Octomom (Are we insane?)

I have been misguided on how to make a living. I was somehow under the impression that we were supposed to go to school, maybe go to college, get a job, work hard and get paid for it. What in the hell did I know. I guess in the real world we should get a moronic doctor to inject us with fetility drugs, have a shitload of kids and then pawn them off to some network for $250 dollars a pop. I am sorry was this a mother we were talking about or is she simply a pimp selling off her kids for a quick buck.

Nadya Suleman does not deserve children. There are so many people in the world that can’t have children who truly desire them for the sole purpose of loving them. I am a Republican. I don’t condone the welfare system that rewards people for having multiple children just to get a bigger government paycheck. I think it is wrong. I don’t condemn people who need help but it also makes me sick to see people who abuse the system to get by.

The Goslins make me nausous as I seem them exploit their kids to make a buck but Nadya has taken it to a new level. My guess is that she impregnated herself for the exclusive purpose of using her kids so she could sit on her ass and not work. She has 14 children and a network is really going to pay in the hopes that we as a public will watch her inability to mother them. Have we really sunk so low to allow this. Aren’t there laws against child abuse? Are there limits on when a I child can be forced to work? Isn’t this somehow against some moral code or law or something?

I for one will never have this on my TV. It will never be broadcast anywhere that I live, shop or work. I will debate anyone that I ever know who watches it. The Goslins were an anomoly. Who knows, maybe it started out as an interesting event and moved on from there. I can’t really stand on a footsool and call it wrong but I do disagree with the concept. Nadya is wrong. It is an abomination of how the world should work.

See, not one Catholic joke.

Biking with blood

As with all things in my life I can’t manage to do much without an accompanying plethora of comedic errors. My 50 mile charity bike ride this morning was no exception to the rule. It started out as expected. I showed up on time, checked in without incident and mounted my bike excited about the adventure. The most I had ever ridden was 20 miles so I knew it would be a challenge but being naturally muscular and having quite the body felt I could accomplish it without a problem. Jesus, this is my blog so I will write whatever the hell I want when describing my body and there is nothing you can do about it.

I peddled off with my earpieces in, blaring some of the latest hip hop songs that my daughter had recorded and about a mile into the trip realized I had no idea how to read the signs. I peddled behind some people for a while but they were going so slow I couldn’t take it so I passed them flying by with the wind blowing through my hair and within 10 minutes took a wrong turn. How one takes a wrong turn on a bike path eludes me but alas I found a way. Within 15 minutes I realized that I was going down a bad route when I looked around and I was the only one in the area. There was not a biker to be found. I laughingly made a u-turn, furiously peddled my way back and saw some of my fellow bikers recognizing them from the numbers pinned to their backs.

All in all it wasn’t too bad so I found another group consisting of a couple and an odd man deciding they would be a fine group to follow. They were going a little slow for me but not too bad and since I had no desire to be lost again felt I would coast along with them. After about 30 minutes our small caravan stopped and the leader pulled out a map and it was with a laugh that I realized we were lost. Seemed I was not the only one that had issues reading the signs. We backtracked a few miles found our way again and after climbing the longest steepest hill every traversed by a biker I rolled into the first rest stop near death. We had managed to go a total of 14 miles at that time and I was starting to worry about my physical ability to make the entire trip.

I wolfed down a banana, some Gatorade and the four of us headed off again. We were now 90 minutes into the morning and I had managed to get lost twice and almost feint climbing a hill. It would be interesting to see where the day went. We approached a hill from the topside and as we gained speed coasting downward I felt excited not having to peddle furiously upward. God it felt amazing flying down the hill going 20 miles per hour until the guy leading our little group hit a rock, lost control of his front wheel, flew off his bike and skidded about twenty feet on his face. It was like watching a slow motion movie as I saw the entire event develop grabbing my brakes slowing down next to where he came to rest.

His legs began convulsing and the couple riding with us jumped off their bikes as well. I pulled out my phone calling 911 while the lady of our group grabbed a sweatshirt placing it over his right eye trying to stop the blood that was literally squirting like a fountain in bursts of read crimson liquid. We had to hold him down as he entered into shock trying to get up and then hold his arms as he attempted to pry open his quickly swollen blood soaked eye screaming he had to remove his contacts. The 911 representative told me to make sure that he didn’t move and they would be there within a few minutes. Luckily a nurse stopped and as unbelievable as it sounds the next guy to stop was a neurosurgeon. They helped the man until the ambulance arrived and once they loaded him up the three of us stood staring at the empty road wondering what in the hell had just happened during the last 45 minutes.

We decided to finish our road trip knowing nothing more about our fallen rider other than his first name and that he was being taken to Stanford hospital. We hoped he was ok but as our lives move on I realize I have no way of ever contacting him again. He entered my life for a brief blood soaked moment and then like a flash he is now gone. We peddled to the next rest stop but since we were now so far behind it was closed. They were just finishing packing up and handed us some water and a couple of oat chewy bars which we scarfed down and headed off again. It was at that point where my new found friends informed me that they were actually on the 62 mile route and they would be happy to have me ride along with them but it would require me going a little further.

I was close to dead having traveled about 25 miles but since I would never find my way on my own agreed and headed off. The rest of the trip was uneventful and as we neared the finish line only a few miles away I asked him how he knew where he was going. He laughed pointing to the ground and I saw the spray painted signs with arrows guiding him along his route. Holy shit. I had been looking for signs all this time and the damn people paint them on the ground. Apparently this is common in the biking community. I made a note of this for my future endeavors.

As we pulled into the finish my legs felt like somebody had placed them into a pretzel machine and turned it on high. I crawled off my bike and asked about the extra large t-shirt I had been promised for enduring my day and was told that they were all packed up since again we were so late in arriving and all they could give me was a large. OMG, what the hell. I angrily accepted and it was only when I inhaled the veggie roll they handed me did I start to calm down. Veggie rolls were all that was left since as the theme holds true we were so late in arriving.

I am excited to report that I finished my bike ride, went 62 miles and while I might be physically debilitated for the next several days I was not the one lying in the hospital. I hope he is ok and makes it in respectable shape. I can’t imagine what he might be going through having slid 20 feet on his face. I will never forget the way his head was flopping like a rag dolls hitting the jagged pavement several times before he finally came to a rest. I wish him the best and will count myself lucky that all I have to deal with is my aching legs and feet that will no longer work.

Duncan’s Diary (Birth of a Serial Killer)

My infamous book is due back to me this week after final editing. I would be lying if I didn’t say my excitement was growing with each passing day. Granted I am self publishing but still it is my first attempt at a book and to have a bound copy of my writing will be an achievement even if I had to pay somebody to bind it. I don’t have lofty expectations but my anticipation is rising as I get more in tune with my literary skills every day.

If you want to see a snapshot of the book the prelude is over in the short story section. I often tell people that my inspirational motivation for writing started from Match.com. In the midst of finalizing my separation with my ex-wife I inevitably started the dating process and as with most men who haven’t dated in a while floundered with the process of how things worked in the beginning. I tried the internet dating services (which in the end I didn’t like) and not gravitating toward the process naturally I moved on to other things.

While I was in the midst of the cyber connecting dilemma I started writing a specific girl and for some reason, even though she didn’t respond, I wrote her on several occasions. At one point it turned into a dear diary scenario but I was hitting a send button at the end. I kept the one way correspondence reading them the other day and laughed at the pathetic attempts to interact with somebody I didn’t know. It was more self reflection than anything but in the end started me down a path of writing which I am now thoroughly enjoying and eventually has led to me writing a book.

Who would have thought that I had a book inside this simplistic head of mine? As most of you know who read my blog, I can’t spell, I type at a speed where my words get jumbled at times and I am grammatically challenged. None of that mattered in the end as I enjoyed what I was doing and now I can’t stop the process. I don’t feel complete unless I have written something several times a day. The book will be coming out in a few weeks. I still have to go through proofing, the cover layout, pictures, etc. etc., but getting through editing is a major milestone.

I should know in a week if it passes the Editor’s Choice award and winning any award will be huge for myself satisfaction. If it doesn’t then I guess the hell with them. What do they know right? 

If you are interested in reading about a tortured pathetic middle class man who snaps at one point and begins the torturous adventure of becoming a serial killer then this book is for you. It is a little graphic and there is sexual content as well so it is not for the faint of heart. Most of the book deals on the psychological aspect of what Duncan is going through during this transformation. He wasn’t born with a predisposition for killing but the events of his existence have led him to becoming somebody who no longer values the life of others to the extent we all should.

Anyway, I don’t want to give away any surprises. Read the prelude and see what you think.

Book to come out in a few weeks.

Serial Cat killings? Really?

It appears that Tyler Hayes Weinman an 18 year old high school senior graduate is allegedly a serial cat killer. I am going to say this as I do all the time so wait for it…….. He is a quiet boy, who is well behaved, well spoken and everyone who knows him is shocked. Why is it always the quiet well behaved ones that are so freaky. It almost makes me want to ensure that whatever house I buy next is on the loudest noisiest street possible.

Apparently there have been dozens of cats missing and several have shown up skinned, mutilated and dead in the neighborhood surrounding Tyler’s home. While you can’t ever condemn somebody before his/her fair trial if guilty it would be a scary concept for what he might do next. I mean how long will they put him away for killing a few cats. A couple of years maybe. My guess is that if he has progressed far enough down this road it is only a matter of time before he moves on to, well…….. other types of victims. Whoa I don’t want to live in his neighborhood as he gets older.

Interestingly enough the police arrested him on prom night while he was attending a party. He apparently missed the dance and if he is not found guilty I am sure the police opened themselves up for a great lawsuit. How is it that our protectors seem to do so many odd things in their pursuit of nabbing the bad guy. Did the detective in charge suddenly say hey let’s make sure that we grab him tonight so he looks his best. Arresting him in his tuxedo just seems like an act of foolishness on their part. Couldn’t they have waited a few hours and picked him up after he was drunk and held him on underage drinking. We all know what 18 year olds do on prom night right.

I remember my prom night and let’s just say when my girlfriend’s brother knocked on our hotel room door at 4 AM in the morning telling me her parents were pissed I was scared shitless. I would have confessed to anything at that point as I was freaking out beyond my teenage ability to maintain composure.

I currently have two dogs and a cat (the cat is a new addition) and I would miss them if they were taken from me. I know I am a little sappy but I do love those damn little creatures. I can’t imagine somebody skinning them, butchering them and then leaving them in my front lawn. That is some messed up stuff. Hopefully he is Catholic so he can just say a few hail marrys and move on with his life. I would make sure I tested the wine before next communion though if he was in attendance. No telling what the crackers would be made of.

CheerLeaders

Do you like being a little freaked out? Do you like Cheerleaders? If you answer yes to both of these questions and you can handle a disturbing story click on the link to the right under PAGES “short stories” titled “Cheerleaders (Amber)” and hold on.

Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.