With Liberty and Tolerance For All

Today’s tolerance is fashionable and considerate, the mark of a truly educated person. Being fashionable, considerate, and educated myself, I believe in tolerance to the highest degree.

America, Land of the Free and Home of the Brave, has given me a wonderful example of what tolerance looks like. As we relentlessly tell everyone everywhere, America is a deeply tolerant country. Our citizens have the freedom to burn the American flag because we tolerate all of us who stand against us. We fought a hard battle to remove the 10 Commandments from court rooms because we must be tolerant towards those of us who are offended by fools.

That’s how we keep our country so tolerant. It works extraordinarily well, and no true, educated American would dare offend another person or organization–our lawyers make sure of that. Those jackasses are too into their religion to take the 10 Commandments down? Throw ’em in the slammer. That’s tolerance for you.

Our foreign policy lacks tolerance, however. If tolerance is truly all it’s cracked up to be (and they tell me it is), then surely that’s the answer to all of our problems.

We just need to be more tolerant of terrorists.

Surely that would solve things. After all, it’s what any educated person would do. We simply must realize that Al Qaeda just wants Heaven too, and North Korea…Well, who knows.

Besides, I haven’t seen good fireworks in quite some time.

It’s not my fault I’m a pessimist.

Americans have always been impressed by professional-sounding terms. Some of us like them so much that we invent multiple terms for the same thing then attempt to trick you into believing that they’re actually different.

The whole profession of doctorism (how’s that for a professional term) revolves around this exact system. After all, if doctors are going to charge so much, they’d better look like they actually know something we don’t.

How many times have you gone to the doctor to hear him say, “You hurt your leg”? Probably not very many. They’re much more likely to say something like, “You have a fracture of the femur,” which sounds much more professional.

We all know they just look it up on the internet when our back is turned. This is the only reason that I can think of for always having such crappy wallpaper–good distraction while they look it up (Hey, is that a BUTTERFLY on there?). But even so, they still like to pretend that they are actually smarter than us. So, they use these big words in order to prove they deserve the white coat:

“After much googling research I have come to the conclusion that the fetor comes from extensive feces.”


“Your shit stinks.”

One more thing. How come I always end up with the practicing doctors? Just once, can’t I get a good one? I think that’s something my health insurance forgot to mention.

Big words aren’t just reserved to wealthy googlers doctors, however. Take the words optimism and pessimism. We like to define these with the oh-so-popular “half-full” and “half-empty” illustrations. People love to ask you that. Do you see your glass as half empty, or half full?

I hear this is one of psychiatrists’ favorite questions, which is also why I believe that psychiatrists are people who wanted to be doctors, but couldn’t learn how to use Google fast enough so settled for making up stuff on the spot.

I don’t need a psychiatrist to tell me whether I’m an optimist or a pessimist though, because there’s not too much difference. The only real difference between optimists and pessimists is that the half-full people tell you that “if life hands you a lemon, make lemonade,” while the half-empty people hate lemonade.

Sports for the Al Qaeda World

It’s obvious that the Muslim extremists hate us, you needn’t to tell me that. What I want to know, though, is why.

Is it just because we’re Americans? Couldn’t be. How could somebody hate a country that has hamburgers, baseball, and more nukes than you can imagine? It’s impossible.

Or could it be because there are so many Christians in America? I say no. Think about it from a terrorist’s perspective: If your whole point in killing people is so that you can get to Heaven and have a chance at those 72 virgins, wouldn’t it be smarter to kill people who are more likely to turn terrorist? Better chances for yourself that way.

I think the real reason they’re always so angry is because of the lack of radical Islamic sports. They just need a creative path to channel all of that hatred to. If we can give them a way to blow off all that steam in a safe-for-us manner, they’d be much happier.

Baseball isn’t going to do it, they’re too smart for that. Where’s the violence?

Boxing’s no good–no uniforms. Everybody knows that Al Qaeda loves uniforms.

So, I think they need their own special sport–it could even be something like a reality show. Here’s one option that I can think of:

Scary video contest. Much like our American Idol, contestants would go for months without taking a shower or shaving, then would stand in front of blank walls holding AK47s and say scary things. You get extra points if you’re already dead by the time the video is shown, and Osama Bin Laden would judge. The loser gets shot (what good is a sport without a little bit of risk, I say). The only problem with this one is that if you’re dead before the video is shown and you loose, they can’t really shoot you.

Any other ideas?

The Truth About Sports

I used to do sports. When I was 7 I played baseball; did that for about 6 years. Did soccer a couple of times.

I remember those first few years, t-ball, hot dogs…confusion. I also remember quite clearly what the coaches would constantly tell us:

It’s just a game!

We didn’t believe them, of course. They won’t tell us the score? Then we’ll keep track ourselves.

But this is what they wanted.

Because the next season, everything is suddenly backwards. The coaches are yelling and swearing, meanwhile the players are telling the coaches, “It’s just a game!”

To many, this whole ordeal would probably be a confusing thing. However, I’ve been able to figure it all out. The first couple of years, you know, the ones where it’s “just a game”–those are there to get you hooked. If you continue playing for a couple of years, then they figure that you’re ready for the truth.

But they don’t really tell you the truth. Or the whole truth, anyway. You think it’s the truth, you believe it’s the truth. Most people, in fact, still do believe that this is the truth. The whole US Government still believes this, as does Japan’s. What they tell you is that it’s not really a game, it’s your life. You need this, your future depends upon it. That even you can be a winner.

This, of course, is bullshit. There are no real “winners” in sports. Actually, let me take that back. There are winners in sports, but most people would never guess them. But I’ll tell you who they are: Drug dealers, and the countries that don’t participate.

Those are your real winners.

Drug dealers, pretty self explanatory. I think that they are actually the ones that started this whole “sports” thing and came up with the confusing introduction to the game. I mean they are masters of addiction, are they not? So what would be better than to create an addiction that will start another addiction that they can sell products to feed? It’s complicated, it’s confusing, it’s genius. Who would’ve guessed?

The non-participants are also winners. Why? Because they’re several billion dollars richer and several times smarter. You see, while we’re plunking millions into training somebody to kick a plastic ball, they can use this money to do much more important things. Like say, build nukes.

A Note on Sequels

A lot of people seem to assign the word “sequel” with the definition of, “A continuation of the first story.” But recently I’ve come across substantial evidence to indicate otherwise. While this new definition desperately tries to hold onto the connotation that the previous definition carries, the literal definition is quite different.

It now goes something like this:

A second, completely separate and much lamer movie that intends to juice all possible revenue out of a previous movie’s name and/or stars. It may or may not have any relation to the previous film, and oftentimes within the last 10 minutes a movie will introduce a completely new issue that will take another 3 hours to explain so that they may produce a sequel. Several sequels may be made, turning a specific group of films into a “series.” This series will normally go on until it becomes clear that nobody cares anymore.

I’d like to thank Hollywood for making this post possible.

Happy 11th of October!

Everybody’s talking about Independence Day (no, not that Independence Day). It is, after all, the Fourth of July. Today is the day that Americans everywhere are eating charcoal hamburgers, blowing up Chinese bombs, and making worthless political statements.

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

Those guys sure knew what they were doing when they picked the 4th of July to sign that thing. Can you imagine what it would be like if they had picked, say, the 11th of October?

“Happy 11th of October, everybody!”

It just doesn’t flow. Not to mention, who has barbeques in October? Or shoots fireworks? Nobody, and that’s why the 11th of October would suck as a national independence day.

July’s the perfect month. Right in the middle of the summer, clear skies for fireworks, perfect temperature for barbeques. I’m sure the signers thought through all of this before sending that letter off to England, because I mean, that’s pretty important. Creating a national holiday is a big deal.

My grass is greener than yours.

I think mowing one’s lawn is actually counter-productive. I mean, from what I can gather, point of mowing your lawn is to make it seem like you actually take care of your yard. Now, the problem with this is, once you mow it, it’s going to grow back. Fast.

Then you have to continually keep mowing it and mowing it and mowing it because it keeps catching up on you. This whole ordeal could easily be solved by simply letting it grow and sticking a sign in your front yard:

I like it this way.

Or, if you’re one of those people who have to have everything neat-and-tidy (I’ll bet you even have a special spot reserved just for your remote controls, don’t you?), why not just rip out all of your grass and install that green, grass-like carpet stuff? Seems to work good on TV.

Note to self: Apparently emangelists (email + evangelists = a term I just made up) are just as crappy as televangelists.

Everybody hates chain mail. You know, “Forward this to at least 10 people in the next 48 hours or you’ll get hit by a flying piano and die.” But that’s not all that bad (though still annoying). I mean they’re easy to spot–if I see five “Fwd:” things in the subject line then I know that it’s probably safe to delete.

But that’s old-school. There’s a new type of chain mail on the block, and this elite string of forwards does not try to manipulate the general public through cute fake images or promises of grandeur superstition, rather, the fashionable religious guilt trip. Here is an excerpt from an actual email I once received:

This is an easy test, you score 100 or zero. It’s your choice If you aren’t ashamed to do this, please follow the directions. Jesus said, “If you are ashamed of me, I will be ashamed of you before my Father.”

Not ashamed pass this on . . . only if you mean it. Yes, I do Love God. He is my source of existence and Savior. He keeps me functioning each and every day. Without Him, I am nothing, but with Him I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Phil 4:13

This is the simplest test. If you Love God, and are not ashamed of all the marvelous things he has done for you. Send this to ten people you love and the person who sent it to you!

Damn, I’d better hurry up and forward this thing before God takes out the lightning…

American Patriotism

American patriotism is a funny thing… I mean, when British people have celebrations, they burn effigies of people with names like… “Guy.” But America easily tops that.

See, we choose to celebrate our independence by blowing up miniature bombs that we bought from China. Yeah, we like to call this, “Independence Day.”

And don’t forget the little plastic flags–that’s a definite must. By the way, have you ever looked at the bottom of one of those? Made in Tokyo.

Boy Scouts != (do not equal) People with a Sense of Direction

Yesterday morning I loaded up my airsoft gun, slammed some CO2 in that thing, and took off for some little island in the middle of the Willamette River. All together there were eight people, 10 guns, 4 bags of Cheetos, a cooler with approximately 63.2 cans of soda, a radio, and two canoes. Oh yeah, and 7 oar/paddle things. The weather? About 100 degrees.

Now, many of you are probably thinking that to carry all of this upriver using only two canoes, multiple trips would be a must. You’re probably right, but that would take longer. And besides, once the first load gets there, who’s going back? Not me.

The canoe I was in had no major problems. We hit a few low spots at first, but after that it was smooth sailing. It looked like we might have a little problem with some small rapids, but we were able to steer clear of the rocks.

The other four in the other canoe had a completely different story, however. As we landed at this mile-long, 50 to 100 yards wide lump of sand, I turned to watch their progress. They were on the complete other side of the river, knee-deep in this polluted water, pushing and pulling the canoe, trying to get past the rapids. When they thought they were safe, they pushed off and started paddling. They got to the middle of the river when they realized that they’re paddling forward with everything they’ve got, and they’re not moving forward. So they turned the canoe towards the island, trying to go straight for it.

The problem? They were now going backwards. By the way, did I mention that most of the people in that little plastic boat were Boy Scouts?

So after we were all safely on this miniature oasis, we made our way to the “campsite,” being a little clearing with a picnic table in the middle of it. Apparently, these people had been here before with their Boy Scout troupe and built some paths and made a “campsite.” I figured these guys must know the island pretty well by now.

We’re playing our first game, and my team comes into contact with a few of the enemy. I pull out my glorified, 350fps piece of plastic and pick off one of them. Unfortunately, I get hit in the hand soon after (lucky shot, I’m telling you–so what if I was just sitting on the beach).

As such, me and my victim make our way back to the distinguished “campsite” and all of that Mountain Dew. We start off on the path, when somewhere along the line we sort of loose it. We’re in the middle of this grass stuff in between 5 and 6 feet tall, and my victim is ahead of me, leading the way. He decides that the best course of action would be to blaze his own trail. This doesn’t sound like the most brilliant plan to me, but I figure that since he was one of the people who built this campsite he must know what he’s doing…He is a Boy Scout after all.

And besides, if you think that I’m going to go back by all by myself and to try to find the real path, you gotta be nuts. At least he’s in front so that I don’t have to break down all of that grass. I follow him around for a little while, when it becomes clear that he doesn’t exactly know where he’s going. We head for the river on the east side of the island (OK, I admit it–I actually have no clue what direction it was, but we’ll just call it east for now) so that we can see how far up the island we are. Suddenly, the ground drops, and we find ourselves much deeper in this grass. That doesn’t seem to bother my brilliant guide too much, and he keeps on blazing. That is, until the ground dropped again.

This time, it dropped, and it kept on dropping. I was able to stop, but my victim/guide fell and was quickly sliding in the direction of the river. When he was able to grab onto something and stop, we realized that he had stopped about 3.4 feet away from a cliff dropping right into the great, polluted Willamette River. Wonderful.

Did we turn around and head back, hoping to perhaps find the real path again? Of course not. He still wanted to keep on blazing. Thankfully while blazing through we eventually came in contact with the real path. Upon this finding my not-so-helpful guide turns back towards me with, “See? The path. I told you I knew where I was going.”

It wasn’t until we were back at the campsite that I was informed by somebody else that my “guide” recently got lost at the last Boy Scout camping trip. I was also informed by another that if you go too far east, there’s a cliff that will drop right into the river.

Gosh, thanks.