A modern day Lando Calrissian

I shaved my beard this evening.
Oh, you didn't know I had a beard? Well, look at my profile picture, and mentally draw a beard on it. Or literally draw a beard on it, if you have computer monitors to spare -- I have, so I often do that sort of thing.
Now, erase the beard, mentally. Or throw away your drawn-on monitor and hook up a new one...
Amazing change, huh?

It's very refreshing, you know. I'd recommend it to anyone, as a nice change of pace. If you haven't got a beard, shave something else covered in hair (it has to be attached to your body though -- shaving a cat, or something, would be refreshing as well, but in a different way). Or if you're one of those bizarre hairless people, albinos, try just taking off your shirt. It's nice, isn't it.

The reason for this change of face is that I am preparing for a trip -- I'm going to Vietnam. I know what you're all thinking: "Oh, he's going to pick up a mail-order Vietnamese bride."
Not true. First of all, that would just be weird. Also, I could never be with a communist. I wasn't around for much of the Cold War, but my friend Tard is a bonified Cold Warrior, and he still gets night terrors about the whole thing. It's true -- I've been woken up by him screaming "Castro! Kennedy! Castro!" in the middle of the night, and he lives two houses away.
No, the reason for my trip is much more noble that all of that. I plan on pretending to adopt a child. A little Vietnamese child.
There's been so much great press lately over adopting tiny foreigners, and I want a part of it! When I come back, I'll have tons of pictures of me touring orphanages, and shaking the hands of hopeful little kids, and my admirers will be in hog heaven. I'm hoping, too, that the children will make me little gifts, in the hope of winning me over.
As far as actually bringing home an orphan goes, well the chances of that are pretty much zero. It wouldn't be good for the kid -- I used to have a cactus, and I paid so little attention to it, the damn thing just wasted away. I'd hate to see that happen to a child. Plus, I don't want to be tied down to some little weirdo for the next twelve years.
I'm very much looking forward to the whole experience.

Also, did I ever mention my recent trip to the lemur farm? No, I didn't, did I. Well, it was remarkable, but it will have to wait. I have a plane to catch!

Bondage, Gay Bondage.

Well, I saw the new James Bond film. Or, as my subject line suggests, perhaps I saw the new Gay Bondage film. Because I have never watched a movie with more (homo) sexual violence -- outside of an actual gay bondage film.
I tell ya, this is exactly the sort of nonsense our senators and lady senators should be getting rid of. Who wants to drop their kids off at some supposedly family-friendly action flick, only to have them subjected to two hours of a naked, muscular British man, tied to a chair, having his "dundees" beaten with a length of rope?
I see a Michael Jackson joke coming up here, so don't even try it -- it's not funny. Michael may cover his children's faces and airways in scarves, but I'm sure that even he has his limits (gay bondage).

Oh, also, I think my hands are getting bigger. This keyboard used to be just the right size for me, and now I feel like I'm about to sink my fingers right through the darn thing. I typed this whole blog with one hand, because that's all that would fit over the keys.

I take it back - science is no good.

Tard Henderson, who reads my blog religiously (I require that he does, or he's out of the band), has pointed out that the "scientific study" I mentioned earlier today is, in fact, a joke about beating women.
I asked him how anyone but a woman-beater would know that, and told him he's out of the band.
Also, this doesn't explain why I punched to death Grover Cleveland (the guinea pig).

Statistics can prove ANYTHING!

The other day I was having a conversation with some of my uncles. Two of them, who are twins, as it happens. Seamus just got out of minimum security prison (apparently that's where they send you if absolutely refuse to stop shoplifting), so he likes to talk quite a bit. Sean is partially retarded, the result of a drinking accident, so he actually likes to talk quite a bit too.
It was Seamus, however, who got us started on the evening's main talking point. We had been telling jokes, and something made him think of a statistic he had heard, which I will pass on to you:
Apparently, scientists recently performed a very large survey on a group of women who had been the victims of domestic abuse -- something like fifty thousand of them.  They did lots of studying, and asked all sorts of questions, in the attempt to find a single common element among these women. And, although Seamus didn't mention the exact period of study, or the final budget, he said that eventually they found the answer: the single common characteristic of these abused women was that "they just wouldn't listen."
Amazing. I don't pretend to fully understand the ramifications of this discovery, or how it might apply to lowering the incidence of abuse, but the very fact that it was found restores hope for me in science and social services. What an undertaking! And think how much more difficult the whole thing must have been made by having fifty thousand subjects that just wouldn't listen!
My uncles were similarily impressed. Seamus started laughing, he was so excited about the research. Sean laughed too, probably because he saw Seamus doing it.
It makes me wonder, also, if the same conclusion could be drawn about children and animals that are abused. I mean, I'd hate to make any generalizations before a sufficient period of research, but it would seem to make sense. I used to have a guinea pig, and I only ever punched him when he wouldn't listen. In my defense, however, it only happened once.

Anyway, science is making the world a better place.

What Break a Razor?

Golly, nothing makes a man like a nice goatee.

A goatee is like... like...
It's like you took a drink from the hairy Pool of Man, but instead of sipping its water from the Cup of Girl you just lay down in the mud and stuck your face in it.
Or like all your anger squeezed out from the pores around your mouth, and then hardened into hair.
Or like your chin was so covered in the juice of the apple of original sin that dust and crap just started sticking to it.

I'm afraid that I don't have a goatee myself, but, then again, I've always thought of myself as more of a "boy."

An Enemy of God

Now, as some of you no doubt already know, Sundays are my "Thinking Days." Today was (is) Sunday, so, naturally, when 11:45 came along, I got out of the tub and put on my Thinking Cap. I used to wear the Thinking Cap in the tub, but I found that the color tended to bleed a little when it got wet, and the small benefits putting the cap on early provided just weren't worth it.

I began today's session, as I often do, by thinking about my enemies. They are many, and they are ruthless. Like fire ants, or killer bees. Also like fire ants and killer bees, they are easily managed with poison.


When I run into my enemies, or when they run into me (which of us is the hunter, and which the hunted can be difficult to distinguish), I usually react in one of three ways: A) I embrace them warmly, so as to put them off their guard
 (this frequently allows me the opportunity to sprinkle or inject them with any number of potions as well); B) I threaten them with fire and personal injury; or 3) I say this: "You make an enemy of God, you make an enemy of me..." I have always been very satisfied with this line. I think it leaves my enemies wondering what they did to offend God, thereby removing focus from me. Also, a large part of some of our more successful foriegn policies have been based on this idea, and I have always considered myself a patriot.

Today, however, under the Thinking Cap, I began to question the whole idea of option 3. The more I considered it, the more likely it seemed that I was as wrong as can be -- that the more accurate and frightening line is perhaps, "You make an enemy of me, you make an enemy of God..."

First of all, this statement is more than likely true, and while it doesn't distract from the original conflict between me and the enemy, the offending party will be left, well, paralyzed with dread at the thought of an angry God. Having God back you up is like having Andre the Giant, or Zeus, as a big brother. Plus, if anything really bad ever did happen to one of my enemies, like getting food poisoning, or struck by lightening, the rest of them would always be wondering if it was God that did it, and what he might have up his sleeve for the next one. Probably a flood.