Introducing...."Whip-Ass Wednesdays"



A very, special friend of mine pointed out that I need to deal with my rage issues in a creative fashion. It's either that or risk being someone's cell-bitch. After much
angst and several emails, it was decided that "Whip-Ass Wednesdays" shall be placed in motion so I can avoid being a client instead of a provider when it comes to the Justice System. Of course, I'm sure that regular bouts of sex would be helpful...but since I don't see that in the near future, this will have to do.

Here is how this works: there are Spankings and there are Whippings. I will tell you who has made it on the list for each. Spankings, by nature, are fun and sexy. They are meant to be a reward for something that has pleased me. Whippings, however, are just a plain beat-down, kick your ass until you beg for unconciousness kinda thing. Not to be a enjoyable experience.

Spankings:

BowChicka- You inspired me to do this with your "Shank Tuesdays", so Mama...your intervention has worked. Thanks for helping me brainstorm this and bend over so I can spank that beautiful ass!

Rain and She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed: Thanks for offering to give a sister a place to crash in the City of Brotherly Love. If this all comes together the way we hope, Philly will never be the same. Now, bend over so I can make you my bitches!

Whippings:

Medical Research community and makers of Kleenex: You can find a freaking cure to give creepy old men a hard-on, but you can't save me from the common cold? And, you Kleenex people...do you mix sandpaper in with your tissues? My nose has lost almost every layer of skin because of you rotten bastards. Long Live Puffs! For all of the discomfort I am now suffering with, the Goddess will now administer a beat-down on your asses that will show you I am NOT to be denied!

Arlen Spector: You droopy-jowled, rat bastard! It isn't bad enough that you started your career with one of the biggest loads of horseshit to be sold to the American public (single bullet theory, much?); nope, not bad enough that you CLAIM to be a Republican and then fuck everyone of us in the ass after we get you elected by turning into such a liberal fucking pansy that no one knows which personality you will pull out of your ass, next...NOW you try to get involved with the NFL by publically castigating the Philadelphia Eagles and the National Football League on behalf of T.O.? 'Splain this one to me, Arlen...what the holy FUCK are you doing weighing in on behalf of some ghetto-ass prima donna that doesn't even reside within your constituency? Shut the hell up and prepare to take your whipping like man.

It's Fall...No, it's Winter...NO, it's SPRING!

Mother Nature is one fucked-up bitch. I'm sitting here talking to you folks from my deck on my wireless laptop, in short-sleeves. What is wrong with this picture?
Hmmm...there isn't a leaf to be found on the trees, we had freaking SNOW just a few days ago and now it is a beautiful, balmy 72 degrees.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. Hell, I wish it would be like this all year-round. I HATE cold weather!
I just wonder if this is one of dear old Mother Nature's hot flashes.

Fond Thanksgiving Memories
After watching the Macy's Parade with my son, this morning, I was reminded of what happened during the two times I was in the parade.

I performed in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, twice. Both times were with the All-Star Drum & Bugle Corps, which was made up of approximately 500 members of the best of each Junior and Senior Corps from across the nation. In 1992, I played lead soprano bugle and in 1994 I was chosen to be one of the drum majors or conductors. All 500+ members would converge on Bergen County, NJ and spend a week at a National Guard Armory to learn drill and polish the music. We would spend 12 or more hours a day at practice and then party our asses off, sometimes showing up still drunk or high from thenight before. And, let me tell you...you have not experienced the hangover from motherfucking hell until you've had to deal with one while locked inside an Armory that traps, amplifies, and echoes every sound. When you mix in 400+ bugles, a 50-something member drumline, and a shrieking guard composed of mainly twittering fags....trust me, you want to either kill yourself or everyone in the building.

Something strange that I've noticed because of being in this parade twice, is that the weather during the week leading up to Thanksgiving would be unnaturally balmy. We would practice in shorts and t-shirts all week. But, the morning of the parade would always be so fucking cold! The temperature was always in the 30's and the wind would be slicing down the parade route. Of course, the only way to combat this frigid onslaught was to be so drunk that you just didn't care. My Sambuca addiction is rooted firmly in this weather phenomena.

The first year that I performed in the parade, some moron that was driving Kenny G. in a golf cart to whatever gay float he was going to be on, for some reason thought it was a good idea to stop right beside where 500+ drunk, bored, frozen and pissed off corps members were waiting for the word to get in formation to start marching in the parade. Said retarded moron actually stands up and announces in a loud voice, "Look! It is Kenny G.! The most gifted musician and performer in the world!"

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then, (I've always sworn that it started in the drumline, because those drummers are insane) all sorts of garbage began to fly through the air and pelt the Kenny G. golf cart. Many members grabbed their crotches and told Kenny G. to come "blow THIS!" The look on poor Kenny's face was hysterical...it went from fully expectant of hero worship by this large group of "amateur musicians" to complete horror and wanting to cry like a little girl as his tard driver floored the golf cart to get them out of garbage range. I noticed later on the video of the parade that Kenny G. still looked quite shaken during his brief performance.

In 1994, the Corps went into NYC the morning before the parade to appear on the Today Show. Those evil, evil drummers coerced me into drinking Sambuca the night before. In fact, we were still drinking when someone looked out the window and said, "Oh shit! I think the buses are getting ready to leave...uh, are we supposed to be somewhere?"

In order to appear on "Today", you have to be at the NBC studios at the ungodly hour of 4AM. This meant that the buses were loading at 3AM. At that time, we were only starting to have fun. Somehow, I made it onto the bus and with the help of several people, got into my uniform. By the time we arrived at Rockefeller Center, bets were being placed as to whether I would be able to stay on my feet during the show; if I would throw up on Katie Couric or Martha Stewart; at what point I would throw up and/or pass out and if it would be on camera. Somehow, I managed to stay on my feet and not throw up on anyone. I know that my conducting was quite....interesting.

Being young and stupid, I was able to lubricate myself again with 'buca, the next morning. Our performance went off without a hitch. The highlight of the parade was when I heard a disturbance behind us and looked back to see the Barney balloon swooping out of control. The handlers were unable to regain altitude and Barney began diving at the crowds. The NYPD surrounded Barney and began beating the shit out of him....actually stabbing and beating the big, purple fucker. THIS was more than the Corps could handle. NYPD was cheered on with, "Kill that purple motherfucker! Kick that faggoty-ass dinosaur to death! Kill! Kill! Kill!"

Ahh...holidays bring out the best in us all. Happy fucking Holidays!

The Little Boy That Wasn't
One unfortunate side effect of my job is that I get uninvited guests when I need them the least: usually when I am asleep or trying to sleep. I know it sounds like I am crazy and maybe I am, but I like to think that these visitors help me keep my humanity in a career that can strip you of it without you even being aware until it is too late and your life is forever altered.

One of my most frequent visitors has been dead for years. He was a very young child. An innocent child that was used and thrown away, much like someone would use a tissue or a condom. And, he has not truly been given justice.

Logan is the one that comes to visit the most. He was 23 months old and had no pulse or respiration. Logan had been returned to his parents by a judge only 72 hours before from a loving, caring foster family. 72 hours was all it took for his parents to beat him to death. He was such a beautiful little boy and he was wearing a set of Disney diapers. The fact that I was doing CPR on this angel felt like an obscenity. My tears were falling on my hands while I was doing chest compressions and I was begging him to open his eyes and live. Unfortunately, even though every medical procedure was performed to give this little boy a fighting chance, he never did come back to us. When the ER physician decided that it was time to stop, even he was crying. He picked up Logan from the gurney and cradled him close, his voice cracking as he stated the time of death. After that, the doctor gently handed Logan to a nurse and he was held and rocked by each person that had worked feverishly on him.

As I write this, I can remember so clearly the amazement I felt at the slight weight of this child as I held him close to me. I remember hoping that the hard edges of my bulletproof vest weren’t hurting him and then crying even more when I realized that he was beyond that. I laid him back upon the gurney and unchecked the wheels so that I could push it on our solitary trip to the morgue. Turning off the light and locking the door with Logan inside and by himself is still one of the most gut-wrenching actions that I have taken to this day. His first visit to me was that night and it was in the guise of being frightened and alone. I woke up with tears streaming down my face and I was unable to return to sleep that night.

I will be forever grateful to Logan’s foster parents. They shared a video tape of a happy time when he was pushing one of those bubble mowers around their yard. I was finally able to see this child laughing and happy, instead of lying still and unresponsive.

Logan’s mother was convicted of beating him to death and received 23 months in prison. One month for each month of his life. She was pregnant went she went to trial. I often wonder if Logan visits her or the judge that sent him back to her. In a way, I hope that he doesn’t, because I don’t feel that either of them deserve to have his presence.

Having Logan around isn’t easy, but I believe that remembering someone so special that touched my life for a brief time is worth the pain and heartache. I hope that this little boy knows somehow that he will always have a welcome place in my memories and my heart.

CodeAmber.org
I have added an Amber Alert ticker to the top of my blog. I encourage all of you to do the same at CodeAmber.org
Unfortunately, I have been reminded how important this feature is because of a current incident that is ongoing at this time. Some 18 year old asshole has had one of those testosterone-fueled brainstorms in which he thought that it was necessary to shoot and kill his 14 yr. old girlfriend's parents and then abduct her at gunpoint. All of this has taken place only minutes away from me. Past experience tells me that this moron is probably going to end this with a murder-suicide, but this is one time that I sincerely hope that I am wrong.

Pussy Controls
A man in North Dakota was sentenced to two days in jail for failing to license his cat. What. The. Fuck?
I've personally never heard of having to license a cat and I think it is one of the more ridiculous laws I've heard. To actually have to spend time in JAIL for not licensing a cat? What were these people thinking of?
There is a borough in Pennsylvania that has similar dumbass beliefs when it comes to "pussy control". Cleona Borough has ordinances that require you to license your cat with the borough. Dogs are licensed with the county...which I have no problem with, dogs should be licensed. However, Cleona goes even further, (I shit you not, this is true) you are NOT permitted to allow your cats "to run at large". Really! You can see it for yourself, right here.
Even better yet, these morons expect the police to go round up errant pussy that happens to be wandering about the borough of Cleona. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, it's probably the one thing that the Chief has experience in doing. I would think, though, that there were much more important issues than this deminimus infraction to worry about. But, hey...if chickenshit pinches are what get you off...shit, I forgot...they do get you off, huh, chiefy?
Seriously folks, have you ever tried to walk a cat on a leash? Or tie a cat outside on a tether? The damn thing will kill itself (or you) to get away. Cats are meant to be able to roam about "at large". Trying to stop them is unnatural.
SET THE PUSSY FREE!

Sticky Situations
My heroine of the week is Gail O'Toole of Murrysville, PA. You see, Gail did something that a lot of us women have only dreamed of...she got even with a cheating, lying man that did her wrong. Gail invited her sweetie over for some good loving and then waited until the rat bastard began snoring. As soon as he did, she super-glued his penis to his abdomen, glued his ass cheeks together and wrote something obscene in nail polish on his back.
Oh...but Gail wasn't done after that. No, she made the guy walk an uncomfortable mile to a gas station to use a phone to call for help! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Gail sucked it up like a woman after the jerk pressed charges for misdemeanor assault. She plead guilty and served 6 months probation.
Here's the kicker...this whiny little pussy is now suing Gail for $30,000 in "damages". Oh, pulllease! Honey, I hardly doubt that little thing is worth 30K. This is probably the most attention your dick has ever had, you should be paying Gail.
Gail? Sweetie...while I admire your work, the only thing I would have done differently? I'd have glued both hands to his dick while I was at it.

Hide Your Tin Foil!
Yes, the Goddess has found another crazy for you to marvel at...this one makes the freak show from New Zealand look quite sane. I'd like you to meet Sherry Shriner. She believes that aliens are running our government...really. She knows this because God has told her. She also believes in the powers of aluminum foil. (Do all fucking nuts learn about this shit somewhere? Is it universally beamed to them? Personally, I think it is a last resort of emergency workers to get these morons to stop blithering at them about aliens taking over the world.)
Anyway, here's just a taste of Sherry's outlook on life:

Ramon Watkins, playing the role of a UFO caller recently caused a stir by claiming only black people were allowed to attend his UFO callings. Only black people are allowed to be part of his 'group.' And so some white people were throwing a fit. They should be thanking him. They don't get it, that his job is to build a "black bride." Not a interracial one, a black bride. The aliens want a black bride to store in their meat lockers for now, and so that's his job..to collect them for harvesting.

Still waiting to see if he manages somehow to get his bride overseas to Ethiopia. You gotta wonder why they're even playing the black card. I guess because they can.