to call for help.
Men have a place in society and it has nothing to do with just paying child support to women who decide to have children to increase their income or paying alimony for the purposes of allowing some useless societal goiter to suck the life from the members of society.
Over the holiday weekend my brother-in-law and I got into one of our many political debates. His wife, my sister, immediately intervened and attempted to quiet him. We are on opposite ends of the political spectrum and our debates are usually heated. I immediately see red when she intervenes. When did we get to the point where men can't discuss politics? How do we solve societies problems if we cannot discuss them? My mother then piped in and my blood began to boil. I posed that very question to her and she asked me repeatedly, "What problems have you solved?" I'll address that later.
First of all, problems aren't solved from the top down. They are better addressed at a community level. It's easier to kill one ant than an entire colony. But my mother and sister seem to think that the politicians actually solve problems. Well in a way they do, but not for those of us on this level.
(Some) American women have become loose cannons and they are doing more damage than good. And one day we're going to look up and this society will be beyond salvaging and we'll all be able to share responsibility-women for interfering and men for allowing them. I'm often reminded of something an ex-girlfriend once said to me after she railroaded our relationship. I was going over all of the detrimental things she'd done and after it was all said and done she said to me, "Well if you knew the end result of my behavior, why did you let me do it?" The sentence speaks volumes if you read between the lines.
American men have lost their balls. The government has given them the power to excise a man from his rightful position in society and in the family structure. She can decide for the entire family and tear it apart. Sometimes it's a necessary decision. But often times it is because she wants to shirk the responsibility that comes along with raising her family. Or, perhaps, she'd like to chase the latest stud that is giving her attention. Of course he's going to treat her better than the husband, he has a fantasy that he has to create-and she buys it hook, line, and sinker.
Even so-call Christians, whose bible tells them that a man should head his family, ignores the scriptures. Women will circumvent their husband's authority for a pair of worthless, over priced shoes. She'll literally jeopardize her family's security for a pair of shoes. It wasn't always like that, women were once our partners. But along came liberation-and now they are free to fuck up everything they touch. Sure, they're free to vote and burn their bras, but they are also free to loot the very bank account that will keep a roof over their heads to serve the consumer gods. Sadly pathetic.
This isn't an indictment on all women. But their are guilty ones out there who are turning this society into a shit hole of worthlessness. And when it's all over, we'll all be worse off for it. When did we get to the point whereby men can't discuss politics amongst themselves? And we wonder why women weren't allowed in certain quarters centuries ago. If you don't understand what's going, they don't have the sense to keep their fucking mouths shut. And the wealthy parasites who feed on our labor like blood-sucking vampires understand that the common man has no control over their mate-she is a loose cannon and, even though I have no Christian affiliation, I can see the wisdom espoused in those verses that instruct women to follow the lead of their men. If a man is abusing his authority, every man in his community should rally against him-even if it means you kill him. No society can tolerate a tyrant. Innocent people should not be abused-I don't care who the abuser is and he should be eradicated like any other cancerous cell.
As for what I've accomplished-mom, I'll have you know at the tender age of 18 I took on the U.S. Air Force on numerous occasions when I was being persecuted because of the color of my skin-and I won each time. This type of abuse continued until the final attempt in 1985 and I was 21 years old and 5 members conspired against me over a non-incident. It was blown up to be a major incident. And when the smoke cleared, I walked away unscathed. I was pitted against a tribunal who had a combined total of over 70 years of military experience, and all I had was 3 1/2. And when it was over, they were left scratching their heads, wondering how I was able to, with no legal counsel, assistance, or experience, defeat them at their own game.
At the age of 25, I assembled a group of employees and saved a fellow employee who was being unfairly accused of a crime we knew he was innocent of-and we were able to have that employee reinstated along with his back pay.
Later in life, when a company I worked for, in an attempt to fire one employee, retroactively wrote up everyone in the department for tardies that had occurred well over 12-15 months prior, I stood alone and refused to sign the documents-others began to take notice and also refused to sign. The matter silently went away.
At the same company, when our commissions were cut in half, I organized a slow down in production-we literally refused to work. A month later our commissions were returned to their original state.
My life is filled with instances where I've organized and gone against those who attempt to bully those who are considered weak and our political power lies in numbers. But how can you get the message across if you're unable to discuss it? Sadly, I don't ever see things getting better-I'm getting too old to fight. And frankly, what am I fighting for? Those who would benefit from a good struggle don't even have a clue as to what the powers that be have in store for them. As long as they can shop and party, what's the problem.
Noah built an ark once, and by the time the rest of the people got it, it was too late.
TPOKW
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Thought You'd Get A Kick Out of This
This is some throwback shit from the 80's-real funny. It's Jim Carey's parody of Vanilla Ice.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Cooking In Nancy's Kitchen
This is my new weekly cooking show which really isn't a show at all. It's just me affecting a very bad British accent cooking dinner in my girl's kitchen-something I'll probably be doing weekly.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Matters of the Heart
It seems like just yesterday I decided that loneliness would be my constant companion. I guess it was foolishly pessimistic of me to make such a brash statement at a time of extreme uncertainty. Perhaps I needed some sort of justification for the place I had found myself. I, like most, fear the unknown. And not knowing if I'd ever find the courage to move beyond the present state I found myself in was something I wanted to face bravely. Which probably explains why I took such a solid stance on never dating again. But I'm here to admit I was mistaken.
My older sister, Jennifer, and I were having a conversation one day about the joys of entering certain stages in life. I, now being middle-aged, enjoy being called 'uncle' by, and being an uncle to, my nieces and nephews. I enjoy nature a lot more than I did when I was a young man, and occasionally enjoy a drink to take the edge off what all too often ends up being a stressful day. As a young man, I was too busy doing what young men do to appreciate the beauty of nature. I didn't have nieces or nephews, and I drank mostly to get drunk and party. But with age comes moderation and I now like to take the time to enjoy the precious moments that so many of us take for granted.
When it comes to matters of the heart, I've discovered a new appreciation as well. I believe I've developed a patience that affords me the ability to savor the sweetness of those fleeting moments that mark time in one's memory bank. In case you're wondering, yes, I've found someone who has touched me in ways I've not known possible. I know that sounds like such a cliche, trust me, it is anything but.
Time provides us gifts if we choose to accept them. But we all fear aging so terribly, most of us enter into the process reluctantly; missing out on so much. Who knew romance could be so rewarding being middle-aged? I know the young believe they've cornered the market on it, but they have so much to learn about love, it's almost impossible for them to fully understand the depths of what it may offer. A true indication of this may be found in the high divorce rate. So many believe that the aging process has nothing to offer-but I believe that if you are married and be patient, time has so many gifts to offer you along the way. Instead of jettisoning your mate in search of your younger years with a complete stranger, perhaps we should all consider rediscovering our new selves with the person we are with.
My situation is a little different. The person I am speaking of is new to me. We are both middle-aged and we've somehow found a way to see the world the same way. There are probably a lot of contributing factors, but one thing I know to be true is we focus on one another. I am not saying that we see everything eye-to-eye; we most certainly do not. But we do view partnership similarly. Each moment we spend with one another seems to lay a foundation that we almost effortlessly continue to build upon. We enjoy dining with one another-it seems almost mandatory that, when we can, we do. She enjoys cooking healthy meals for me and takes great pride when I compliment her on her culinary accomplishments. I've been with enough women to know that these days, this is rare.
If we allow it, time perfects us. But all too often we fight it-longing to maintain a youthful appearance and not disappear into the backdrop of society. I being one who appreciates sometimes going unnoticed, can recognize the benefits. I know what it is like to be amongst a crowd of people and not be acknowledged-inherently, it has its own rewards and if we silence our thoughts and relish in the moments, we can begin to appreciate those rewards.
I don't know how promising my future is with my new friend-and I don't really allow myself to think much about it. What I am learning to do is appreciate each day as it comes, and celebrate it as though it is our last. I don't think I've let a day pass that I haven't told her how much all that we do together means to me. I am genuinely delighted each time she leaves a token of her appreciation somewhere I'll surprisingly discover it. It is an indication of her thoughtfulness. There is so much that could be learned from what we've naturally seemed to have discovered. The young might be amazed at how much they truly don't know about matters of the heart.
If the gods smile down upon me, I believe I would be blessed if the rest of my days could be spent like this; with her. On the horizon I can see my end, and I no longer concern myself with if I'll get there, or when I'll get there. What is most important to me is how I get there, and if my Drugh and I discover a way to travel that path together, it will be a crowning achievement on what has been the most splendid and rewarding life one could ever imagine.
TPOKW
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Is America An Emerging 3rd World Country?
With a war that is costing this nation over $1 billion a day, a housing market that has lost any semblance of a bottom, and oil at over $130 a barrel, I would venture to say...maybe. Months ago I wrote a blog titled, "Who Will Officially Welcome Us to the 3rd World?" and posited that we were well on our way. I'm still as pessimistic as I was then, but now I'm simply hoping that this election will turn things around-but it's unlikely.
The two (op)posing parties have the same agenda-catering to the owners of this nation-not it's labor force. If you don't own a piece of this country-a major piece, then you are going to find it difficult in the future to maintain even a substandard lifestyle. There are those who have seen themselves as a part of the establishment, and voted based upon such a belief. And it is those same individuals who are now recognizing that they too are just a cog in the machine that can simply be shut down, dismantled, or discarded at the behest of someone else.
In 1999 gas prices were $.90 a gallon. And then some of you decided to elect an oil man for President, and by doing so, we've gone from below $1 a gallon to $4, an increase of over 400% in 9 years. Does anyone else besides me see a correlation? But who's to blame? Certainly not the wealthy or the politicians. They've just done what we've allowed them to do-become what we've allowed them to become. The Native-Americans (I still call them Indians), believed that the land belonged to all. But now we all are seeing that we're being excluded from a system that we've helped to build.
The economy knows no discrimination. When you pay at the pump, you don't get a Republican or Democrat discount. There are no discriminating practices when it comes to foreclosing on someone's home. It's simple, you can't pay-you're out. Although minorities may be the first to go when companies decide to lay off its labor staff, but eventually we all feel the sting.
I have a question to pose to those of you who swore that immigrants were taking your jobs-Are they the ones sitting at the desk you once occupied at that corporate call center? Wait, I believe I have the answer to that-no. I also have a tidbit of information for you. When public sentiment was that immigration was destroying the labor market, in a way you were correct-they just used the wrong homonym. Immigrants taking jobs wasn't the problem, it was job emigration-jobs leaving the U.S. to be had by individuals in nations as far away as India, China, and as local as Mexico and Canada. Dell Computer, American Express, and a host of other corporations were able to reduce their overhead by paying an Indian worker a fraction of what they paid a U.S. citizen. During the Bush II administration, these same corporations have enjoyed tax breaks that would comparatively make welfare look like the cost of a McDonald's happy meal-all at the expense of America, and Americans.
What bothers me the most, is that everyone is silent. No one is really standing up and screaming at the top of their lungs about any of this. But I know the reason why-you see, we've allowed them to label us, separate us, categorize us...willingly. African-American; Asian-American; the disabled; multi-ethnic; white; Democrat; Republican; Independent. We were Nascar dads and Stay-at-Home moms. But do you know what they call us behind our backs? CONSUMERS. If you're finding it difficult seeing the problem with the term, allow me to illustrate it for you. Imagine a large sow, (for those of you who've never been on a farm before, that's an adult female pig), laying on her side and beneath her are a dozen little piglets suckling. The sow is the system, you're just one of the piglets. Now let's say that, for whatever reason, the sow loses her interest in the piglets, gets up and allows them to fend for themselves. Some will probably survive, most will not. People, the sow has left the building.
Look, I know this is hard to believe. How could your government do that to you? Well, for those of us whose ancestors were brought here in chains, beaten, raped, tortured, and then set free without any psychological assistance to repair the damage that had been done to our mental (and physical) well-being, we've seen this before. You're just a number and if children are forced to work in sweat-shops for pennies a day-in modern times, how is it that you would think the very same thing couldn't happen here? It's a mentality-a mindset. It's a philosophy, and all it takes is for someone in a position of power to see it as a viable solution to a problem. Yes, it's just that simple. Sure, people are going to hit the streets in protest, but understand this-you're protesting against your sow, and if you piss her off enough, you may never suckle again. They control the food supply, the water supply, and although you'll still have air to breathe, they are making sure that you'll have more than your fair share when you're forced to live out of doors.
But all is not lost. I say look to the Amish. They've lived self-sufficiently for centuries. Never taking more than was needed (over-consuming). Living and working in small self-serving communities, (communism people). Capitalism is for those who control the capital and the resources. In a truly free market it might have worked. But this hybrid economic system we have serves only a small segment of our population-and they have no intentions of sharing. We all were nothing more than just labor, and America a labor camp. And now that we've made them uber-wealthy, they've picked up like a swarm of locust and are descending upon crops elsewhere while the rest of us sort through what's left of what was once a great idea, but is now nothing more than a dream turned nightmare.
The two (op)posing parties have the same agenda-catering to the owners of this nation-not it's labor force. If you don't own a piece of this country-a major piece, then you are going to find it difficult in the future to maintain even a substandard lifestyle. There are those who have seen themselves as a part of the establishment, and voted based upon such a belief. And it is those same individuals who are now recognizing that they too are just a cog in the machine that can simply be shut down, dismantled, or discarded at the behest of someone else.
In 1999 gas prices were $.90 a gallon. And then some of you decided to elect an oil man for President, and by doing so, we've gone from below $1 a gallon to $4, an increase of over 400% in 9 years. Does anyone else besides me see a correlation? But who's to blame? Certainly not the wealthy or the politicians. They've just done what we've allowed them to do-become what we've allowed them to become. The Native-Americans (I still call them Indians), believed that the land belonged to all. But now we all are seeing that we're being excluded from a system that we've helped to build.
The economy knows no discrimination. When you pay at the pump, you don't get a Republican or Democrat discount. There are no discriminating practices when it comes to foreclosing on someone's home. It's simple, you can't pay-you're out. Although minorities may be the first to go when companies decide to lay off its labor staff, but eventually we all feel the sting.
I have a question to pose to those of you who swore that immigrants were taking your jobs-Are they the ones sitting at the desk you once occupied at that corporate call center? Wait, I believe I have the answer to that-no. I also have a tidbit of information for you. When public sentiment was that immigration was destroying the labor market, in a way you were correct-they just used the wrong homonym. Immigrants taking jobs wasn't the problem, it was job emigration-jobs leaving the U.S. to be had by individuals in nations as far away as India, China, and as local as Mexico and Canada. Dell Computer, American Express, and a host of other corporations were able to reduce their overhead by paying an Indian worker a fraction of what they paid a U.S. citizen. During the Bush II administration, these same corporations have enjoyed tax breaks that would comparatively make welfare look like the cost of a McDonald's happy meal-all at the expense of America, and Americans.
What bothers me the most, is that everyone is silent. No one is really standing up and screaming at the top of their lungs about any of this. But I know the reason why-you see, we've allowed them to label us, separate us, categorize us...willingly. African-American; Asian-American; the disabled; multi-ethnic; white; Democrat; Republican; Independent. We were Nascar dads and Stay-at-Home moms. But do you know what they call us behind our backs? CONSUMERS. If you're finding it difficult seeing the problem with the term, allow me to illustrate it for you. Imagine a large sow, (for those of you who've never been on a farm before, that's an adult female pig), laying on her side and beneath her are a dozen little piglets suckling. The sow is the system, you're just one of the piglets. Now let's say that, for whatever reason, the sow loses her interest in the piglets, gets up and allows them to fend for themselves. Some will probably survive, most will not. People, the sow has left the building.
Look, I know this is hard to believe. How could your government do that to you? Well, for those of us whose ancestors were brought here in chains, beaten, raped, tortured, and then set free without any psychological assistance to repair the damage that had been done to our mental (and physical) well-being, we've seen this before. You're just a number and if children are forced to work in sweat-shops for pennies a day-in modern times, how is it that you would think the very same thing couldn't happen here? It's a mentality-a mindset. It's a philosophy, and all it takes is for someone in a position of power to see it as a viable solution to a problem. Yes, it's just that simple. Sure, people are going to hit the streets in protest, but understand this-you're protesting against your sow, and if you piss her off enough, you may never suckle again. They control the food supply, the water supply, and although you'll still have air to breathe, they are making sure that you'll have more than your fair share when you're forced to live out of doors.
But all is not lost. I say look to the Amish. They've lived self-sufficiently for centuries. Never taking more than was needed (over-consuming). Living and working in small self-serving communities, (communism people). Capitalism is for those who control the capital and the resources. In a truly free market it might have worked. But this hybrid economic system we have serves only a small segment of our population-and they have no intentions of sharing. We all were nothing more than just labor, and America a labor camp. And now that we've made them uber-wealthy, they've picked up like a swarm of locust and are descending upon crops elsewhere while the rest of us sort through what's left of what was once a great idea, but is now nothing more than a dream turned nightmare.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Exhaustion-Running on Fumes and From My Demons
I'm tired. Really fucking tired. Why? Because I'm too stupid to go to sleep. Rest is what I need, but instead I'm appeasing my demons and blogging. Yes, I have demons. Little brown ones that sometimes manifest themselves in the form of midgets. Why midgets? Because when I was a kid, the Oscar Meyer Weiner man came to town and he was a midget. My little sister was afraid of him because she'd never seen a grown man that small before. At the age of 4 she knew something wasn't right about him. First of all, he drove into town in a giant hot dog. She cried when he disembarked. I wanted to kick his ass for making her cry, but my mother warned me that he was a little man and I was boy. And even though when we eventually squared off we were eye to eye, he could take me-she knew it. Realistically, I don't think she wanted us to fight because she didn't want to end up in the local papers for kicking the midget's ass-victorious perhaps, but lacking the glory one garners when they defeat an opponent. Sort of like when an aging Muhammad Ali was defeated by the toothless Olympic gold medal winning Leon Spinks-lackluster to say the least.
So, we let the little man leave town. But there's still that picture of me and my two sisters posing in front of old man Kirkpatrick's grocery store next to the midget. Is midget politically incorrect? I'm too tired to give a fuck. It's not like one could take me now. Besides, midgets have come a long way. Look at Wee Man. He's in a movie. I'm regular sized, I've never been in a movie-well maybe not one you'd want to see. And what about Bridget the Midget? See, she uses midget, so I guess I'm cool (not that I was worried or anything. Like I said earlier, I'll kick a midget's ass). But back to Bridget the Midget. As you may know, she's a porn star (that term is so loosely used). I've actually seen her in action but there was nothing sexual about a naked woman with two little stubby legs in the air being penetrated by a full-sized adult male. It was comical at best. And quite frankly, I don't like to mix my sex with comedy. That's equivalent to eating in the bath tub. But I watched. Not to the end...what the hell do you think I am, a freak?
Anyway, like I said before, I have my demons. They aren't always midgets. Sometimes they appear to me as women with three eyes...short women with three eyes....MIDGETS with three eyes. What the hell is it with me and midgets? Perhaps I have a repressed Napoleonic complex that needs addressing. There is that picture of my two sisters and me posing with the Oscar Meyer midget. My little sister was taller than me. Perhaps I feared never growing and ending up a 4-foot tall black midget who's only means of support was to travel from small town to small town in an oversized hot dog on wheels being threatened by little boys who would swear on a stack of bibles that they could kick my ass.
I need sleep.
TPOKW
So, we let the little man leave town. But there's still that picture of me and my two sisters posing in front of old man Kirkpatrick's grocery store next to the midget. Is midget politically incorrect? I'm too tired to give a fuck. It's not like one could take me now. Besides, midgets have come a long way. Look at Wee Man. He's in a movie. I'm regular sized, I've never been in a movie-well maybe not one you'd want to see. And what about Bridget the Midget? See, she uses midget, so I guess I'm cool (not that I was worried or anything. Like I said earlier, I'll kick a midget's ass). But back to Bridget the Midget. As you may know, she's a porn star (that term is so loosely used). I've actually seen her in action but there was nothing sexual about a naked woman with two little stubby legs in the air being penetrated by a full-sized adult male. It was comical at best. And quite frankly, I don't like to mix my sex with comedy. That's equivalent to eating in the bath tub. But I watched. Not to the end...what the hell do you think I am, a freak?
Anyway, like I said before, I have my demons. They aren't always midgets. Sometimes they appear to me as women with three eyes...short women with three eyes....MIDGETS with three eyes. What the hell is it with me and midgets? Perhaps I have a repressed Napoleonic complex that needs addressing. There is that picture of my two sisters and me posing with the Oscar Meyer midget. My little sister was taller than me. Perhaps I feared never growing and ending up a 4-foot tall black midget who's only means of support was to travel from small town to small town in an oversized hot dog on wheels being threatened by little boys who would swear on a stack of bibles that they could kick my ass.
I need sleep.
TPOKW
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Too Soon?
When two people with a mutual interest in one another meet, millions of questions crowd the mind. I wonder what he/she is like in bed? I wonder if we'll make it past the first date? I wonder if..... If you're anything like me, you try to predict if and when it all will end. But if things seem to be progressing smoothly, we often find ourselves faced with the is it too soon dilemma.
There should be some sort of progression chart that you can refer to when you want to know if you're progressing too quickly. Of course, all situations aren't the same. Sometimes you meet that perfect person, hop in the carpool lane together, and fast track the relationship to a painful and bitter end. Sometimes things do workout. We have no way of knowing, it's just a chance we all have to take while we pursue companionship in a world full of people who find connecting difficult.
Who determines whether a couple is moving too soon? I think we can all agree that meeting someone in Las Vegas and awaking married the next day is too soon. Talk about living for the moment. I've been known to do some wild, outlandish things, but I can assure you that I would never meet someone in Vegas and marry them the same night. Perhaps sleeping with someone on the first night is way too soon, but we've all done it (I suspect). But that goes beyond the scope of a relationship and relates to some entirely different agenda.
I think we all worry that we're moving too fast but I've yet to meet the person who can produce a document that will tell us when and how we should proceed. We all seem to know when it's too soon, but I have yet to hear what the opportune time should be. The toughest one of all seems to be when you utter those 3 words that always seem to seal the fate of a relationship. Once you say "I love you", it seems like the die has been cast and you either spiral into bliss or, in the not-so-distant future, someone's going to be needing a lot of Kleenex. Hearing those words is like winning the gold medal in the Olympics. Prior to hearing them you're in training. Up every morning at the crack of dawn. You eat right and keep the snacking to a minimum. You're in great shape-destined to take the gold. And then you take the podium...center stage. Over the loud speaker you hear the American National Anthem. It is your crowning moment. You bend at the waist and someone places atop your head the Caesar wreath and then the gold medal. You've done it! The moment you've been waiting for. It's the Olympic equivalent to hearing, "I love you."
You return to your home town a hero! Everyone says they knew you could do it. Everyone says they knew you back when. Who needs to train now? You've reached the pinnacle. All of sudden, you're partying to the wee hours of the morning-everyone wants to buy you a drink....how could you resist? Your waistline begins to expand, your endorsements dry up, and the honeymoon's over. It won't be long before TMZ eulogizes you.
I don't know what it is about hearing those three words that causes us to claim victory, but we always do.
I wish I had the answer because I know that we sometimes sabotage relationships by attempting to adhere to this imaginary timeline that no one has seen. I don't know what constitutes too soon, but I know the ramifications of being too late. Think about it, can you ever arrive to work too soon? Not according to most bosses-but you can definitely arrive too late. Is it ever too soon to begin investing for your retirement? Absolutely not! If you find a financial analyst who says otherwise-fire him on the spot. Is it ever too soon to do your Christmas shopping. Arguably yes, but consider the alternative. It's 12/24/(year whatever). I'm preparing to hit the malls-they close in 3 hours. I'm so stressed that if my blood pressure was measured in dollars, it would be considered a small fortune. I'm driving like a maniac. Running red lights and cursing anyone who'd dare drive the speed limit during my time of crisis. I hit the parking lot and, just as I suspected, parking is damn near non existent. I hit one department store and I have no intentions of leaving until I've purchased everything I need. 3 hours later I emerge the victor and promise myself to never again criticize those who shop too soon.
When it comes to relationships, who has the answers? Is it quite possible for two people to meet, let things flow naturally, ignore the warnings from those uninvolved parties who seem to be trying to rain on our parade, and have a successful relationship? I think so. We have to ask ourselves, how much of that advice can we attribute to jealousy? Too soon just might be a way for someone to throw a monkey wrench into what might otherwise be the beginning of a perfect relationship.
It's probably best that we develop our own too soon barometer. We should be reasonable and resist the urge to deviate from the plan when we've been inspired to move quicker. Even still, once we've waited the allotted time, it doesn't mean we should move full speed ahead. It just means that we've gone beyond the required waiting period and we can now consider moving forward. We should also use the time to evaluate the situation, but not over think things. All to often I am guilty of over analyzing a situation and ultimately killing the spirit of the relationship. This is beginning to sound like an advice column and that was not my intent. Perhaps what I'm trying to say here is that we should make our own determinations as to what is considered too soon, and what isn't. What may be too soon for someone, may be too late for someone else.
TPOKW
There should be some sort of progression chart that you can refer to when you want to know if you're progressing too quickly. Of course, all situations aren't the same. Sometimes you meet that perfect person, hop in the carpool lane together, and fast track the relationship to a painful and bitter end. Sometimes things do workout. We have no way of knowing, it's just a chance we all have to take while we pursue companionship in a world full of people who find connecting difficult.
Who determines whether a couple is moving too soon? I think we can all agree that meeting someone in Las Vegas and awaking married the next day is too soon. Talk about living for the moment. I've been known to do some wild, outlandish things, but I can assure you that I would never meet someone in Vegas and marry them the same night. Perhaps sleeping with someone on the first night is way too soon, but we've all done it (I suspect). But that goes beyond the scope of a relationship and relates to some entirely different agenda.
I think we all worry that we're moving too fast but I've yet to meet the person who can produce a document that will tell us when and how we should proceed. We all seem to know when it's too soon, but I have yet to hear what the opportune time should be. The toughest one of all seems to be when you utter those 3 words that always seem to seal the fate of a relationship. Once you say "I love you", it seems like the die has been cast and you either spiral into bliss or, in the not-so-distant future, someone's going to be needing a lot of Kleenex. Hearing those words is like winning the gold medal in the Olympics. Prior to hearing them you're in training. Up every morning at the crack of dawn. You eat right and keep the snacking to a minimum. You're in great shape-destined to take the gold. And then you take the podium...center stage. Over the loud speaker you hear the American National Anthem. It is your crowning moment. You bend at the waist and someone places atop your head the Caesar wreath and then the gold medal. You've done it! The moment you've been waiting for. It's the Olympic equivalent to hearing, "I love you."
You return to your home town a hero! Everyone says they knew you could do it. Everyone says they knew you back when. Who needs to train now? You've reached the pinnacle. All of sudden, you're partying to the wee hours of the morning-everyone wants to buy you a drink....how could you resist? Your waistline begins to expand, your endorsements dry up, and the honeymoon's over. It won't be long before TMZ eulogizes you.
I don't know what it is about hearing those three words that causes us to claim victory, but we always do.
I wish I had the answer because I know that we sometimes sabotage relationships by attempting to adhere to this imaginary timeline that no one has seen. I don't know what constitutes too soon, but I know the ramifications of being too late. Think about it, can you ever arrive to work too soon? Not according to most bosses-but you can definitely arrive too late. Is it ever too soon to begin investing for your retirement? Absolutely not! If you find a financial analyst who says otherwise-fire him on the spot. Is it ever too soon to do your Christmas shopping. Arguably yes, but consider the alternative. It's 12/24/(year whatever). I'm preparing to hit the malls-they close in 3 hours. I'm so stressed that if my blood pressure was measured in dollars, it would be considered a small fortune. I'm driving like a maniac. Running red lights and cursing anyone who'd dare drive the speed limit during my time of crisis. I hit the parking lot and, just as I suspected, parking is damn near non existent. I hit one department store and I have no intentions of leaving until I've purchased everything I need. 3 hours later I emerge the victor and promise myself to never again criticize those who shop too soon.
When it comes to relationships, who has the answers? Is it quite possible for two people to meet, let things flow naturally, ignore the warnings from those uninvolved parties who seem to be trying to rain on our parade, and have a successful relationship? I think so. We have to ask ourselves, how much of that advice can we attribute to jealousy? Too soon just might be a way for someone to throw a monkey wrench into what might otherwise be the beginning of a perfect relationship.
It's probably best that we develop our own too soon barometer. We should be reasonable and resist the urge to deviate from the plan when we've been inspired to move quicker. Even still, once we've waited the allotted time, it doesn't mean we should move full speed ahead. It just means that we've gone beyond the required waiting period and we can now consider moving forward. We should also use the time to evaluate the situation, but not over think things. All to often I am guilty of over analyzing a situation and ultimately killing the spirit of the relationship. This is beginning to sound like an advice column and that was not my intent. Perhaps what I'm trying to say here is that we should make our own determinations as to what is considered too soon, and what isn't. What may be too soon for someone, may be too late for someone else.
TPOKW
Friday, May 02, 2008
Idiot Nation
I heard this morning that a group of kids were arrested for vandalism the other day. Now that might not really be anything worth talking about, but if you dig deeper, there is a story behind the story. The kids got busted because, not only did they video tape their illegal antics, they posted it on youtube.
What the hell is wrong with kids these days? It seems like daily there is some teenage numbskull on the television who was busted for doing something totally ridiculous. I know most of you remember the video post of the girls who beat the hell out of that other girl for supposedly taunting them in cyberspace (white on white crime-but no one really likes to talk about that, do they?). There was the incident; the youtube post; ridiculous press coverage; and then arrests. It doesn't require a degree to figure out. In case there are teenagers reading this (which I doubt because teens don't read), you know the tape that you have in your possession? Yeah, that thing you just took out of the video camera-that's called evidence and it can and will be used against you in a court of law. Oh, and incidentally, the guy sitting behind the table placard that reads Plaintiff, and the the guy/girl sitting on the perch wearing the black robe and holding the wooden hammer, they aren't your friends, teachers, parents, or any other person that you've successfully manipulated in the past. They are THE LAW and they've seen enough idiots, just like you, who thought that they could play dumb, or concoct some oddly ridiculous story that flies with mother but couldn't fool a 5th grader. If you lined up the people who came in to court with the dog ate my homework excuse, you could wrap it around the globe 29 times.
Honestly, I don't blame the kids-I blame the parents and the teachers. A child's first bout with authority is usually with their parents, and then later with the administrative staff at school. If either of these institutions show too much leniency, complacency, or are exposed for their naivete, you can rest assured that the child will one day interface with the judicial system and think that it's as porous as their earlier bouts with authority systems. Sadly, parents and the school system are failing children. Parents these days want to be buddies with their children. By doing so, they neglect the duties and responsibilities required to raise a productive member of society. When a child can spin a tall tale and the parent(s) fail to become Ellory Queen and investigate every nuance of the story, that child has just learned that he or she can manipulate the truth and you (the parent) will be danced around the truth for the rest of the time that child is in your care. Parents have to make it difficult for the child to lie, and even more difficult for the child to get away with lying.
Once, when I was about 12, a stepfather of mine called me in for dinner. I had been playing outside all day and I went to the restroom and then sat down to eat. My stepfather asked if I had washed my hands. My response was yes. He then asked if I'd used soap. I again replied yes. He then got up, walked into the bathroom, and brought out a completely dry bar of soap and asked me why the soap was still dry if I'd just used it. Two things occurred at that very moment-#1 I realized this man was no idiot, and #2 next time I better wet the soap (kidding). Actually, what I did learn was that lies were fallible. And if you told one, it had better have been after some serious planning. If you come of the top of the head with it, someone with half a brain will be able to pick it apart. I became so impressed with his technique, I began to explore ways of lying and how those lies were easily exposed. I tried desperately to come up with a foolproof caper, and my 12 year old mind was unable to create a scenario whereby I couldn't get busted. So what did I finally decide to do? Give up lying until I could get better at it. After years of practicing honesty, I never really looked back. That's not to say that I haven't lied-but I have been honest to the point where I've lost girlfriends, and jobs-I feel compelled to tell the truth.
It doesn't help that our government has adopted a prove it mentality. When kids hear the president of the United States say things like, "I didn't inhale," or I didn't have sex with that woman, Monica Lewinsky," and both of those statements be bold-faced lies, where is their incentive to tell the truth? The rotting fish is lying from the tail to the head, why should the children be any different?
You might be thinking that it wasn't lying that got the bumbling youtube criminals busted-but it was lying. Lying and not being busted, (or not being punished if they did get busted). It bred this overconfidence in their ability to get out of trouble. They tell themselves these ridiculously childish stories that have more holes in them than swiss cheese-a pre prepared excuse that with even a cursory glance would appear to be as thin as tissue paper. But hey, come on, mom falls for it all the time. Well there's one thing mom lacks, and that's the experience of sitting all day and hearing the same tired stories from criminals who confuse judges with their blinder-wearing mothers. The judge has heard it all. In fact, I'll bet you money that he can probably take one look at a defendant and, based upon their appearance and the crime they are being charged with, predict the story that will come bellowing from their mouth. This is precisely why they insist you not represent yourself-you're an idiot and we need to appoint someone to keep you from tripping over your own two feet.
Committing a crime and then posting the evidence on youtube is intellectually equivalent to walking into roll call at the local police station and robbing at gun point all whom are in attendance...without a disguise. And if this isn't remotely apparent to the idiot who decides to post what he or she sees as his or her ticket to fame, then we've managed to create an entire nation of idiots who will undoubtedly continue to exhibit this incredibly imbecilic type of behavior no matter how many are caught. My hope is that this doesn't become epidemic because, instead of hitting the streets and doing real investigative work, our detectives will spend their valuable time perusing the posts of youtube looking for their next big case.
Wake up people.
TPOKW
What the hell is wrong with kids these days? It seems like daily there is some teenage numbskull on the television who was busted for doing something totally ridiculous. I know most of you remember the video post of the girls who beat the hell out of that other girl for supposedly taunting them in cyberspace (white on white crime-but no one really likes to talk about that, do they?). There was the incident; the youtube post; ridiculous press coverage; and then arrests. It doesn't require a degree to figure out. In case there are teenagers reading this (which I doubt because teens don't read), you know the tape that you have in your possession? Yeah, that thing you just took out of the video camera-that's called evidence and it can and will be used against you in a court of law. Oh, and incidentally, the guy sitting behind the table placard that reads Plaintiff, and the the guy/girl sitting on the perch wearing the black robe and holding the wooden hammer, they aren't your friends, teachers, parents, or any other person that you've successfully manipulated in the past. They are THE LAW and they've seen enough idiots, just like you, who thought that they could play dumb, or concoct some oddly ridiculous story that flies with mother but couldn't fool a 5th grader. If you lined up the people who came in to court with the dog ate my homework excuse, you could wrap it around the globe 29 times.
Honestly, I don't blame the kids-I blame the parents and the teachers. A child's first bout with authority is usually with their parents, and then later with the administrative staff at school. If either of these institutions show too much leniency, complacency, or are exposed for their naivete, you can rest assured that the child will one day interface with the judicial system and think that it's as porous as their earlier bouts with authority systems. Sadly, parents and the school system are failing children. Parents these days want to be buddies with their children. By doing so, they neglect the duties and responsibilities required to raise a productive member of society. When a child can spin a tall tale and the parent(s) fail to become Ellory Queen and investigate every nuance of the story, that child has just learned that he or she can manipulate the truth and you (the parent) will be danced around the truth for the rest of the time that child is in your care. Parents have to make it difficult for the child to lie, and even more difficult for the child to get away with lying.
Once, when I was about 12, a stepfather of mine called me in for dinner. I had been playing outside all day and I went to the restroom and then sat down to eat. My stepfather asked if I had washed my hands. My response was yes. He then asked if I'd used soap. I again replied yes. He then got up, walked into the bathroom, and brought out a completely dry bar of soap and asked me why the soap was still dry if I'd just used it. Two things occurred at that very moment-#1 I realized this man was no idiot, and #2 next time I better wet the soap (kidding). Actually, what I did learn was that lies were fallible. And if you told one, it had better have been after some serious planning. If you come of the top of the head with it, someone with half a brain will be able to pick it apart. I became so impressed with his technique, I began to explore ways of lying and how those lies were easily exposed. I tried desperately to come up with a foolproof caper, and my 12 year old mind was unable to create a scenario whereby I couldn't get busted. So what did I finally decide to do? Give up lying until I could get better at it. After years of practicing honesty, I never really looked back. That's not to say that I haven't lied-but I have been honest to the point where I've lost girlfriends, and jobs-I feel compelled to tell the truth.
It doesn't help that our government has adopted a prove it mentality. When kids hear the president of the United States say things like, "I didn't inhale," or I didn't have sex with that woman, Monica Lewinsky," and both of those statements be bold-faced lies, where is their incentive to tell the truth? The rotting fish is lying from the tail to the head, why should the children be any different?
You might be thinking that it wasn't lying that got the bumbling youtube criminals busted-but it was lying. Lying and not being busted, (or not being punished if they did get busted). It bred this overconfidence in their ability to get out of trouble. They tell themselves these ridiculously childish stories that have more holes in them than swiss cheese-a pre prepared excuse that with even a cursory glance would appear to be as thin as tissue paper. But hey, come on, mom falls for it all the time. Well there's one thing mom lacks, and that's the experience of sitting all day and hearing the same tired stories from criminals who confuse judges with their blinder-wearing mothers. The judge has heard it all. In fact, I'll bet you money that he can probably take one look at a defendant and, based upon their appearance and the crime they are being charged with, predict the story that will come bellowing from their mouth. This is precisely why they insist you not represent yourself-you're an idiot and we need to appoint someone to keep you from tripping over your own two feet.
Committing a crime and then posting the evidence on youtube is intellectually equivalent to walking into roll call at the local police station and robbing at gun point all whom are in attendance...without a disguise. And if this isn't remotely apparent to the idiot who decides to post what he or she sees as his or her ticket to fame, then we've managed to create an entire nation of idiots who will undoubtedly continue to exhibit this incredibly imbecilic type of behavior no matter how many are caught. My hope is that this doesn't become epidemic because, instead of hitting the streets and doing real investigative work, our detectives will spend their valuable time perusing the posts of youtube looking for their next big case.
Wake up people.
TPOKW
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
MUST READ!!!!!!
Everyone, please click the link below and read this essay I found on the internet. If this doesn't move you to tears, I don't know what will. It's a cold fucking world out there-yet some pull themselves up from the bottom despite what they've been through.
Please, read it.
click here
Please, read it.
click here
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
The Sound of a Sweet Song...Fading Away in the Distance
If you ask me what I like most about a romantic encounter, I would tell you it is the element of surprise. When you meet someone new, it is like hearing a beautiful song for the first time. You have no idea what the future holds, but you long to have that feeling last for all of eternity. There is what Barack Obama calls the audacity of hope, but I think what drives us the most is the unknown. We have absolutely no idea what the future holds for us...if it holds anything at all.
I know the warm feeling of both hearing that sweet song for the first time and having the audacity to hope. They are synonymous. You remember where you were, what you were doing, and why. I recently heard a song that touched me in that way. I won't share with you the title...perhaps because I fear the retribution that comes with being so exposed and open to public scrutiny. But suffice it to say that for a brief moment in time, I felt that feeling again. And then I began to notice how empty life can be when you don't share it with someone special. Sure, I feel safe cocooned away in my enclave-door locked and the world on the outside. But what should be obvious to most, and what is hardcore evidentiary fact to me, is that I've all but eliminated the audacity of hope in exchange for the comfort of security.
I haven't always been this cautious. Once I dared allow myself to love someone society deemed undesirable. In my estimation, I felt that she too deserved love and who better to love her than someone who understands the devotion required to make love a successful function of a romantic schema? I allowed myself to love her in spite of what others thought. Not only did I expose myself to the perils of love, I accepted all the punishment that one endures when they choose to love someone who does not feel that they deserve to be loved. I still bear the open wounds and battle scars that one acquires when one decides to put down their sword; their shield; their armor; and dare to hope for the best, but accept the worse. And I am a better man because of it.
Love demands so much of us, and most of us fail because we don't fully understand that, unless we acquiesce to those demands, failure is inevitable. But acquiescence alone brings not the promise of success; for the possibility of love unrequited always lurks in the shadows. With so many pitfalls before us, why do we choose to embark upon the quest for love? Simply put, it is the audacity of hope, and whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, hope is audacious. But what would life be without the excitement that comes along with the prospect of risk and reward? In a word, boring.
So here I sit, writing about the possibilities associated with hope, and faith, and belief-yet, I am too fearful to set foot on that path again. I know intimately the company of failure, and I don't know if I'm prepared for yet another visit. I think that I will take refuge within the walls of my fortified fortress, while time robs me of all the gifts necessary to find that perfect love. I no longer see hope when I look into the eyes of women who look upon me with that odd curiosity that once warmed my heart-I know all too well how the story ends. Perhaps I've been here too long. Perhaps I know too much. I try desperately not to sound pessimistic, but I know that I have neither the patience nor the endurance to devote that which is necessary to rewrite the script so that the story ends happily. Such undertakings should only be embraced in the realm of fiction. But in the world of reality, at least for me, what remains are the hard lessons of my past and the pain of watching hope evaporate like morning dew at high noon. One thing I know for sure is that nothing lasts forever. But even though I may be armed with such sage wisdom, I find it ever so difficult to move beyond the walls of this prison I've created for myself. And as I watch life pass me by, I sit immobilized by the wisdom granted me by my past experiences, as the light of hope that once shone so brightly fades away into the distance, like so many of my fond memories of love.
TPOKW
I know the warm feeling of both hearing that sweet song for the first time and having the audacity to hope. They are synonymous. You remember where you were, what you were doing, and why. I recently heard a song that touched me in that way. I won't share with you the title...perhaps because I fear the retribution that comes with being so exposed and open to public scrutiny. But suffice it to say that for a brief moment in time, I felt that feeling again. And then I began to notice how empty life can be when you don't share it with someone special. Sure, I feel safe cocooned away in my enclave-door locked and the world on the outside. But what should be obvious to most, and what is hardcore evidentiary fact to me, is that I've all but eliminated the audacity of hope in exchange for the comfort of security.
I haven't always been this cautious. Once I dared allow myself to love someone society deemed undesirable. In my estimation, I felt that she too deserved love and who better to love her than someone who understands the devotion required to make love a successful function of a romantic schema? I allowed myself to love her in spite of what others thought. Not only did I expose myself to the perils of love, I accepted all the punishment that one endures when they choose to love someone who does not feel that they deserve to be loved. I still bear the open wounds and battle scars that one acquires when one decides to put down their sword; their shield; their armor; and dare to hope for the best, but accept the worse. And I am a better man because of it.
Love demands so much of us, and most of us fail because we don't fully understand that, unless we acquiesce to those demands, failure is inevitable. But acquiescence alone brings not the promise of success; for the possibility of love unrequited always lurks in the shadows. With so many pitfalls before us, why do we choose to embark upon the quest for love? Simply put, it is the audacity of hope, and whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, hope is audacious. But what would life be without the excitement that comes along with the prospect of risk and reward? In a word, boring.
So here I sit, writing about the possibilities associated with hope, and faith, and belief-yet, I am too fearful to set foot on that path again. I know intimately the company of failure, and I don't know if I'm prepared for yet another visit. I think that I will take refuge within the walls of my fortified fortress, while time robs me of all the gifts necessary to find that perfect love. I no longer see hope when I look into the eyes of women who look upon me with that odd curiosity that once warmed my heart-I know all too well how the story ends. Perhaps I've been here too long. Perhaps I know too much. I try desperately not to sound pessimistic, but I know that I have neither the patience nor the endurance to devote that which is necessary to rewrite the script so that the story ends happily. Such undertakings should only be embraced in the realm of fiction. But in the world of reality, at least for me, what remains are the hard lessons of my past and the pain of watching hope evaporate like morning dew at high noon. One thing I know for sure is that nothing lasts forever. But even though I may be armed with such sage wisdom, I find it ever so difficult to move beyond the walls of this prison I've created for myself. And as I watch life pass me by, I sit immobilized by the wisdom granted me by my past experiences, as the light of hope that once shone so brightly fades away into the distance, like so many of my fond memories of love.
TPOKW
Monday, March 17, 2008
The Rat Tale
A few months ago, I was at my mother's house visiting. There's a lot of brush and vegetation in her yard, not to mention a wood pile from a few eucalyptus trees they had cut down a couple of years ago. As most of you know, these are havens for rats. My stepfather arrived home about midway through my visit and looking out into the backyard, he noticed one of his traps had been thrown. He went outside to inspect and lo and behold, he had caught two rats in one trap. I'm a little on the squeamish side and don't care to see things like this, but he was too proud, and I didn't want to ruin his pride-filled reversion back to his hunter/gatherer days, so I went out to congratulate him.
For many days after, I wondered how such a thing could have happened. I could see it if one got caught, but two? I pondered this marvelous mystery for days, and finally, this is the conclusion I inevitably reached.
THE RAT TALE
Once upon a time, in the wooded pile lived a rat named Travis Ratus. Travis was extremely naive, and his sidekick, Buck, was equally (if not even more) naive but compensated by inventing tall tales that sometimes entertained, but mostly irritated Travis. Travis and Buck had lived in wooded pile as far back as they could remember and rarely did they venture out too far. Travis always had questions about what might exist beyond the wooded pile, and Buck always had an explanation.
"What do you suppose is out in that vast open space, Buck?" Travis would ask.
"Why there's sheer paradise, Travis. There's food as far as the eye can see, and lots of things for rats like us to do." Buck answered.
"Oh yeah, like what Buck?"
"Well there's fancy resorts-not like the boring ones here in the wooded pile, but like the ones they have in Las Vegas-European style!"
"How do you know these things?" Travis asked as a look of puzzled bewilderment invaded is whiskered face.
"You remember my cousin Benji?" said Buck.
"Yeah, that freeloader who always ate my cheese?"
"Yes, that very same one. Well I'll have you know, that freeloader is livin' it up at one the fanciest hotels on the Vegas strip. He hitched a ride on a produce truck headed for the promise land and he ain't ever looked back. From time to time I receive a communique from him tellin' me how fine the livin' is there. A little hot, but they've got pools EVERYWHERE!"
"So how come you ain't hitched a ride?" Travis inquired, a little jealous.
"One day I will. I'm just waitin' for the right time." Buck answered as he ran a paw over his whiskers and gazed up at the sky.
Just about then, the two rats were distracted by a rustling sound. It was Michelle, the finest female rat in the wooded pile. Every rat within miles was interested in Michelle but she only dealt with rats who could bring in the big cheese.
"Hi Michelle," Travis and Buck said in unison. Michelle ignored them both and scurried down her hole.
"One of these days, I'm gonna get that girl." Travis said.
"That'll be the day." Buck replied.
"What, you don't think I can?"
"Look Travis, we're bottom feeders. We rarely take the chances that Michelle's dates take. Some venture out and never come back you know."
"I guess that Paradise you brag about is just too satisfying for them to return, huh?" Travis said a little annoyed with Buck.
"Look, if you don't believe me, go ask Ol' Willard. He's been around forever-he knows everything. Maybe he'll convince you."
"If it's such paradise, why does everyone we know sit around the wooded pile, rooting for worms?" Travis asked.
"Because, worms ain't so bad. Besides, to get to paradise, you've got to cross Hawk's alley and even the fastest rat we know can't outrun a hawk. But once you make it to the other side-it's all good."
"So you say. Look, I gotta run. I'm gettin' hungry" said Travis.
"Yeah, me too. I'll see you around." Buck scurried off in the opposite direction, stop and yelled over his shoulder, "Go see Ol' Willard.
Travis scurried over to his favorite spot of refuse and began nibbling on a left over piece of lettuce and a rotted piece of meat that someone had thrown away almost a month ago. As he dined, he saw Ol' Willard, the oldest rat in the wooded pile, slowly making his way to his hole.
"Hey, Ol' Willard, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, what do ya wanna know."
"What's out past the wooded pile?"
"Funny you should ask" said Ol' Willard. "I heard from an extremely reliable source that just north of the pile, in the shaded area, is a place where you can dine on wonderful treats. Large chunks of cheese, fresh apple slices, and peanut butter."
"Peanut butter?" Travis' eyes lit up. Peanut butter was a rare treat, but a delight if you could get your paws on some.
"Yes son, peanut butter. They serve it on laaarge wooden planks" Ol' Willard answered. "Look, it's time for my nap. If you decide to venture out, bring Ol' Willard back a taste would you?"
"I'll do just that!" Travis answered and scurried off to find Michelle. Ol' Willard gave him an idea. He'd promise Michelle something no rat could resist-peanut butter.
Travis arrived at Michelle's hole and called out.
"Michelle, come out-I have something for you." But Michelle didn't answer. Again, he called out, again, no answer. This went on for 5 minutes until finally Michelle poked her head out of her hole.
"What is it Travis?" she yelled, "I'm trying to take a nap." Michelle didn't have to forage for food too often, there was always a willing suitor who would do it for her. So she slept a lot.
"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to...well, go out on a date with me?"
"On a date with you? Why Travis Ratus, why on earth would I want to do such a stupid thing. You've been dining on that same rotten piece of meat for the past month-yes, I've seen you. I only dine on the finest imported cuisine. Rotten meat is beneath me. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some very important napping to do." Michelle turned to retreat into her hole when Travis blurted out,
"I've got peanut butter!" This stopped Michelle in her tracks. She turned around slowly and with a her eyes as wide as pennies she said,
"Peanut butter?"
"Yes, peanut butter. Ol' Willard told me of a secret spot just north in the shaded area."
"What does Ol' Willard know? He hasn't been out of the wooded pile since his acting days."
"He even shared some with me" Travis lied. He was desperate and at this point would say anything to convince Michelle. Michelle sauntered up whisker to whisker with Travis.
"Look, if you're lying to me, I have boyfriends, lots of them, and it won't take much to convince them to gnaw through that narrow head of yours as though it were rope. Do I make myself clear? Now what time will you be picking me up?"
Delighted, Travis yelled out, 3:30, but then he realized it was already 4 in the afternoon. Gathering his senses, he responded,
"Ahem, I'll pick you up in exactly one hour, and please, wear your finest." Michelle turned and scurried down her hole. She could barely contain her excitement. She had only had peanut butter once before and for days after, she would lick her whiskers remembering what a pleasure it was.
Around about 4:50 pm, Travis began to make his way towards Michelle's hole and he saw Buck scurrying down a tree with a tiny bird egg wedged between his cheeks. The egg made his cheeks seem enormous.
"Where you goin' all decked out?" Buck asked as he dropped the egg from his mouth.
"Got a date with Michelle" Travis replied.
"Oh no you don't!"
"Do too. Ol' Willard shared with me one of his secrets and Michelle and I are venturing out to the shaded area for a little fun."
"He told you 'bout the peanut butter, didn't he?"
"Yeah, what about it?" Travis inquired.
"Damn that ol' rat. I was the one who told him!"
Travis' heart sank when he realized Buck was Ol' Willard's reliable source. "You told him? Who told you?"
"Benji. When he left for Las Vegas, he passed through the shaded area and saw a rat who had eaten himself to death. He was laid out on the wooden plank, eyes bulging. Benji thinks that he ate and ate until he couldn't eat no more. Funny thing was, there was still so much peanut butter left on the wooded plank. Benji ate some, and took the rest with him."
"Buck! Is this another one of your tales of paradise?"
"No Travis, not this time. Ok, I'll admit that I made up the European spa thing this morning, but Benji wouldn't lie. He might freeload, but he'd never lie."
"Well I have no choice now-I've got to take Michelle. Wish me luck, and stay out of those nests-you're gonna get caught one day."
"That's what you always say. Good luck."
Travis made his way to Michelle's hole and to his suprise, she was waiting outside for him.
"You're late, Ratus. Are you sure this is safe? I've never been to the shaded area, have you?" Michelle was filled with excitement.
"Yeah, sure. Buck and I go all the time" he lied.
"That Buck stretches the truth like it's string cheese, Travis. I don't know if I can trust you."
"Of course you can. Right this way M' lady."
Travis extended a paw and the two made their way out of the wooded pile and into the vast open shaded area. They walked for what seemed like hours. Travis felt as though someone was following him, and even mentioned it once to Michelle, but she said that he was being ridiculous.
Michelle talked the entire time and Travis began to notice that Michelle had some very annoying habits. She talked only of herself, and she snorted when she chuckled. She also had an enormous head and she made entirely too much noise to suit Travis, but he didn't have the heart to tell her. Just as Michelle began another one of her boring tales, Travis caught the whiff of a very faint, but familiar smell.
"...and he brought just one tiny piece of cheese..for the both of us. Can you believe-"
"SHHHH." Travis whispered, his whiskers twitching. "Can you smell that?"
Michelle began to pay attention and she too began to twitch her whiskers.
"Why, Travis Ratus, as I live and breathe, I smell PEANUT BUTTER!!!!"
A rat's sense of smell is is extremely sensitive and the faint smell of peanut butter was no guarantee they'd find any. But their excitement grew and Travis reached out, grabbed Michelle's paw, and picked up the pace. Travis noticed that Michelle's paw was cold and clammy and it made him feel uneasy, but now, he was less interested in Michelle and more interested in finding the peanut butter.
As they zig-zagged down the path in the shaded area, the scent of peanut butter began to grow stronger and it wasn't long before the two of them stood before a large wooden plank, almost twice their size. And sitting in the middle was a dollop of peanut butter three times the size of Michelle's exceptionally large head.
"EEEEK!!!" Michelle shrieked! "There it is Travis!" She began to scurry quickly towards the peanut butter, but Travis grabbed her paw.
"Wait, let's walk over together." Travis said.
"Let's not Travis. In fact, why don't you just go back to the wooded pile, we won't be needing you any longer."
"We?" Travis asked. Just then, an enormous rat with paws the size of maple leaves, and muscle that bulged as though someone had pumped them full of air, scurried from the brush and right over to Michelle.
"This here is Brutus, my boyfriend. Brutus, this here's Travis. He was just leaving."
"I...I don't understand." Travis said.
"Silly rat. Brutus has been tailing us the entire time. Did you really think I would date a rat who dines on rotten meat? You're beneath me Travis Ratus, now scurry on back to the wooded pile before Brutus here gets jealous."
Travis grew angry, but the bulging muscles on Brutus was enough to discourage any ideas he might have had. He was tired, hungry, and disappointed. But he knew he'd been outwitted by Michelle. He took one last look at the large mound of peanut butter as Michelle and Brutus made their way over to the wooden plank. It was too much for him to bear, so he turned and started to make his way back to the wooded pile. Just as he did he heard a loud WHAP!!!!!! that scared him so, he jumped 5 feet in the air and quickly ran for cover behind a rock. Peering around the rock he saw a site that both horrified him and delighted him at the same time. Michelle and Brutus' necks had been snapped by a large metal bar, their eyes were now bulging out of their sockets-they both were dead. Travis sat behind the rock for a while, wondering what he should do. He finally mustered up the courage to go over to the bodies of Michelle and Brutus. Picking up a stick, he poked at the metal bar, it didn't move at all-neither did they. He poked at the peanut butter with the stick and scooped up a nice chunk of it and put it in his mouth. It tasted like heaven.
He went back over to the rock and found a leaf. He dragged it over to the plank and began scooping the peanut butter onto the leaf. Not long after, he had removed all but small amount that stuck to the plank. He dragged the leaf for what seemed like hours back to the wooded pile and into his hole.
3 MONTHS LATER
Three months had gone by and not much had changed in the wooded pile. Ol' Willard was still the oldest rat, Michelle was gone but a rat by the name of Regina eagerly stepped into the harlot shoes she left behind, and there was still no shortage of male rats willing to risk life and limb to impress her. However, there were some slight changes. Travis and Buck no longer spent there days fantasizing about the paradise that existed beyond the wooded pile. After returning from his quest for peanut butter, Travis and Buck decided to go into business and supply the rare and savory treat to all who resided in the wooded pile. They were known as the Peanut Butter Hunters. Travis figured out what caused Michelle and Brutus' terrible fate and devised a method of extracting the peanut butter from the wooden plank without losing his neck. He was so successful at it that he and Buck became very wealthy rats, and they would often travel to the Vegas strip to visit Benji. Travis soon found out that most of Buck's tales were indeed false. But there was one thing he was 100% correct about, Las Vegas.
THE END
Ok, I know I have an overactive imagination-and this couldn't possibly be how my stepfather caught two rats, at the same time, in one trap. But you have to admit, at the very least, The Rat Story was entertaining.
TPOKW
For many days after, I wondered how such a thing could have happened. I could see it if one got caught, but two? I pondered this marvelous mystery for days, and finally, this is the conclusion I inevitably reached.
THE RAT TALE
Once upon a time, in the wooded pile lived a rat named Travis Ratus. Travis was extremely naive, and his sidekick, Buck, was equally (if not even more) naive but compensated by inventing tall tales that sometimes entertained, but mostly irritated Travis. Travis and Buck had lived in wooded pile as far back as they could remember and rarely did they venture out too far. Travis always had questions about what might exist beyond the wooded pile, and Buck always had an explanation.
"What do you suppose is out in that vast open space, Buck?" Travis would ask.
"Why there's sheer paradise, Travis. There's food as far as the eye can see, and lots of things for rats like us to do." Buck answered.
"Oh yeah, like what Buck?"
"Well there's fancy resorts-not like the boring ones here in the wooded pile, but like the ones they have in Las Vegas-European style!"
"How do you know these things?" Travis asked as a look of puzzled bewilderment invaded is whiskered face.
"You remember my cousin Benji?" said Buck.
"Yeah, that freeloader who always ate my cheese?"
"Yes, that very same one. Well I'll have you know, that freeloader is livin' it up at one the fanciest hotels on the Vegas strip. He hitched a ride on a produce truck headed for the promise land and he ain't ever looked back. From time to time I receive a communique from him tellin' me how fine the livin' is there. A little hot, but they've got pools EVERYWHERE!"
"So how come you ain't hitched a ride?" Travis inquired, a little jealous.
"One day I will. I'm just waitin' for the right time." Buck answered as he ran a paw over his whiskers and gazed up at the sky.
Just about then, the two rats were distracted by a rustling sound. It was Michelle, the finest female rat in the wooded pile. Every rat within miles was interested in Michelle but she only dealt with rats who could bring in the big cheese.
"Hi Michelle," Travis and Buck said in unison. Michelle ignored them both and scurried down her hole.
"One of these days, I'm gonna get that girl." Travis said.
"That'll be the day." Buck replied.
"What, you don't think I can?"
"Look Travis, we're bottom feeders. We rarely take the chances that Michelle's dates take. Some venture out and never come back you know."
"I guess that Paradise you brag about is just too satisfying for them to return, huh?" Travis said a little annoyed with Buck.
"Look, if you don't believe me, go ask Ol' Willard. He's been around forever-he knows everything. Maybe he'll convince you."
"If it's such paradise, why does everyone we know sit around the wooded pile, rooting for worms?" Travis asked.
"Because, worms ain't so bad. Besides, to get to paradise, you've got to cross Hawk's alley and even the fastest rat we know can't outrun a hawk. But once you make it to the other side-it's all good."
"So you say. Look, I gotta run. I'm gettin' hungry" said Travis.
"Yeah, me too. I'll see you around." Buck scurried off in the opposite direction, stop and yelled over his shoulder, "Go see Ol' Willard.
Travis scurried over to his favorite spot of refuse and began nibbling on a left over piece of lettuce and a rotted piece of meat that someone had thrown away almost a month ago. As he dined, he saw Ol' Willard, the oldest rat in the wooded pile, slowly making his way to his hole.
"Hey, Ol' Willard, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, what do ya wanna know."
"What's out past the wooded pile?"
"Funny you should ask" said Ol' Willard. "I heard from an extremely reliable source that just north of the pile, in the shaded area, is a place where you can dine on wonderful treats. Large chunks of cheese, fresh apple slices, and peanut butter."
"Peanut butter?" Travis' eyes lit up. Peanut butter was a rare treat, but a delight if you could get your paws on some.
"Yes son, peanut butter. They serve it on laaarge wooden planks" Ol' Willard answered. "Look, it's time for my nap. If you decide to venture out, bring Ol' Willard back a taste would you?"
"I'll do just that!" Travis answered and scurried off to find Michelle. Ol' Willard gave him an idea. He'd promise Michelle something no rat could resist-peanut butter.
Travis arrived at Michelle's hole and called out.
"Michelle, come out-I have something for you." But Michelle didn't answer. Again, he called out, again, no answer. This went on for 5 minutes until finally Michelle poked her head out of her hole.
"What is it Travis?" she yelled, "I'm trying to take a nap." Michelle didn't have to forage for food too often, there was always a willing suitor who would do it for her. So she slept a lot.
"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to...well, go out on a date with me?"
"On a date with you? Why Travis Ratus, why on earth would I want to do such a stupid thing. You've been dining on that same rotten piece of meat for the past month-yes, I've seen you. I only dine on the finest imported cuisine. Rotten meat is beneath me. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some very important napping to do." Michelle turned to retreat into her hole when Travis blurted out,
"I've got peanut butter!" This stopped Michelle in her tracks. She turned around slowly and with a her eyes as wide as pennies she said,
"Peanut butter?"
"Yes, peanut butter. Ol' Willard told me of a secret spot just north in the shaded area."
"What does Ol' Willard know? He hasn't been out of the wooded pile since his acting days."
"He even shared some with me" Travis lied. He was desperate and at this point would say anything to convince Michelle. Michelle sauntered up whisker to whisker with Travis.
"Look, if you're lying to me, I have boyfriends, lots of them, and it won't take much to convince them to gnaw through that narrow head of yours as though it were rope. Do I make myself clear? Now what time will you be picking me up?"
Delighted, Travis yelled out, 3:30, but then he realized it was already 4 in the afternoon. Gathering his senses, he responded,
"Ahem, I'll pick you up in exactly one hour, and please, wear your finest." Michelle turned and scurried down her hole. She could barely contain her excitement. She had only had peanut butter once before and for days after, she would lick her whiskers remembering what a pleasure it was.
Around about 4:50 pm, Travis began to make his way towards Michelle's hole and he saw Buck scurrying down a tree with a tiny bird egg wedged between his cheeks. The egg made his cheeks seem enormous.
"Where you goin' all decked out?" Buck asked as he dropped the egg from his mouth.
"Got a date with Michelle" Travis replied.
"Oh no you don't!"
"Do too. Ol' Willard shared with me one of his secrets and Michelle and I are venturing out to the shaded area for a little fun."
"He told you 'bout the peanut butter, didn't he?"
"Yeah, what about it?" Travis inquired.
"Damn that ol' rat. I was the one who told him!"
Travis' heart sank when he realized Buck was Ol' Willard's reliable source. "You told him? Who told you?"
"Benji. When he left for Las Vegas, he passed through the shaded area and saw a rat who had eaten himself to death. He was laid out on the wooden plank, eyes bulging. Benji thinks that he ate and ate until he couldn't eat no more. Funny thing was, there was still so much peanut butter left on the wooded plank. Benji ate some, and took the rest with him."
"Buck! Is this another one of your tales of paradise?"
"No Travis, not this time. Ok, I'll admit that I made up the European spa thing this morning, but Benji wouldn't lie. He might freeload, but he'd never lie."
"Well I have no choice now-I've got to take Michelle. Wish me luck, and stay out of those nests-you're gonna get caught one day."
"That's what you always say. Good luck."
Travis made his way to Michelle's hole and to his suprise, she was waiting outside for him.
"You're late, Ratus. Are you sure this is safe? I've never been to the shaded area, have you?" Michelle was filled with excitement.
"Yeah, sure. Buck and I go all the time" he lied.
"That Buck stretches the truth like it's string cheese, Travis. I don't know if I can trust you."
"Of course you can. Right this way M' lady."
Travis extended a paw and the two made their way out of the wooded pile and into the vast open shaded area. They walked for what seemed like hours. Travis felt as though someone was following him, and even mentioned it once to Michelle, but she said that he was being ridiculous.
Michelle talked the entire time and Travis began to notice that Michelle had some very annoying habits. She talked only of herself, and she snorted when she chuckled. She also had an enormous head and she made entirely too much noise to suit Travis, but he didn't have the heart to tell her. Just as Michelle began another one of her boring tales, Travis caught the whiff of a very faint, but familiar smell.
"...and he brought just one tiny piece of cheese..for the both of us. Can you believe-"
"SHHHH." Travis whispered, his whiskers twitching. "Can you smell that?"
Michelle began to pay attention and she too began to twitch her whiskers.
"Why, Travis Ratus, as I live and breathe, I smell PEANUT BUTTER!!!!"
A rat's sense of smell is is extremely sensitive and the faint smell of peanut butter was no guarantee they'd find any. But their excitement grew and Travis reached out, grabbed Michelle's paw, and picked up the pace. Travis noticed that Michelle's paw was cold and clammy and it made him feel uneasy, but now, he was less interested in Michelle and more interested in finding the peanut butter.
As they zig-zagged down the path in the shaded area, the scent of peanut butter began to grow stronger and it wasn't long before the two of them stood before a large wooden plank, almost twice their size. And sitting in the middle was a dollop of peanut butter three times the size of Michelle's exceptionally large head.
"EEEEK!!!" Michelle shrieked! "There it is Travis!" She began to scurry quickly towards the peanut butter, but Travis grabbed her paw.
"Wait, let's walk over together." Travis said.
"Let's not Travis. In fact, why don't you just go back to the wooded pile, we won't be needing you any longer."
"We?" Travis asked. Just then, an enormous rat with paws the size of maple leaves, and muscle that bulged as though someone had pumped them full of air, scurried from the brush and right over to Michelle.
"This here is Brutus, my boyfriend. Brutus, this here's Travis. He was just leaving."
"I...I don't understand." Travis said.
"Silly rat. Brutus has been tailing us the entire time. Did you really think I would date a rat who dines on rotten meat? You're beneath me Travis Ratus, now scurry on back to the wooded pile before Brutus here gets jealous."
Travis grew angry, but the bulging muscles on Brutus was enough to discourage any ideas he might have had. He was tired, hungry, and disappointed. But he knew he'd been outwitted by Michelle. He took one last look at the large mound of peanut butter as Michelle and Brutus made their way over to the wooden plank. It was too much for him to bear, so he turned and started to make his way back to the wooded pile. Just as he did he heard a loud WHAP!!!!!! that scared him so, he jumped 5 feet in the air and quickly ran for cover behind a rock. Peering around the rock he saw a site that both horrified him and delighted him at the same time. Michelle and Brutus' necks had been snapped by a large metal bar, their eyes were now bulging out of their sockets-they both were dead. Travis sat behind the rock for a while, wondering what he should do. He finally mustered up the courage to go over to the bodies of Michelle and Brutus. Picking up a stick, he poked at the metal bar, it didn't move at all-neither did they. He poked at the peanut butter with the stick and scooped up a nice chunk of it and put it in his mouth. It tasted like heaven.
He went back over to the rock and found a leaf. He dragged it over to the plank and began scooping the peanut butter onto the leaf. Not long after, he had removed all but small amount that stuck to the plank. He dragged the leaf for what seemed like hours back to the wooded pile and into his hole.
3 MONTHS LATER
Three months had gone by and not much had changed in the wooded pile. Ol' Willard was still the oldest rat, Michelle was gone but a rat by the name of Regina eagerly stepped into the harlot shoes she left behind, and there was still no shortage of male rats willing to risk life and limb to impress her. However, there were some slight changes. Travis and Buck no longer spent there days fantasizing about the paradise that existed beyond the wooded pile. After returning from his quest for peanut butter, Travis and Buck decided to go into business and supply the rare and savory treat to all who resided in the wooded pile. They were known as the Peanut Butter Hunters. Travis figured out what caused Michelle and Brutus' terrible fate and devised a method of extracting the peanut butter from the wooden plank without losing his neck. He was so successful at it that he and Buck became very wealthy rats, and they would often travel to the Vegas strip to visit Benji. Travis soon found out that most of Buck's tales were indeed false. But there was one thing he was 100% correct about, Las Vegas.
THE END
Ok, I know I have an overactive imagination-and this couldn't possibly be how my stepfather caught two rats, at the same time, in one trap. But you have to admit, at the very least, The Rat Story was entertaining.
TPOKW
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