bring the noyz

Just what the heck is going on here?

I mean really now, this is quite a list, and it seems to keep growing. The only real question appears to be who will get caught doing what to whom next?

"Disgusting. Repulsive. Completely devoid of moral character and dripping with turpitude," seems an apt description of the way many people describe the behavior before they get caught doing it.

I implore thee, my dear reader, for your assistance.

I have an idea for a non-profit organization to serve the needs of current and future self-righteous grandstanding conservative guardians of the moral vitality of our society.

It is an idea for a program to prevent the self-appointed protectors of our virtue from allowing their human frailty to be responsible for their descent into degradation, vice and the inevitable public shaming.

Or at least I have an idea for a website.

jackit.org
"If you can't keep it in your pants, please leave it in your hands"

Anyone know anything about web development?
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Look, I don't know if anybody will be willing to touch this (ooh, pun intended), and I will refrain from jokes about the whole Senator Craig mess to the best of my ability. It just isn't sporting to kick a man when you catch him with his pants down. Ah but Hell, it sure is fun if the fella caught with his pants down is a lying hypocritical bastard.

I am just wondering about a few things. Like is it just a coincidence that the Honorable Senator gets busted in that particular public restroom. According to their report, the local police had already made several arrests and set up an undercover operation in response to complaints from the public about "sexual activity".

Are all the Minneapolis airport men's rooms Meccas for hot man on man action? I figured Minneapolis was a party town back in the 80's, what with all the great bands like Prince, The Replacements, Husker Du and Soul Asylum. But I never pegged it as on oasis for anonymous gay sex?

Out of all the men's rooms in the airport, why did the Honorable Senator choose this particular one? Was it near his gate? Did he just randomly choose it while wandering aimlessly around the airport killing time between flights? Perhaps he had been there before and relieved a little more than the pressure on his bladder.

Is it one of the Honorable Senator's hobbies to cruise random public men's rooms looking for love, or rather anonymous gay sex, in all the wrong places? Hmmm, perhaps it is?

Is anyone pulling the Honorable Senator's (stop it, get your mind out of the gutter) travel records. How many of those cross country flights the Honorable Senator took between his constituency and the Capitol involved layovers? (or bendovers? sorry, I couldn't resist it.)

How many times has the Honorable Senator stopped in Minneapolis and gotten off before getting back on?

How long do airports keep security camera video on file? Anyway to cross-reference and pull video to see if there is any evidence of the Honorable Senator using this facility before and maybe staying in there a little longer than would be needed even if he ate nothing but Taco Bell for three straight days?

Like you, my dear reader, I've got questions. And damn it, if the American taxpayer picked up the fare for that or any other trip then we deserve the answers.
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but it takes a special kind of man, a real man, a confident and self-assured man, a man so brimming with masculinity and so secure with his heterosexuality that it literally oozes from his pores like the sweat between his toes, to wear these flip-flops. I am such a man. I freakin' got the cantelope cajones it takes to walk into Walmart on a Sunday afternoon with naught but these betwixt my nimble toes and the sizzling summer asphalt:


Doubt me not, my dear reader, and if you mock me I'll go all gansta' on yo ass. Or maybe I'll go postal on yo ass. Like I give a frack. I'll go whichever way I friggin' wanna go. Cuz I'm the miggedy miggedy miggedy miggedy miggedy miggedy Mack. And you're jus' wiggedy wiggedy wiggedy wiggedy wiggedy wiggedy Wack.

Tha'z right bee-otch.


I'm an O.G. from the mean streets of The Sprawl, cross me an' I'll jack ya.

Word.
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Do you, my dear reader, happen to know the driver of this vehicle:


If you do, please inform him that he is a dickhead.

Not just a dickhead, but a raging engorged purple throbbing prematurely oozing dickhead, a monstrous one-eyed wonder worm.

Yesterday afternoon The Wife and I loaded up The Boy, his wheelchair, and other accoutrement's of travel in the family truckster and bravely journeyed northwards to the consumer culture suburban hell that is the outlet mall. Yes, I know, I generally tend to avoid such places like the European nobility fleeing the cities during the time of The Plague.

However, school starts Monday, and The Boy needs new shoes. And there is a Converse store there. Ain't nothing but the finest going on my boy's feet.

Apparently most every other school age kid in the three or four county growing metropolitan area is also in need of apparel for the impending new school year.

We were crawling through a heavily congested parking lot in search of an open handicap accessible parking space, because as I have stated and those that know The Boy are well aware, The Boy uses a wheelchair.

So anyways, I see this herpes laden, syphilis dripping phallus tip pull up in this car

and pull right into a handicap parking space.

Perhaps it is a form of prejudice, it certainly is so in the literally meaning in that I was pre-judging this fellow. What the fuck, I'll plead guilty to that accusation. I've been round the block a time or two and have done a few laps round the parking lot at the mall before, so I pegged this guy the moment I saw him.

Anyways, as The Wife, The Boy and I are sitting stuck in the traffic in the outlet mall parking lot, trying to get to the area where Mister Penis-Tip is about to be in flagrant violation of the law. I start screaming at The Wife. Well okay, not really at her, because she is beautiful, perfect and wonderful and therefore could never upset me, but just screaming, "Agh! Look at that bastard! What a mother fucking bastard!"

I then watch in horror and disbelief as he parks his car in the handicap parking space. He glances in the rearview, adjusts his shades and his perfectly coiffed hair. He reaches down and pulls a handicap parking placard and hangs it from the mirror. I will now confess to having a brief moment of doubt, perhaps he does have a legitimate disability after all.

But no, oh no, I am not mistaken. He gets out of the car along with his passenger, a boy of around ten years or so. They walk to the curb in front of the car and together they run, yes run, across traffic and disappear into the crowd and the entrance to the mall.

What the fuck! Neither this man nor his passenger is any more disabled than Bruce Jenner at the 76 Olympics.

I know not where he got the permit, through means ill or legitimate, or if at one time it was rightfully his while he recovered from surgery or something. Perhaps it is issued to his elderly mother for whom he dutifully cares for everyday. I care not. The point is on that day and at that time, based on my observation, he had no rightful claim to park there.

Whatever.

Eventually, we made our way through the traffic and managed to secure a parking spot right next to the offending vehicle. I was sorely tempted to take my keys to that shiny exterior, but as that is not the way of Dr. King or Ghandi, and would have doubtlessly invoked the ire of The Wife, I opted against it.

The Wife did end up writing a rather scathing and scolding note about the true purpose of those parking spaces and how the driver was setting a horrible example of civic responsibility for his young passenger.

And I, well I opted to make public the actions of this dickhead and allow them to live forever in eternal infamy on the internet.
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Well my dear reader, in these troubling times I have begun a new blog. I have created it in the hope of having a forum for open and honest discourse on the more troubling news of the day.

So my dear reader, I proudly present:



puzzling evidence
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Ah, the long hot days of August slowly fade into the gentle gusts of autumn. . .

and the start of a new school year is at hand. My fifteenth year as a special education teacher has begun. This week is all preparations and meetings. Yesterday brought the dreaded annual district-wide meeting, where like-minded special education professionals from across our fair city filled up the auditorium at one of the high schools and heard the words of administration passed down from on high: policies, procedures, initiatives, plans, yada yada yada blah blah blah.

Here is a list of acronyms I heard at yesterdays meeting:

AGC
ARD
BIP
BTC
EGL
EHS
ESC
FBA
IDEA
IEP
LDAA
PBMAS
PLOAP
PLOP
SBS
SCORES
SDAA
SEEDS
SMSCD
SPP
SSR
TAKS
TAKS-ALT
TAKS-M
TCASE
TEA
TEKS

Sadly, I could expound at length and in great boring detail about intricacies and legalities of most of them.

Sadder still, there are several on the list that I must confess to not having a freaking clue what they mean.
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Tenet's Pre-9/11 Efforts Faulted
CIA Reluctantly Releases 2005 Report Critical of Agency Leadership

From the Washington Post:

Former central intelligence director George J. Tenet and his top lieutenants failed to marshal sufficient resources and provide the strategic planning needed to counter the threat of terrorism in the years before the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, according to a long-secret CIA report released yesterday.

Despite promises of an all-out war against terrorism in the late 1990s, leaders of the spy agency allowed bureaucratic obstacles and budget shortfalls to blunt the agency's efforts to find and capture al-Qaeda operatives, said the report, by the CIA's inspector general. It also faulted agency leaders for failing to "properly share and analyze critical data."

I'll bet you dollars to donuts the bastard keeps his medal.

Just how badly did you fuck up if the agency you used to run throws you under the bus in an internal report?

What a fucking tool.
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This whole scene just ain't right.

And again I say, it's not because I'm some kind of Padillaphile.

This fella explains it rather well.

And here is some good background info if you feel the need to learn more before you start ranting from the rooftops.

Of, by, and for the people?

Hardly.

Despicable.
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Okay my dear reader, as we are both well aware, lately perhaps I have been taking things, not myself, but life in general just a little too seriously. I'm feeling just a little stressed out, by events both public and private.

Yes yes yes, it is, was, and always will be a meaningless cold hard evil world run by thieves, murderers, hypocrites and bastards. Yeah, I get that.

Wha'za fella to do?

Load a bowl? Nah, though it'd be nice.

Laugh! Sure man, give it a shot.



Okay, now I feel a little better.
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Who do you call if your house is on fire and a fireman lit the match?
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Well my dear reader, it's been a while but you have been subjected to related ranting in the past.

I'm okay with it. So I'm sure you are also. Some things are just so scary that they deserve repeated mentioning.

I find no reassurance in the fact that at least one of the weasels running the show have some frighteningly curious interpretations about how things are supposed to work around here.

Admittedly, this Padilla guy is probably not exactly the type of fella you'd invite over on a Sunday afternoon to eat a slice of pie with your grandmother. But still, he's an American citizen and therefore one of us. What our government did to him, yes our government allegedly of, by and for the people, acting in our name in the protection and service of us, jus'ain't right.

This jus'ain't the country my father taught me it was. And as I'll have no option but to kick you in the balls so fucking hard you'll be throwing up your nuts if you so much as dare to imply that my father is a liar, you best jus' agree with me my dear reader and recognize that somewhere on the road to freedom and liberty we've taken one helluva wrong turn.

Don't think it can happen to you?

Sadly, very sadly, I think perhaps it can.

And I'm not alone:

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or possibly psychotic is a better descriptor



Wow. That was like what, 13 year ago and like magic it all seems to have come true.

Disgusting.
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Well okay.

I guess I'll take a break from my now almost routine semi-political slightly paranoid, sometimes partly delusional ranting and address something perhaps less tangible, yes perhaps, but entirely all too real to this humble traveler through space and time.

Tomorrow night, less than 24 hours from right now, The Sacred Power Trio, The Patron Saints, and The Holy Trinity of Suburban White Boys Who Grew Up in The 80's are playing 200 miles away. They are performing in between the bright lights in the glass and steel cold soul-less heart of The Sprawl I so despise.

Ah, what a crock of bullshit. Why don't I cut the crap and just get down to it.

Some of my closest friends will be there.

You will not.

And I'm going to miss it also, but at least my bones are still rolling. My being there is just not possible given current circumstances. 200 miles might as well be Paris or Prague or some cave on the west end of Pakistan. All are equally infeasible. Damn it, damn it all to hell, it is a far cry from the way we thought we'd share it.

And that has got me in a bit of a funk and quite honestly still sometimes brings me down.

I went to bed last night feeling that way. Sleep, when it came, was restless and full of strange dreams that made no sense at the time and now I no longer remember.

I've missed shows by bands I love before. There is no doubt that over the past couple of decades I have missed more than I have attended. So really, what's the big deal?

Well. . .

I guess maybe I miss you more than all the others. I salute you my brother.

Damn you and your curse and the ties that bind me to you.


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of a good cock-punching:

Rudy Giuliani.

Here's why:

"Freedom is not a concept in which people can do anything they want, be anything they can be. Freedom is about authority. Freedom is about the willingness of every single human being to cede to lawful authority a great deal of discretion about what you do."

Freedom is what? Just another word for nothing left to lose? Yeah yeah yeah, whatever.

This sounds a little much like something I've read before.

Freedom is slavery

Cripes man, what a tool.
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Well, I must say that I might be just a little bit, well for lack of a better word, impressed.


If he can crank out La Villa Strangiato or YYZ he just might have my vote.
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Romney defends his sons to activist

"The former Massachusetts governor, who didn't serve in Vietnam because of his Mormon missionary work and a high draft number, said his sons make their own decisions and are serving the country by campaigning for him across Iowa in an RV."

Serving the country? Hah!

Me thinks I see man in need of a cock-punching.
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Do you, my dear reader, remember that line in The Godfather: Part III? Something like, "Every time I try to get out they keep pulling me back in?"

Really now, I have been trying to relax and enjoy my last little bit of summer vacation before I go back to work next week to get ready for the fall semester and begin the fifteenth year of my career as a special education teacher. I have been making a very conscious effort to disconnect myself for a few days from the madness of our impending doom because the red pill has really depressing side effects. I just wanted to fucking chill out with The Wife and The Boy. Ya know, do summer stuff: drink too much, sleep too late, eat lots of junk food and have fun in the sun.

Earlier today I was looking for some free downloadable software I use in my classroom. I was searching for this cool cause/effect program for The Boy to play with but I could not remember the name of the organization whose website I found it on, so I was just a Googling.

I remembered it was "north" something or other.

Turns out, I was looking for this on the website of these folks.

But the first thing I came across was this.

Hmmm.

They (that's "They" with a capital "T") planned it and almost tried it once. Are we (as in "us" with a lowercase "u") so foolish as to believe it really can't happen?

Puzzling evidence indeed.

Sigh.
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As a preface, this could just be the vodka talking (seems like it's been awhile since I've said that). . .

Okay my dear reader, I realize that as of late I have done little but bitch about the end of the world as we know it.

Yeah, whatever.

Sometimes I still feel fine.

Well okay, maybe I don't. But still, sometimes ya just need a break, ya know? Sometimes you just need to immerse yourself in the mindless, relax and float downstream.

So tonight, that is what I have done.

After The Boy was all snug in his bed The Wife and I sat down on the couch with a cold refreshing adult beverage, cranked up the DVR and watched the most recent episode our new favorite Celebreality show. We nervously held hands during the elimination at the end, hoping and praying that the girls we were most cheering for in our hearts would make it to next week's episode.

I'm quite happy to report, my dear reader, that they did.

And as the credits for this week's episode were rolling, The Wife and I realized that we both have TV crushes on the same girls.

So please my dear reader, join The Wife and myself in wishing and praying that Brett's one true love turns out to be Jes, Samantha, or both, because that would really be rock and roll now wouldn't it?

They are both cute as kittens and oh so hot but not in that skanky day-shift stripper like the other girls kinda way.

I have little to no doubt that if either one of them were to show up at our front door we would invite her to stay for dinner. If the wine was good and the moonlight was right we would both want to have sex with her, and one of us would get to do so. In my mind it's not me. That just makes the fantasy all the better.

Yikes! Damn vodka, again you have cursed me to reveal too much.

What the fuck, my dear reader, I could be mistaken. But maybe not.

And that's just one of the reasons why I do love her so.
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Have you seen this photo?


















I found it here.

Look at it closely. I'll wait.

Hmm hmmm hmmm whistle whistle hmm hmmm.

Notice anything odd or otherwise interesting.

Look closer.
















Why is there no end date?

It's not like we don't know when it's gonna be.

The absence of an end date on that statue obviously expresses some optimistic thinking on either the part of the sculptor or the bureaucrat who commissioned it or both. But in which direction?

Let's run with the idea that They (yes, with a capital 'T') are betting on the high side.

This kinda stuff doesn't seem as crazy as it used to sound. And is it really so unfathomable? Remember, this is the Commander Guy who says shit like this: "If this were a dictatorship, it'd be a heck of a lot easier, just so long as I'm the dictator."

These kinds of stories used to seem crazy to me also.

Now, not so much.

Maybe he's just following in his grandpappy's failed footsteps.
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Or perhaps an apology.

Either way, I really don't give half a shit, other than to say. . .

My dear reader, if you have been tuning into my little blog channel recently expecting, hoping, nay, praying to read some amusing anecdotes about the recent goings on in the small world of The Good Doctor Polymer Noyz.

My dear reader, you might as I do, momentarily pause and wonder just what the Hell is going on. . .

My dear reader, I feel compelled to confess what by now must have become painfully obvious to even the most casual dear reader of the humble words found here. . .

Recently I've been reading lots of news, both in and outside of the mainstream. This has prompted me to do a little bit of Googling puzzling things and ranting a bit. I'm pretty sure that I don't like much of it, no sir, not one damn bit.

"It's a crazy world."

"Somebody oughta sell tickets."

"I'd buy one."

- Raising Arizona

But what's a fella to do?

When Uncle Walt's network tells you that 71% of us are willing to trade freedom for security so the FBI is busy granting our wish.

When the Constitutionally equal Executive Branch tells the Legislative Branch that we don't have to tell you shit and by the way "fuck off".

When The Man smashes through your door in a blatant violation of your liberties just because you pissed him off. . .

Well my dear reader, that's the tip of the iceberg of when things are just plain fucked up.

Are you just gonna smile as you bend over and grab your ankles, or are you gonna start ranting?

So hear me now and believe me later, my dear reader, because I'm joshing you negative.

All I 'm saying is that it seems like the freight trains of the satirical and horrifying visions of humanity I first read about twenty some years ago are on a single track accelerating on imminent collision course in real life, in real time, in the real world, in the course of human events, and it's gonna be one big fucking ugly mess.

So my dear reader, I implore thee to take a good hard fucking long look in the mirror.

If and when the times comes, will you fight the power, or be fucked by it?
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