As you may know, I live in a lovely bedroom community with the highest per capital rates of Meth use and AIDS infections in our state. Well, when you live in a town like mine, you have the priveledge of seeing some interesting folks that usually leave me shaking my head in quiet “what the fuck..” disbelief.

Such examples are everywhere at the gym where I work out. It is called “The Powerhouse”. Draw your own conclusions. Everytime I walk in, its just like I have just taken a sweet ride in a Delorean back to 1984. The interior is decorated with hot blues and pinks; the apparel rack to the right of the entrance is outfitted with monster neck cropped sweatshirts, pink spandex shorts (for men), and killer parachute pants with black and white stripes. Awesome.

Anyway, back to the interesting people. Yesterday, as I was wailing on my pecs (that’s a lifting term), and I turned to my right to see a man in black sweats and a denim coat-with the sleeves cut off of course, doing military presses. After he got done with his set, he put down his weights, and reached into his pocket. And pulled out a can of chew. He then put in an enormous chaw as casually as if he’d just took a drink from his sports bottle, and continued lifting weights.

Holy shit, I nearly dropped the weights on my chest after I saw that. I swear, this guy ranks right up there with the guy I saw at Home Depot carrying out a chop-off saw with a parrot on his shoulder a few months back. Where do the fuck do guys like this come from? Anybody got any ideas. If you do, or have an example of equally social retards, let me know.

Mad

What is the deal with those gigantic inflatable holiday decorations that people are putting on their roofs these days? As I drive around town I have seen:

1.) A house with a giant Santa in a fishing boat in the front yard, with a reindeer on the end his line.

2.) A house with a 10 foot oddcouple duo of the Grinch and Santa.

3.) And best of all, a house with a 15 foot Homer Simspon in a Santa outfit, once again on the roof for all to see.

I mean, come on. Is there a better way to say to the world that I have no class, and I have a small penis, then to have a 15 foot inflatable Homer on your roof? If there is, I can’t think of it. If anybody has one of these, please explain to me the thought process here, I just don’t get it. And by the way, my county has a serious meth problem. Coincidence? I think not. The bottom line is, there are a thousand better ways to spread holiday cheer then to erect a mammoth illuminescent condom on ones roof.

Mad

I work shift work, so sometimes I end up working nightshift, and get off at six in the morning. Well, last Friday, (after Thanksgiving) I got off work in the morning and drove home. My drive home takes me right past our local behomoth distribution center of the fruits of Chinese slave child-labor: Wal-Mart. I know it was after Thanksgiving, and that getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to go shopping is a rite of passage for mother-daughters in this country, but this was ridiculous.

At 6:00 a.m., there was not one parking space left in the Wal-Mart lot, as freakin’ huge as it is. As I drove past, I pondered the hoards of fat, white, welfare-sustained-like an I.V drip woman who were inside, fighting each other over the last $12.99 mini-George Foreman Grill. I then realized, America is fucked.

How could we have let this happen?? For some reason, these Walmies (as I call them, you know what I’m talking about) can’t seem to get a job, use birth control, or practice personal hygeine, have no problem spending their monthly government pennance on cheap worthless crap shipped over from China. They are, welfare check by check, taking money from this country and shipping it to the commies, penny by penny contributing to the 100 Biliion-plus trade deficit there.

They do it, because they are stupid. Por ejemplo:

-I once watched a Walmie, with little girl on his shoulders, low bridge her on the way out of the door. You see, he was too stupid to realize that she extended 3 feet above him, and the top of the exit door jam only allowed for a foot or so.

-I once watched a Walmie-in-training, 14 or so, buy a pair of red thong underwear, which looked like they could fit a Moose, exclaim that “my mom will freak out when she sees this Valentine’s day present”.

Why do these folks come to Wal-Mart? I believe because there is a certain kind of trashy comraderie that exists inside, kind of like the fat-kid lunch table in middle school. Also, they think their food stamps go farther there. The latter which is wrong.

Last week, I watched a PBS show called “Is Wal-Mart Good for America?” It left my jaw dropped, as the show uncovered Wal-Mart as a dirty handed, American job killing, Chinese supported corporation hellbent on ruling the world. Not totally unlike Cobra in G.I.Joe. Basically, Wal-Mart’s strategy starts with “price-points”, these are the displays with bins you see at Wal-Mart with really low prices. Well, Wal-Mart sells these at an incredible loss, so that dump trashy folks get convinced that everything in the store is this cheap. The reality is the opposite of course. Classic marketing ploy? Sure it is, but Wal-Mart has executed it in such a way that they have created a loyal legion of stupid Americans who believe it.

If you are interested in the documentary, and for Godsake’s watch it, here is the link you can view on the web:

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/walmart/

Happy Holidays,

Mad

Recently, I bought a computer at Best Buy. After I told the salesman that I wanted to buy the computer, I had to jump through about 25 hoops before I actually was leaving the store, computer in hand. The initial conversation went something like this:

Me: I’d like to buy this computer, it seems like a good deal.

Him: It is a great deal, do you want the extended warranty contract?

Me: How much is that?

Him: Not much at all, $149 on this model, for 3 years.

Me: No, I don’t think, so I just want to buy the computer.

Him: Are you sure, everybody needs a warranty because computers go bad all the time.

Me: Your telling me you sell inferior equipment?

Him: (Without skipping a beat) No, I’m just telling you that computers tend to break down, (pointing to the service department) and we have all those techs back there working on examples to prove it.

Me: Well, I think I’ll take my chances with the computer.

Him: But its only $149, what if somebody steals your computer, it also covers that.

Me: My homeowners covers that (I’m starting to get pissed now, this has dragged on for way too long)

This went on for some time, after which he said he’d run back to the back of the store to get the computer. After a bit, a different salesperson comes out with some paperwork. It went something like this:

Him: So I see you don’t want the warranty, are you sure about that?

Me: Yes, I just want the computer.

Him: How about a best buy credit card, 0% interest for 12 months. Plus you get reward certificate for signing up.

Me: OK, I’ll do that.

Him: How about credit protection fee?

Me: No, I don’t want that.

Him: (Lie #1) It’s free for the first two months, and they call you if you want to continue, and then you get $25 in best buy certificates.

Me: OK. (What actually happened: I had to call and be on the phone for an hour with some clueless Indian in an offshore calling center to get this resolved. Total f’ing hassle).

Him: Are you sure about that warranty:?

At this point, the other original salesman (read, lying asshole) came out, and in a seamless handoff, begin in on me. Looking back on it, I realize this was like a pro wrestler tagging in on a two-on-one ass kicking. I didn’t have a chance.

Him: So, thought anymore about that warranty?

Me: Don’t want it.

Him: How about a free (lie #2) subscription to napster?

Me: OK. (Actually, another bigass hassle to close.

Him: If you sign here, we will give you another $25 best buy certificate.

Me: What’s the catch?

Him: No catch. (Lie #3, a fucking doozy) They just send you an application and you decide if you want to apply.

Truth: About two months later, I receive a bill from household bank that I now have a credit card with a $500 credit limit, and get this, a fucking $99/year annual fee, which was included on the first bill. This is an excellent 25% credit to fee ratio. After another hour of hassle, with some very nice Indian fellow in Calcutta, I finally go this taken care of.

I then proceeded to the cashier.

Cashier: I see you didn’t want the warranty, you should really get the warranty.

At this point, I feel like I’m in some kind of episode of Seinfeld, or a hidden camera show. Bottom line, after all the shit they put you through, and the bullshit lies they tell you whcih turn into a huge hassle, don’t go to this fucking den of cheats.

“There’s an old saying in Tennessee—I know it’s in Texas, probably in Tennessee—that says, fool me once, shame on—shame on you. Fool me—you can’t get fooled again.”—

President George Bush.

Nashville, Tenn., Sept. 17, 2002

See the attached link reguarding Budweiser’s new entry of a new caffeinated, ginseng laced beer aimed at the club scene. http://money.cnn.com/2004/10/05/news/fortune500/anheuser_busch.reut/index.htm

Since I haven’t tried this yet, I can’t speak of whether it’s worth a shit or not, but from the outside, this makes me want to puke.

Budweiser use to stand for something. Things like American flags, drinking at tailgates, ear splitting hangovers, and pissing your pants silly. Now, the company has sold it’s barley malted soul to the black shirt glitter chest faggot crowds at your local raver. I’m practically speechless. If anybody else can tell me why I’m wrong here, please do.

And budweiser, if your doing this for the extra greenbacks, why didn’t you tell me you were in hock? We could have started a grass roots binge to boost sales, you didn’t have to go slumming and piss off your local customers, you know we got your back, or use to anyway.

“I would rather have a German division in front of me than a French one behind me.” — General George S. Patton

What do you expect from a culture and a nation that exerted more of its national will fighting against Disney World and Big Macs than the Nazis?” — Dennis Miller

I was thinking the other day of the presidential debates, and how some of the democrats tend to focus on GW’s lack of coalition building, his lack of bringing the French and the Germans with him in Iraq. It’s at these times that I think of the above quotes, and well, laugh my fucking ass off.

I mean, who are they kidding? We have the most demoralizing, dominating military force in the history of the world. The french, on the other hand, have just the opposite. They are the masters of defeat; the New Paris Yankees of the World Surrending Series over the last 2000 years. I’m not saying I neccessarily agree with the US being in Iraq, I just want to make it clear that not having the French with us, in the words of Norman Swarzkopff, “like going hunting without your accordian.”

So, feel free to criticize Bush for going to Iraq, for tax cuts, big oil, etc. But for not having the french help us? Come on.

I have found in my travels that the best television is not on Thursday nights-but rather on Saturday afternoon. Let me explain.

This weekend I was drinking the king with a buddy of mine, and we were watching the Tennessee-Auburn football game, ( or, more precisely, the Tennessee-Auburn shelacking) when we were interupted by an urgent newscast from the local news affiliated out of Portland, OR. What was more important than a rivalry game which I had money on you ask?

Here it is, and I’m not shitting you but….. some old Jesus looking bearded guy from the National Gelogical Service, or whoever the fuck the guys are who’ve had a constant woodsky over this whole St. Helens eruption thing the past week. He went on and on about “hot magma”, and “volcanic gases”, and explained in detail as if anybody but him and his 50 year role-playing game group of superdorks gave a shit, the minutia of seismic events.

So pissed off, I channel surfed and found my self watching an American legend, Buck Mcneilly. You see, Buck is a good ol’ boy who hosts an outdoor show, and this particular weekend was focused on the fine craft of gun smithing. He took us lucky few through the inner workings of a gun making factory where I learned about all the steps it takes to fashion wood and steel into a fine american killing machine. As Buck walked around the factory, rifle slung in arms in a way that gave me the sense he was born with it, I realized thatI must live in the greatest country in the world where a fat guy, probably never been laid, named Buck, had made a living by shooting shit. So, here’s to you, Buck McNeilly, a true man’s man, a real american hero.

Buck, you can be my wingman anytime. And, Bearded scientist volcano induced erection man, fuck off.