Sunday, January 30, 2005
a sort of eulogy
"Some are born to move the world --
To live their fantasies
But most of us just dream about
The things we'd like to be
Sadder still to watch it die
Than never to have known it
For you -- the blind who once could see --
The bell tolls for thee. . . "
-- Neil Peart
Curtis.
For now, he lingers ever present, bobbing just below the surface of consciousness, continually bursting through idle moments of thought with a smile or a tear.
More the latter than the former. That's just how it goes.
Is he in Heaven? Is he in the Other Place? I'll leave that question for the preachers and philosphers. The only certainty is that he is not here.
And that just plain fucking sucks.
I know that with the passing of each new day, he will slowly sink and softly settle down into the vast pool of memory and rest comfortably alongside those I have known and loved who have gone before him into the Void of the Great Unknown. My grandparents, Bill and Bruce, former students: Holly, Lonnie, Chris, Maribel, Rusty, William, and others.
I know that with the passing of each new day the profound sorrow and sadness at the loss will slowly fade, leaving only joy that I have been blessed to have been involved in the life.
But not today.
And that just plain fucking sucks.
But yet I know that day will come. It must. It always does.
And when that day arrives, and I am truly at peace with the tragic event and horrid memories of the past few days, there is no doubt a song, a phrase, or another thought will from time to time cause him to rise up and momentarily remind me of his presence.
Or as we who knew him occasionally go out with the boys and knock back a coupla coca-colas in his honor.
When that happens, will I think of his last moments, sitting beneath a tree in his parent's backyard with his hand on the trigger? Will I wonder what was it that made the thought of waking up Wednesday so completely unbearable?
No.
I will remember standing in front of The Alamo at 3:00 am on a Sunday morning because we left the party in our dorm room two hours earlier to go buy cirgarettes and somehow wound up on the interstate heading out of town, singing along with The Simple Minds "Don't You (Forget About Me)" while looking out the window at the stars.
I will remember jumping around playing wild air guitar with a tennis racket rocking out to "I Can't Drive 55".
I will remember Champions, and D & D games that went on for hours upon hours eventually ending in drunkeness, silliness or both.
I will remember Camp Wade and The Dome and Curtis and I eating all of the food.
I will remember "doodle doodle dee, wubba wubba wubba"
I will remember reading his copy of "Fear and Loathing". We interpreted it not as a novel, but more as a guidebook or instruction manual on how to live life to the fullest.
I will remember buying, then drinking the complete contents of our first bottle of mezcal, then creating and taping the first of many Doctors of Mezcal ceremonies to consume that blasted little worm.
I will remember Koyaanisqatsi on acid.
And Freddy 3 on acid.
I will remember spending over eight hours and twenty dollars playing Gauntlet on acid.
I will remember the bong we shared when we moved into our first apartment together. We called it "the baseball bong" because it was about the size of a bat and after three hits you were out.
Were we a little to much into recreational drug use? Probably.
We were only 20 when the drinking age went to 21. It suddenly became much easier to score a bag of weed, a few hits of acid, or some ecstacy than it was to get a six-pack of beer. I've always imagined that as one of the unintended consequences of the governments efforts to reduce teenage drinking.
And we were young, intelligent, invincible, with heads full of the ideas of Hunter S. Thompson, Robert Anton Wilson, and Timothy Leary.
But it wasn't all fun and games.
I will remember 36 to 48 hour marathons filled with textbooks, typewriters, and endless supplies of coffee, cigarettes and Dr Pepper.
We made it class most days and kept up our grades in the "A" or "B" range.
Study whenever we have to, party whenever we can.
Or as Curtis summed it up with his typiclal positive upbeat spin, following a complaint about having to go back to school after a break: "vacation never ends, it only changes locations".
I don't recall how or why it morphed into the bastardized Latin sounding "vacatium never endum, it only changum locatium".
But it did. It became and still is our motto.
Pseudo-Latin sayings? Um, okay.
We weren't half as cool as we thought we were. But I think secretly we all knew that.
I will remember all the girls I liked in college liking Curtis that way but me just as a friend. The bastard. He never once took any interest or my advice to at least allow me the opportunity to live vicariously through him.
I will remember Curtis turning me on to many of my still favorite bands, such as The Rainmakers and asking Bob Walkenhorst why he wrote about sitting on the porch with J.D. Salinger in one of their songs.
I will remember a 26 hour marathon non-stop road trip to see the Marfa Lights, taking turns sitting in the passenger seat looking down the highway with binoculars for signs of law enforcement as we speed excessively along.
I will remember returning from my five year self imposed exile "out of the country" (known also as "my first marriage") and being greeted with all the warmth, friendship, and forgiveness I would have received had seen him the day before.
And then going to see The Who rock like they haven't done in over twenty years.
I will remember all these things, and many many more.
As I remember them, I may share them with you, my dear reader.
I will remember because we all will remember.
It is through the act of remembering you honor someone's life and you eventually gain acceptance of their death.
But that takes time.
And that takes tears.
And that just plain fucking sucks.
|
To live their fantasies
But most of us just dream about
The things we'd like to be
Sadder still to watch it die
Than never to have known it
For you -- the blind who once could see --
The bell tolls for thee. . . "
-- Neil Peart
Curtis.
For now, he lingers ever present, bobbing just below the surface of consciousness, continually bursting through idle moments of thought with a smile or a tear.
More the latter than the former. That's just how it goes.
Is he in Heaven? Is he in the Other Place? I'll leave that question for the preachers and philosphers. The only certainty is that he is not here.
And that just plain fucking sucks.
I know that with the passing of each new day, he will slowly sink and softly settle down into the vast pool of memory and rest comfortably alongside those I have known and loved who have gone before him into the Void of the Great Unknown. My grandparents, Bill and Bruce, former students: Holly, Lonnie, Chris, Maribel, Rusty, William, and others.
I know that with the passing of each new day the profound sorrow and sadness at the loss will slowly fade, leaving only joy that I have been blessed to have been involved in the life.
But not today.
And that just plain fucking sucks.
But yet I know that day will come. It must. It always does.
And when that day arrives, and I am truly at peace with the tragic event and horrid memories of the past few days, there is no doubt a song, a phrase, or another thought will from time to time cause him to rise up and momentarily remind me of his presence.
Or as we who knew him occasionally go out with the boys and knock back a coupla coca-colas in his honor.
When that happens, will I think of his last moments, sitting beneath a tree in his parent's backyard with his hand on the trigger? Will I wonder what was it that made the thought of waking up Wednesday so completely unbearable?
No.
I will remember standing in front of The Alamo at 3:00 am on a Sunday morning because we left the party in our dorm room two hours earlier to go buy cirgarettes and somehow wound up on the interstate heading out of town, singing along with The Simple Minds "Don't You (Forget About Me)" while looking out the window at the stars.
I will remember jumping around playing wild air guitar with a tennis racket rocking out to "I Can't Drive 55".
I will remember Champions, and D & D games that went on for hours upon hours eventually ending in drunkeness, silliness or both.
I will remember Camp Wade and The Dome and Curtis and I eating all of the food.
I will remember "doodle doodle dee, wubba wubba wubba"
I will remember reading his copy of "Fear and Loathing". We interpreted it not as a novel, but more as a guidebook or instruction manual on how to live life to the fullest.
I will remember buying, then drinking the complete contents of our first bottle of mezcal, then creating and taping the first of many Doctors of Mezcal ceremonies to consume that blasted little worm.
I will remember Koyaanisqatsi on acid.
And Freddy 3 on acid.
I will remember spending over eight hours and twenty dollars playing Gauntlet on acid.
I will remember the bong we shared when we moved into our first apartment together. We called it "the baseball bong" because it was about the size of a bat and after three hits you were out.
Were we a little to much into recreational drug use? Probably.
We were only 20 when the drinking age went to 21. It suddenly became much easier to score a bag of weed, a few hits of acid, or some ecstacy than it was to get a six-pack of beer. I've always imagined that as one of the unintended consequences of the governments efforts to reduce teenage drinking.
And we were young, intelligent, invincible, with heads full of the ideas of Hunter S. Thompson, Robert Anton Wilson, and Timothy Leary.
But it wasn't all fun and games.
I will remember 36 to 48 hour marathons filled with textbooks, typewriters, and endless supplies of coffee, cigarettes and Dr Pepper.
We made it class most days and kept up our grades in the "A" or "B" range.
Study whenever we have to, party whenever we can.
Or as Curtis summed it up with his typiclal positive upbeat spin, following a complaint about having to go back to school after a break: "vacation never ends, it only changes locations".
I don't recall how or why it morphed into the bastardized Latin sounding "vacatium never endum, it only changum locatium".
But it did. It became and still is our motto.
Pseudo-Latin sayings? Um, okay.
We weren't half as cool as we thought we were. But I think secretly we all knew that.
I will remember all the girls I liked in college liking Curtis that way but me just as a friend. The bastard. He never once took any interest or my advice to at least allow me the opportunity to live vicariously through him.
I will remember Curtis turning me on to many of my still favorite bands, such as The Rainmakers and asking Bob Walkenhorst why he wrote about sitting on the porch with J.D. Salinger in one of their songs.
I will remember a 26 hour marathon non-stop road trip to see the Marfa Lights, taking turns sitting in the passenger seat looking down the highway with binoculars for signs of law enforcement as we speed excessively along.
I will remember returning from my five year self imposed exile "out of the country" (known also as "my first marriage") and being greeted with all the warmth, friendship, and forgiveness I would have received had seen him the day before.
And then going to see The Who rock like they haven't done in over twenty years.
I will remember all these things, and many many more.
As I remember them, I may share them with you, my dear reader.
I will remember because we all will remember.
It is through the act of remembering you honor someone's life and you eventually gain acceptance of their death.
But that takes time.
And that takes tears.
And that just plain fucking sucks.
|
Friday, January 28, 2005
obituary
Curtis Christian Mulkey
MULKEY, CURTIS CHRISTIAN, Attorney, age 38, passed away on January 25, 2005 in Plano, TX. He was born on October 23, 1966 in Denison, TX He is survived by his parents, Dr. O.C. Mulkey and Patricia P. Mulkey of Plano; brother, Jonathan Clark Mulkey of Bartlesville, OK; grandmother, Hattie Patton Dearing; uncle and aunt, Jim and Susan Patton; cousins, Ray Patton, Marie Karnes and husband Alan and their children, Sherrie and Shawn, all of Commerce, TX; Dr. Stephanie Stange and husband David of Sherman; great aunts, Ava Pearce and Neyl Spitler; and numerous cousins in Dallas and Athens. Curtis was a voracious reader and learner and he loved trivia, puzzles and other mind challenging games. He had numerous close friends who loved him dearly and he will be missed by his family and friends. Visitation was held on Thursday from 6:30-8:00 P.M. Funeral Service will be held on Friday, January 28, 2005 at 10:30 A.M. at First United Methodist Church in Plano. Interment will follow at 3:00 P.M. at Rosemound Cemetery, Commerce, TX. In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to the Samaritan Fund at First United Methodist Church, 3160 E. Spring Creek Pkwy., Plano, TX 75074. Dignity Memorial Ted Dickey 2128 18th Plano (972) 424-4511
Published in the Dallas Morning News on 1/28/2005.
|
MULKEY, CURTIS CHRISTIAN, Attorney, age 38, passed away on January 25, 2005 in Plano, TX. He was born on October 23, 1966 in Denison, TX He is survived by his parents, Dr. O.C. Mulkey and Patricia P. Mulkey of Plano; brother, Jonathan Clark Mulkey of Bartlesville, OK; grandmother, Hattie Patton Dearing; uncle and aunt, Jim and Susan Patton; cousins, Ray Patton, Marie Karnes and husband Alan and their children, Sherrie and Shawn, all of Commerce, TX; Dr. Stephanie Stange and husband David of Sherman; great aunts, Ava Pearce and Neyl Spitler; and numerous cousins in Dallas and Athens. Curtis was a voracious reader and learner and he loved trivia, puzzles and other mind challenging games. He had numerous close friends who loved him dearly and he will be missed by his family and friends. Visitation was held on Thursday from 6:30-8:00 P.M. Funeral Service will be held on Friday, January 28, 2005 at 10:30 A.M. at First United Methodist Church in Plano. Interment will follow at 3:00 P.M. at Rosemound Cemetery, Commerce, TX. In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to the Samaritan Fund at First United Methodist Church, 3160 E. Spring Creek Pkwy., Plano, TX 75074. Dignity Memorial Ted Dickey 2128 18th Plano (972) 424-4511
Published in the Dallas Morning News on 1/28/2005.
|
Thursday, January 27, 2005
why damn it why
Tell me, won’t you please, my friend
Why that day became the end
What made you take your daddy’s gun
And point it at your brain
And put a bullet in your head
You pulled the trigger, bam, you're dead
What made you think this was the way
To take away your pain
So tell me now, please tell me quick
'Cause I’ve had some drinks, might soon be sick
So tell me, please just tell me
If you shine in Heaven’s light
Have you found the peace you lack
Or wish that love could bring you back
Well listen up, I’ll warn ya'
It's fucked up down here tonight
|
Why that day became the end
What made you take your daddy’s gun
And point it at your brain
And put a bullet in your head
You pulled the trigger, bam, you're dead
What made you think this was the way
To take away your pain
So tell me now, please tell me quick
'Cause I’ve had some drinks, might soon be sick
So tell me, please just tell me
If you shine in Heaven’s light
Have you found the peace you lack
Or wish that love could bring you back
Well listen up, I’ll warn ya'
It's fucked up down here tonight
|
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
to tha brotha that ain't here
"Don't try suicide
Nobody's worth it
Don't try suicide
Nobody cares
Don't try suicide
You're just gonna hate it
Nobody gives a damn"
-- Freddie Mercury
Too late.
"And the world and the world
The world turns around
And the world and the world
The world drags me down"
-- Ian Astbury
I guess it did.
"Thought I oughta bare my naked feelings
Thought I oughta tear the curtain down"
-- Roger Waters
Okay.
"Jeremy spoke in class today"
-- Eddie Vedder
And so did you.
__________
Curtis
October 23, 1966 - January 25, 2005
"vacatium never endum, it only changum locatium"
__________
"And lightning struck once, and lightning struck twice
And I said 'If there's a God, He sure ain't nice'
And Chuck said 'God is an Indian giver
I don't trust nothing but the Mississippi River'"
-- Bob Walkenhorst
Gonna meet you in the water somewhere downstream.
|
Nobody's worth it
Don't try suicide
Nobody cares
Don't try suicide
You're just gonna hate it
Nobody gives a damn"
-- Freddie Mercury
Too late.
"And the world and the world
The world turns around
And the world and the world
The world drags me down"
-- Ian Astbury
I guess it did.
"Thought I oughta bare my naked feelings
Thought I oughta tear the curtain down"
-- Roger Waters
Okay.
"Jeremy spoke in class today"
-- Eddie Vedder
And so did you.
__________
Curtis
October 23, 1966 - January 25, 2005
"vacatium never endum, it only changum locatium"
__________
"And lightning struck once, and lightning struck twice
And I said 'If there's a God, He sure ain't nice'
And Chuck said 'God is an Indian giver
I don't trust nothing but the Mississippi River'"
-- Bob Walkenhorst
Gonna meet you in the water somewhere downstream.
|
Sunday, January 23, 2005
no really, shoot me now
For the love of all that is holy I do not for one single moment understand why, oh why my dear reader, that The Wife would do such a thing to me.
But she did.
A week or so ago, whilst perusing the hundreds of quality digital cable television channels in search of fine programming for our viewing pleasure, we came across a music video on VH1 classic. It was a Heart video, not the one where they stretch the picture to make Ann Wilson look thinner, but some other lame-ass video from that mid to late eighties era.
The Wife asked if it was the video, for "that song, you know. . . "
". . . the one where she picks up a homeless guy and bangs him in a cheap motel?" I finished her sentence, because we have a habit of doing this and are near perfectly in harmony with each other. "Nah, that's not this one, that song was called something like. . . "
"All I wanna do is make love to you."
Although I hoped she was making a suggestion, I knew that it was her turn to finish my sentence and she was just naming the song.
"Yeah, that's it."
Not five minutes later, with a little help from our friendly neighborhood file sharing network, I heard the most boring beat and bass line ever emerge from the cute round speakers of our imac:
What! The horror! "No! Please no!" I shreiked. But it was too late. The Wife had downloaded the song and was playing it. Loudly.
It was a rainy night
When he came into sight,
Standing by the road,
No umbrella, no coat.
So maybe it wasn't really a homeless guy, just some other guy without the sense to get in out of the rain.
All I wanna do is make love to you
Say you will
You want me too
Ooooh. The visual of late eighties Ann Wilson getting it on is not a pretty one. Ann Wilson in the seventies is a different story entirely.
So we found this hotel,
It was a place I knew well
It was a place she knew well? The tramp.
We made magic that night.
Oh, he did everything right
He brought the woman out of me,
So many times, easily
Wow. That's just great. I am so happy to hear that she had multiple orgasms. Good for her. Although that crosses the line of too much information.
And in the morning when he woke all
I left him was a note.
That's right baby: hit it, quit it, then forget it. Or, if I may be so bold so as to draw a comparison using the parlance of today's youth, "drop it like it's hot".
I am the flower you are the seed
We walked in the garden
We planted a tree.
AAAGGH! Awful poetry. Worst lyrics ever.
Oh, oooh, we made love
Love like strangers
All night long
We made love
Again, too much information. "love like strangers"? Icky.
Then it happened one day,
We came round the same way
You can imagine his surprise
When he saw his own eyes
Ah, now I understand the point of this touching song. She picked up strangers and banged them in some cheap motel because she wanted to get knocked up. The tramp. I'll bet she did it because single mothers are eligible for welfare and more government benefits than single whores.
I said please, please understand
I’m in love with another man
And what he couldn’t give me
Was the one little thing that you can
Oh, the bittersweet irony! She loves an impotent guy. Or at best some dude who's little soldiers aren't marching. Does this other guy not mind that his wife/girlfriend is a slut? I mean, really, what's his story?
All I wanna do is make love to you
Say you will, you want me too
All night long
All night long
All night long
All night long
AAAGGH! This happened over a week ago. I can't get that stupid song out of my head. It haunts me ("I am the flower. . . you are the seed" )!
If there is any justice in this world, the song now haunts you as well my dear reader, if only for awhile because misery loves company, and I love you, my dear reader.
All I wanna do is make love to you.
|
But she did.
A week or so ago, whilst perusing the hundreds of quality digital cable television channels in search of fine programming for our viewing pleasure, we came across a music video on VH1 classic. It was a Heart video, not the one where they stretch the picture to make Ann Wilson look thinner, but some other lame-ass video from that mid to late eighties era.
The Wife asked if it was the video, for "that song, you know. . . "
". . . the one where she picks up a homeless guy and bangs him in a cheap motel?" I finished her sentence, because we have a habit of doing this and are near perfectly in harmony with each other. "Nah, that's not this one, that song was called something like. . . "
"All I wanna do is make love to you."
Although I hoped she was making a suggestion, I knew that it was her turn to finish my sentence and she was just naming the song.
"Yeah, that's it."
Not five minutes later, with a little help from our friendly neighborhood file sharing network, I heard the most boring beat and bass line ever emerge from the cute round speakers of our imac:
What! The horror! "No! Please no!" I shreiked. But it was too late. The Wife had downloaded the song and was playing it. Loudly.
It was a rainy night
When he came into sight,
Standing by the road,
No umbrella, no coat.
So maybe it wasn't really a homeless guy, just some other guy without the sense to get in out of the rain.
All I wanna do is make love to you
Say you will
You want me too
Ooooh. The visual of late eighties Ann Wilson getting it on is not a pretty one. Ann Wilson in the seventies is a different story entirely.
So we found this hotel,
It was a place I knew well
It was a place she knew well? The tramp.
We made magic that night.
Oh, he did everything right
He brought the woman out of me,
So many times, easily
Wow. That's just great. I am so happy to hear that she had multiple orgasms. Good for her. Although that crosses the line of too much information.
And in the morning when he woke all
I left him was a note.
That's right baby: hit it, quit it, then forget it. Or, if I may be so bold so as to draw a comparison using the parlance of today's youth, "drop it like it's hot".
I am the flower you are the seed
We walked in the garden
We planted a tree.
AAAGGH! Awful poetry. Worst lyrics ever.
Oh, oooh, we made love
Love like strangers
All night long
We made love
Again, too much information. "love like strangers"? Icky.
Then it happened one day,
We came round the same way
You can imagine his surprise
When he saw his own eyes
Ah, now I understand the point of this touching song. She picked up strangers and banged them in some cheap motel because she wanted to get knocked up. The tramp. I'll bet she did it because single mothers are eligible for welfare and more government benefits than single whores.
I said please, please understand
I’m in love with another man
And what he couldn’t give me
Was the one little thing that you can
Oh, the bittersweet irony! She loves an impotent guy. Or at best some dude who's little soldiers aren't marching. Does this other guy not mind that his wife/girlfriend is a slut? I mean, really, what's his story?
All I wanna do is make love to you
Say you will, you want me too
All night long
All night long
All night long
All night long
AAAGGH! This happened over a week ago. I can't get that stupid song out of my head. It haunts me ("I am the flower. . . you are the seed" )!
If there is any justice in this world, the song now haunts you as well my dear reader, if only for awhile because misery loves company, and I love you, my dear reader.
All I wanna do is make love to you.
|
Friday, January 14, 2005
queer army
The Pentagon has released recently declassified documents detailing ideas for non-lethal chemical weapons.
Amongst their bright ideas, a sort of gay bomb designed to cause homosexual behavior "so that discipline and morale in enemy units is adversely affected."
Copies of the documents can be viewed here.
Can you, my dear reader, imagine anything more frightening to Sam's shopping, SUV driving, suburban "red" America than an army of Islamic homosexuals, hellbent on fucking them both figuratively and literally?
Would they want to fight, or simply give us a makeover? I imagine their terrorist training camps would look fabulous.
AAAAAGH! It boggles the mind.
|
Amongst their bright ideas, a sort of gay bomb designed to cause homosexual behavior "so that discipline and morale in enemy units is adversely affected."
Copies of the documents can be viewed here.
Can you, my dear reader, imagine anything more frightening to Sam's shopping, SUV driving, suburban "red" America than an army of Islamic homosexuals, hellbent on fucking them both figuratively and literally?
Would they want to fight, or simply give us a makeover? I imagine their terrorist training camps would look fabulous.
AAAAAGH! It boggles the mind.
|
Thursday, January 13, 2005
devastation
I don't feel as though my simple words can do anything worthwhile to add to all that has already been written or said about the tsunami. They certainly are powerless to do anything to alleviate the truly mind boggling scale of death and destruction. I think for most people the scale of the tragedy is truly beyond their comprehension. I freely admit that it is beyond mine. It can not even begin to grasp the enormity and the horror of 272,000 dead.
Although, like all journalists and commentators I do find "tsunami" a fun, melodic, and poetic word to say.
So, my dear reader, say it with me, Mr. Rogers style:
"soo nah mee"
That's great. Once more, with feeling:
"soo nah mee"
Excellent.
There's a series of satelite photos going 'round that quite graphically illustrate the effects of the tsunami in one of the dozen countries left in it's lethal wake.
You can check them out here.
If my dear reader, you have not already done so, I urge you to check them out with awestruck eyes.
Then pray to whatever form of the divine inspires you that you never know such destruction.
|
Although, like all journalists and commentators I do find "tsunami" a fun, melodic, and poetic word to say.
So, my dear reader, say it with me, Mr. Rogers style:
"soo nah mee"
That's great. Once more, with feeling:
"soo nah mee"
Excellent.
There's a series of satelite photos going 'round that quite graphically illustrate the effects of the tsunami in one of the dozen countries left in it's lethal wake.
You can check them out here.
If my dear reader, you have not already done so, I urge you to check them out with awestruck eyes.
Then pray to whatever form of the divine inspires you that you never know such destruction.
|
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
pants on fire
from today's news:
"WASHINGTON Jan 12, 2005 — The search for weapons of mass destruction in Iraq has quietly concluded without any evidence of the banned weapons that President Bush cited as justification for going to war, the White House said Wednesday."
from a speech dubya made in Cincinnati on October 7, 2002:
"If we know Saddam Hussein has dangerous weapons today -- and we do. . . "
(Please note with disdainful irony the alliterative phrase at the top of the page from the official White House website).
|
"WASHINGTON Jan 12, 2005 — The search for weapons of mass destruction in Iraq has quietly concluded without any evidence of the banned weapons that President Bush cited as justification for going to war, the White House said Wednesday."
from a speech dubya made in Cincinnati on October 7, 2002:
"If we know Saddam Hussein has dangerous weapons today -- and we do. . . "
(Please note with disdainful irony the alliterative phrase at the top of the page from the official White House website).
|
elect this
"Interim Prime Minister Iyad Allawi acknowledged for the first time on Tuesday that "pockets" of Iraq would be too dangerous for casting ballots but insisted such areas would be limited in number."
How can it be called a national election if the whole country doesn't get to vote?
"The United States has cautioned that guerrilla action in four of 18 Iraqi provinces could disrupt voting in Iraq. . . "
Okay, four out of eighteen. . . let's do some quick math. . . carry the two. . . good. . . alright. Eleven.
Next time we have an election let's not vote in eleven states. Which states? Well I suggest we start with Florida and Ohio since those people have given us trouble the past couple times around.
White House spokesman Scott McClellan acknowledged the elections would probably have some problems but said they should go forward as planned.
"We want to make sure that we have the best possible Iraq election. We want to make sure that there is as broad participation as possible in those elections. I think we all recognize that the election is not going to be perfect," he told reporters.
An election that's not going to be perfect, where large percentages of the people don't or won't be allowed to vote?
Sounds alright to me. Just like the elections in this country.
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Friday, January 07, 2005
please shoot me now
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
frey witness drinking
Did anyone happen to see male news hottie Matt Lauer's alleged interview (but more realistically a book advertisement) with aldulterating vixen star witness at a high profile murder trial hottie Amber Frey?
It was awesome! Did anyone tape or TIVO it? I regret that I neglected my television somewhat and did not know that it was going to be on, so I was ill prepared.
For the love of God and all that is holy, please my dear reader, tell me you did, tell me you did! Then tell me, my dear reader, how I may get a copy of this jewel of prime time entertainment so that I may further support and better enjoy my recreational consumption of alcohol.
It is a drinking game waiting to happen.
The Amber Frey / Matt Lauer : WITNESS Interview Drinking Game.
Matt Lauer refers to Scott Peterson as being evil or bad = drink 1
Matt Lauer refers to Amber Frey as being virtuous and good = drink 1
Amber Frey refers to herself and her grand importance to the case = drink 1
Amber Frey cries = drink 2
Matt Lauer looks like he is about to cry = drink 1
Matt Lauer looks shocked or offended (or constipated?) = drink 1
Amber Frey cries while talking about crying = drink 4 (cry x cry)
Matt Lauer cries = tip the bottle back and drink till you cry
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It was awesome! Did anyone tape or TIVO it? I regret that I neglected my television somewhat and did not know that it was going to be on, so I was ill prepared.
For the love of God and all that is holy, please my dear reader, tell me you did, tell me you did! Then tell me, my dear reader, how I may get a copy of this jewel of prime time entertainment so that I may further support and better enjoy my recreational consumption of alcohol.
It is a drinking game waiting to happen.
The Amber Frey / Matt Lauer : WITNESS Interview Drinking Game.
Matt Lauer refers to Scott Peterson as being evil or bad = drink 1
Matt Lauer refers to Amber Frey as being virtuous and good = drink 1
Amber Frey refers to herself and her grand importance to the case = drink 1
Amber Frey cries = drink 2
Matt Lauer looks like he is about to cry = drink 1
Matt Lauer looks shocked or offended (or constipated?) = drink 1
Amber Frey cries while talking about crying = drink 4 (cry x cry)
Matt Lauer cries = tip the bottle back and drink till you cry
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i still need a raise
My dear reader, you may recall that I need a raise.
I'm sure you quite vividly remember an adventure or two with a young man with profound autism.
For your entertainment and amusement, the saga continues. . .
I copied and pasted this directly from the official school district incident report I am required to file. The form requests "Antecedents/Events preciptiating the crisis (include behaviors that lead to the restraint)". It describes how I spent my lunch hour.
So, what'd'ya do for lunch?
The Student walked to the bus to go home. When The Student saw that the bus monitor was a substitute and not his regular monitor, he became agitated and would not get on the bus. He attempted to run down the street away from the campus. When The Student's teacher Dr. Noyz, blocked his path, The Student responded by throwing a shoe that narrowly missed Dr. Noyz's head. The Student turned and ran back onto the school playground. He removed all his clothing and threw them at staff. Totally naked, he ran towards the fence that borders the playground and was attempting to go over or through the fence. When staff approached, he dropped to the ground, lying in mud and grass, grabbing handfuls and throwing them at staff. He gradually crawled away from the fence, swinging and kicking at staff. It began to rain. The school nurse as well as the assistant principal were notified of the situation and both came out to supervise for safety. The Student was offered several opportunities to stand up and walk and to put his clothing back on. He refused. Every offer was met with aggressive behavior, kicking and hitting. Attempts to cover him with a sheet were also met with aggressive behavior. The assistant prinicipal and the nurse concluded that The Student's health and safety were in jeopardy as he was lying naked in the rain. The decision was made to restrain him and safely transport him to the bus.
And it's only the first day back from the holiday break.
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I'm sure you quite vividly remember an adventure or two with a young man with profound autism.
For your entertainment and amusement, the saga continues. . .
I copied and pasted this directly from the official school district incident report I am required to file. The form requests "Antecedents/Events preciptiating the crisis (include behaviors that lead to the restraint)". It describes how I spent my lunch hour.
So, what'd'ya do for lunch?
The Student walked to the bus to go home. When The Student saw that the bus monitor was a substitute and not his regular monitor, he became agitated and would not get on the bus. He attempted to run down the street away from the campus. When The Student's teacher Dr. Noyz, blocked his path, The Student responded by throwing a shoe that narrowly missed Dr. Noyz's head. The Student turned and ran back onto the school playground. He removed all his clothing and threw them at staff. Totally naked, he ran towards the fence that borders the playground and was attempting to go over or through the fence. When staff approached, he dropped to the ground, lying in mud and grass, grabbing handfuls and throwing them at staff. He gradually crawled away from the fence, swinging and kicking at staff. It began to rain. The school nurse as well as the assistant principal were notified of the situation and both came out to supervise for safety. The Student was offered several opportunities to stand up and walk and to put his clothing back on. He refused. Every offer was met with aggressive behavior, kicking and hitting. Attempts to cover him with a sheet were also met with aggressive behavior. The assistant prinicipal and the nurse concluded that The Student's health and safety were in jeopardy as he was lying naked in the rain. The decision was made to restrain him and safely transport him to the bus.
And it's only the first day back from the holiday break.
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