Daily Thoughts Blog by Chris xx Route 66
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The following are all replies that Detroit women have written on Child Support Agency Forms in the section for listing 'Father's Details,' or putting it another way...  Who's your baby's Daddy?  These are genuine excerpts from the forms.  Be sure to check out #11, it takes 1st prize and #3 is runner up. 
 
 
1.  Regarding the identity of the father of my twins, Makeeshia was fathered by Maclearndon McKinley I am unsure as to the identity of the father of Marlinda, but I believe that she was conceived on the same night.   
  

2...  I am unsure, as to the identity of the father of my child as I was being sick out of a window when taken unexpectedly from behind.  I can provide you with a list of names of men that I think were at the party if this helps.  
 
 

3.  I do not know the name of the father of my little girl.  She was conceived at a party at 3600 East Grand Boulevard where I had sex with a man I met that night.  I do remember that the sex was so good that I fainted.  If you do manage to track down the father, can you please send me his phone number?  Thanks...  
 
 

4.  I don't know the identity of the father of my daughter.  He drives a BMW that now has a hole made by my stiletto in one of the door panels.  Perhaps you can contact BMW service stations in this area and see if he's had it replaced. 

 

5.  I have never had sex with a man.  I am still a Virginian.  I am awaiting a letter from the Pope confirming that my son's conception was ejaculate and that he is the Saver risen again.  
 
 

6.  I cannot tell you the name of Alleshia's dad as he informs me that to do so would blow his cover and that would have cataclysmic implications for the economy  I am torn between doing right by you and right by the country..  Please advise.  
 
 

7.  I do not know who the father of my child was as they all look the same to me.  
 
 

8.  Tyrone Hairston is the father of child A.  If you do catch up with him, can you axe him what he did with my AC/DC CDs?  Child B who was also borned at the same time.....  well, I don't have clue..  
 
 

9.  From the dates it seems that my daughter was conceived at Disney World.  Maybe it really is the Magic Kingdom .  
 
 

10.  So much about that night is a blur.  The only thing that I remember for sure is Delia Smith did a program about eggs earlier in the evening.  If I had stayed in and watched more TV rather than going to the party at 8956 Miller Ave , mine might have remained unfertilized.  
 
 

11.  I am unsure as to the identity of the father of my baby, after all, like when you eat a can of beans you can't be sure which one made you fart.

1. I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear
your computer history if you die.

2. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you
realize you're wrong.

3. I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.

4. There is great need for a sarcasm font.

5. How are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

6. Was learning cursive really necessary?

7. Map Quest really needs to start their directions on #5. I'm pretty
sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

8. Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the
person died.

9. I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.

10. Bad decisions make good stories.

11. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at
work when you know that you just aren't going to do anything
productive for the rest of the day.

12.Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after Blue Ray? I
don't want to have to restart my collection.. .again.

13. I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks
me if I want to save any changes to my ten-page research paper that I
swear I did not make any changes to.

14. "Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this - ever.

15. I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello?
Damn it!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and
goes to voicemail. What did you do after I didn't answer? Drop the
phone and run away?

16. I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not
seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.

17. I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not
to answer when they call.

18. I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

19. I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or
Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lite than Kay.

20. I wish Google Maps had an "Avoid Ghetto" routing option.

21. Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger
and suddenly realize I had no idea what the heck was going on when I
first saw it.

22. I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand
than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.

23. The only time I look forward to a red light is when I'm trying to
finish a text.

24. I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

25. How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just
nod and smile because you still didn't hear or understand a word they
said?

26. I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars team
up to prevent an ass from cutting in at the front. Stay strong,
brothers and sisters!

27. Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get
dirty, and you can wear them forever..

28. Is it just me or do high school kids get dumber & dumber every year?

29. There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are
going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.

30. As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers.

31. Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still
not know what time it is.

32. Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car
keys in a pocket, finding their cell phone, and Pinning the Tail on
the Donkey - but I'd bet my behind everyone can find and push the
snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed,
first time, every time!

Dominica's 'Whale Whisperer' shares a remarkable story

By: Pete Thomas, GrindTV.com

Andrew Armour, who runs Kubuli Watersports on the Caribbean island of Dominica, has been called the "Whale Whisperer" because of his ability to communicate with sperm whales, particularly a young male named "Scar."

"Once I'm in the water I try to reach them acoustically by making this noise in the water, and it's the same noise all the time so they know it's me," he says. "So I'm talking to them all the time in the water, and they start coming."

To be sure, had Herman Melville been to Dominica and swum with its whales, he might have had trouble finding the inspiration to write the classic novel, "Moby Dick."

Perhaps 200 of the fabled cetaceans utilize the surrealistically blue realm beyond the island. None has expressed ferocity toward humans or bitten the leg from a tyrannical (and fictional) captain.

On the contrary, as people such as Armour have learned, these great leviathans, once hunted mercilessly around the world, are docile and at times even seem friendly toward people.

"The whales come to us, make friends with us, and interact with us," says Peter G. Allinson, a Baltimore doctor who has made several trips to Dominica, which is between the French islands of Martinique and Guadeloupe. 

"The best encounter is when the whales are socializing among themselves and they'll come over and play with us," Allinson adds. "A couple of them will rub up against you and try to get you to rub them, and some of them roll over on their backs and let you rub their bellies. It's quite interesting."

Allinson's images have appeared in National Geographic magazine and won photo contests. He does not distribute his photos but, as a supporter of the Save the Whales organization, he allowed their use for this story hoping it'll raise awareness that all whales "are very intelligent and very friendly animals, and they should not be hunted."

Images captured recently by professional photographers also have surfaced, on various websites, and suddenly the whales of Dominica are no longer a secret.

"The secret is now coming out," Armour says. "And it's coming out in a sense that this is the best place to see sperm whales, this close to North America."

This is disconcerting to scientists, however. They say a budding and largely unregulated "swim-with" program might be harmful to the whales. "These interactions alter the normal daily behavior pattern of not only the animal which is interacted with but also all of its family members as a result," says Shane Gero, a researcher from Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia.

Armour, who closely works with researchers but also runs a whale-watching business, acknowledges that regulations are needed but adds: "My strategy with them has always been to let them want to be with me. The thing is to not let youngsters get too far away from the family group. In this way we have noticed a minimal change in the behavior of the group as a unit."

Sperm whales, which in the pre-whaling era numbered about 1.1 million globally, now number about 360,000. At Dominica, as with other populations, adult females and young whales do not migrate. Adult males visit only during the wintertime breeding season. Young males leave their family units at about age 9 and migrate to the north and south. They do not return to breed until they're much older.

Dominica is unique, Gero says, in that scientists are able to locate specific family units with high regularity. He has been studying the whales there with Hal Whitehead, one of the world's foremost sperm whale authorities.

"Dominica's uniqueness lies in the fact that we can outline families and compare between sisters, as Jane Goodall did with the chimps; not simply between families or like-sounding clans of whales," Gero says. "As a result, our big advancements have been the discoveries of which animals in the family unit acts as babysitter when mother makes deep dives for food.

"We have also been able to compare the vocal repertoires of each individual across the years and have shown that mothers and calves sound different from the other members of the family."

Armour has known Scar since the whale swam to his boat as a calf, with injuries to his head and dorsal fin, presumably caused by marauding pilot whales. 

He makes humming and clicking sounds to communicate with Scar, and in January the 10-year-old whale arrived for the first time with some much younger whales.

Scar, who has reached the age where he ought to be off roaming, has not been seen since February.

Says Armour: "Deep down I felt that when he introduced us to the youngsters this January that was his way of saying goodbye."

-- Photos courtesy of Peter G. Allinson. Top photo shows Andrew Armour (left) with a whale named Scar. Bottom images show Jeff Hartog, a plastic surgeon from Orlando, Fla., in the midst of sperm whales.Images are copyrighted and Allinson requests that people respect that protection.

Get Out: Orionid Meteor Shower Peaks Overnight

The Orionid meteor shower is expected to put on a good show tonight into the predawn hours Wednesday, weather permitting.

This annual meteor shower is created when Earth passes through trails of comet debris left in space long ago by Halley's Comet. The "shooting stars" develop when bits typically no larger than a pea , and mostly sand-grain-sized, vaporize in Earth's upper atmosphere.

"Flakes of comet dust hitting the atmosphere should give us dozens of meteors per hour," said Bill Cooke of NASA's Meteoroid Environment Office.

People in cities and suburbs will see far fewer meteors, because all but the brightest of them will be overpowered by light pollution. The best view will be from rural areas (the moon will not be a factor, so dark skies will make for ideal viewing).

When and how to watch

The best time to watch will be between 1 a.m. and dawn local time Wednesday morning, regardless of your location. That's when the patch of Earth you are standing on is barreling headlong into space on Earth's orbital track, and meteors get scooped up like bugs on a windshield.

Peak activity, when Earth wades into the densest part of the debris, is expected around 6 a.m. ET (3 a.m. PT).

Some meteors could show up late tonight, too. Late-night viewing typically offers fewer meteors, however, because your patch of Earth is positioned akin to the back window of the speeding car.

The Orionids have been strong in recent years.

"Since 2006, the Orionids have been one of the best showers of the year, with counts of 60 or more meteors per hour," Cooke said.

Some of those counts come in flurries, so skywatchers should find a comfortable spot with as wide a view of the sky as possible. Lie back and allow 15 minutes for your eyes to adjust to the darkness, then give the show at least a half hour to play out through spurts and lulls. Meteors could appear anywhere in the sky, though traced back they will appear to emanate from the constellation Orion.

Telescopes and binoculars are of no use, because meteors move too quickly. Extra warm clothing is a must, and a blanket and pillow or lounge chair allows comfortable positioning so you can look up for long stretches.

Reliable event

Predicting meteor showers is tricky because the debris comes from multiple streams.

Each time comet Halley passes around the sun on its elongated orbit – every 76 years – it lays down a fresh track of debris for Earth to plow through in subsequent years. Those tracks spread out and mingle over time, and we pass the tracks each October during our 365-day, nearly circular trek around the sun.

Japanese researchers Mikiya Sato and Jun-ichi Watanabe say activity in recent years is related to debris put in place from 1266 BC to 911 BC, and this could be another good year, according to NASA.

Even if that prediction does not hold, the Orionids will almost surely put on a decent show. Prior to 2006 and going back many years, the Orionids have produced a reliable 15 to 20 meteors per hour at the peak, for skywatchers with dark skies.

As a bonus, this time of year you can expect an additional five to 10 sporadic meteors per hour – those not related to the shower.

High-speed chase ends when OnStar halts stolen SUV

Stop thief: California carjacking suspect nabbed after GM's OnStar halts fleeing SUV

  • On 6:35 pm EDT, Monday October 19, 2009

DETROIT (AP) -- When two Visalia, Calif., police officers swung their cruisers behind a sport utility vehicle that had been carjacked at gunpoint early Sunday, they prepared for a dangerous high-speed chase.

The 2009 Chevrolet Tahoe roared away with officers in pursuit, but shortly after the suspect made a right turn, operators at General Motors Co.'s OnStar service sent a command that electronically disabled the gas pedal and the SUV gradually came to a halt.

The flustered thief got out and ran, but was quickly nabbed after he climbed several fences and fell into a backyard swimming pool, police said.

It was the first time since OnStar began offering the service in the 2009 model year that it was used to end a chase that could otherwise have had dire consequences.

"He wouldn't have pulled over if OnStar hadn't have shut the vehicle down," said Visalia Police Sgt. Steve Phillips. "Generally pursuits end in a collision."

The whole thing began when Jose Ruiz, 33, of nearby Lindsay, Calif., was sitting in his Tahoe in a lighted parking lot about 3 a.m. Sunday while his cousin was talking on a cell phone in the passenger seat. Out of the corner of his eye, Ruiz saw a man walking toward him.

"He already had a gun out," Ruiz said Monday.

The man pointed a sawed-off shotgun at Ruiz and ordered both men to get out of the Tahoe and empty their pockets. Ruiz's cousin at first refused, but Ruiz told him to obey, knowing that OnStar could find the stolen truck with a global positioning system.

"I was afraid he was going to shoot my cousin. My cousin was arguing with him," Ruiz recalled.

The cousin relented and the man sped off in the truck. Ruiz then sprinted for a nearby pay telephone to call police, but ran into a sheriff's deputy on her break who notified Visalia police.

Officers quickly contacted OnStar and got Ruiz's permission to find the vehicle. Police spotted it a few miles away, but as officers made a U-turn to pursue it, the Tahoe sped off at a high speed, Phillips said.

The suspect made a turn, and police dispatchers told the pursuing officers that OnStar was about to disable the Tahoe. It then rolled to a halt, and the robber was quickly captured.

The 21-year-old suspect was jailed and faces preliminary charges of robbery, carjacking, possession of stolen property and resisting arrest.

OnStar President Walt Dorfstatter said it took only 16 minutes from the time OnStar was notified for the vehicle to be stopped.

Visalia Police Chief Colleen Mestas said the new technology kept officers, other motorists and even the suspect out of a dangerous chase.

"Considering the violent crime that this suspect was wanted for, I was just amazed," she said.

Police chases often end in death, many times for the people in the pursued vehicles, according to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration. Last year, 334 people were killed nationwide in crashes that stemmed from police pursuits, including five police officers, 235 people in the chased vehicles and 77 who were in cars or trucks not involved in the chases.

Ruiz said police returned his Tahoe, cell phone and wallet to him that night. The only thing they didn't get back was some cash taken from his cousin.

The stolen vehicle slowdown feature isn't offered on all GM vehicles yet, but the company hopes to expand it to the entire lineup as models are updated. For 2010, the feature is on 18 of the 30 models equipped with OnStar, a communication service that also can give directions or call for help if a car is in a crash. Dorfstatter said it will take several years for all GM models to get the feature.

Mestas, whose city is about 50 miles southeast of Fresno, hopes that both technology like OnStar and more police aircraft can minimize the dangers of chases.

"It would be nice to have a day in law enforcement that you didn't have to actively pursue suspects at high speeds," she said.

I have seen repeatedly the breakdown of the cost of raising a child, but this is the first time I have seen the rewards listed this way.

Counting...

The government recently calculated the cost of raising a child from birth to 18 and came up with $160,140 for a middle income family.

But $160,140 isn't so bad if you break it down. It translates into $8,896.66 a year, $741.38 a month, or $171.08 a week. That's a mere $24.44 a day!

Just over a dollar an hour. Still, you might think the best financial advice says don't have children if you want to be "rich." It is just the opposite.

What do your get for your $160,140?

* Naming rights. First, middle, and last!
* Glimpses of God every day.
* Giggles under the covers every night.
* More love than your heart can hold.
* Butterfly kisses and Velcro hugs.
* Endless wonder over rocks, ants, clouds, and warm cookies.
* A hand to hold, usually covered with jam.
* A partner for blowing bubbles, flying kites, building sandcastles, and skipping down the sidewalk in the pouring rain.
* Someone to laugh yourself silly with no matter what the boss said or how your stocks performed that day.

For $160,140, you never have to grow up. You get to finger-paint, carve pumpkins, play hide-and-seek, catch lightning bugs, and never stop believing in Santa Claus. You have an excuse to keep reading the Adventures of Piglet and Pooh, watching Saturday morning cartoons going to Disney movies, and wishing on stars. You get to frame rainbows, hearts, and flowers under refrigerator magnets and collect spray painted noodle wreaths for Christmas, hand prints set in clay for Mother's Day, and cards with backward letters for Father's Day.

For $160,140, there is no greater bang for your buck. You get to be a hero just for retrieving a Frisbee off the garage roof, taking the training wheels off the bike, removing a splinter, filling the wading pool, coaxing a wad of gum out of bangs, and coaching a baseball team that never wins but always gets treated to ice cream regardless.

You get a front row seat to history to witness the first step, first word, first bra, first date, and first time behind the wheel.

You get to be immortal. You get another branch added to your family tree, and if you're lucky, a long list of limbs in your obituary called grandchildren.

You get education in psychology, nursing, criminal justice, communications, and human sexuality that no college can match.

In the eyes of a child, you rank right up there with God. You have all the power to heal a boo-boo, scare away the monsters under the bed, patch a broken heart, police a slumber party, ground them forever, and love them without limits, so one day they will, like you, love without counting the cost.

The Famous "Sushi Pants" Story (Printer Friendly Version) I used to think that Red Bull was the most destructive invention of the past 50 years. I was wrong. Red Bull has been usurped by the portable alcohol breathalyzer. The same device that cops have been using for 10 years to conduct field sobriety tests is now offered by the Sharper Image for $99. It is the size and shape of a small cell phone with a clear round tube sticking up from the top, almost like an antenna. One blows into the tube, and a few seconds later a Blood Alcohol Content (BAC) reading is given. Though not as accurate as a blood test, they are accurate to within .01, which is good enough for my purposes. I was living in Boca Raton, Florida, when I bought one to take out with me on a Saturday night. This is the story: 9:00pm: Arrive at the restaurant. I am the first one of the group there, even though our reservations are for 9pm. The restaurant is crowded full of the abysmal type of people that infest South Florida. Already depressed, I order a vodka and club soda. 9:08: No one else has arrived. I order another vodka and club. I consider checking my BAC, but doubt that it would show anything thus far. 9:10: Two 30+ year-old Jewish women on my left keep eyeing me. Both have fake breasts. One has exceptionally large fake breasts. They are beckoning me from her shirt. She is not highly attractive. I begin drinking faster. 9:15: No one else has arrived. I order my third vodka and club. While I wait for it, I try out my portable breathalyzer. I blow a .02. This is the greatest invention ever made. I am giddy. I show the breathalyzer to the fake-breasted Jewish women next to me. We begin a conversation. 9:16: They both have thick Long Island accents. I summon the bartender over and change my order to a tall double vodka on the rocks, splash of club. 9:23: Four people at the bar have tried my breathalyzer, both of the fake-breasted women included. Everyone wants to know their BAC. I am the center of attention. I am happy. 9:25: The first member of my group arrives. I show him the breathalyzer. He is enthralled. He buys a round. The fake-breasted women loudly inform us they would like drinks. My friend buys them drinks. I order a double vodka on the rocks. No splash. 9:29: I blow again, a .04. I've been drinking for half an hour, and am on my forth drink. My wheels of intellect begin grinding through the vodka haze that is already forming...four drinks...a .04...that must mean that each drink only adds .01 to my BAC. I begin to think that I can drink a lot. I tell one of the fake-breasted women that she is very interesting. 9:38: Six of the eight are here. I lie to the hostesses, and they seat our incomplete party. Everyone is talking about my breathalyzer. I am the focus of adulation. I forgive everyone for sucking so bad. I think this night may go OK after all. 9:40: I blow again, a .05. This confuses me. I haven't ordered another drink since I blew a .04. I have a vague memory from a long distant D.A.R.E. class about the rate of alcohol absorption being constant, regardless of speed of drinking. This memory quickly fades when two hot girls at the table next to me inquire about my portable breathalyzer. 9:42: Hot girl #2 is into me. She begins telling me a story about how she got pulled over once for DUI, and had to blow into something like this, and the cop let her off. She tells me that she always wanted to be a cop, but couldn't pass the entrance exam to the police academy, even though she took it twice. I tell her that she must be really smart. She stops paying attention to me. Hot girl #2 is apparently smart enough to detect thinly veiled sarcasm. 10:04: The novelty of the portable breathalyzer has passed. The table has moved on. I am no longer the center of attention. I am not happy with my table. 10:06: The people at my table begin talking about energy healing. Everyone is mesmerized by a girl who took a class in it. I tell them that energy healing is a worthless and solipsistic pseudo-science. They think energy healing is a real science because the instructor of the girl's class went to Harvard. One guy calls it a "legitimate, certifiable science," while making air quotes with his fingers. I tell them that they are all (while imitating his air quotes) "legitimate, certifiable idiots" because they believe in horse-shit like energy healing. Two girls call me close-minded. I tell them that they are so open-minded that their brains leaked out. They all glare at me with disapproval. I hate everyone at my table. 10:08: I have completely tuned out their inane conversation. I am slamming down straight vodka as fast as the low-rent wanna-be Ethan Hawke waiter can bring it. I blow every three minutes, watching my BAC slowly creep up. 10:10: .07 10:17: .08. I am no longer legally eligible to drive in the state of Florida. I announce this fact to no one in particular. 10:26: .09 10:27: I decide that I am going to see how drunk I can get and still be functional. I know that .35 BAC kills most people. I think that .20 is a good goal. 10:28: I get up, saying nothing to the seven sophists at my table, and go back to the bar. I don't leave money for my drinks. 10:29: The fake-breasted women are still at the bar. They want drinks. Upset that I'm only at .09 after a good hour and a half of aggressive drinking, I decide to do a round of shots. I let the women pick the shots, with the explicit instruction that it cannot be whiskey, cannot smell like whiskey, cannot even resemble whiskey. 10:30: The shots arrive. Tequila. Judging by the bill, very good tequila. It is smooth. We order another round. 11:14: I blow a .15. I have passed a milestone. Only .05 away from my goal. My pride swells. I show everyone my .15. The bar crowd is impressed. I am their idol. Someone buys me a shot. 11:28: I feel queasy. I realize that I didn't even stick around the table for dinner. Not wanting to either go back to my table or eat at the bar, I walk across the street to a sushi restaurant. 11:29: There is a lingerie party at the sushi restaurant. Half of the people are in some form of pajamas or other bedtime clothing. Everyone here sucks as bad as the last place, except they are in their underwear. 11:30: I am confused. I only want sushi. I stand at the door, mesmerized by the shifting masses of near nakedness. A mildly attractive girl who apparently works at the restaurant wants me to put on lingerie. I tell her I don't have any. I just want some sushi. She says I should at least take off my pants. I ask her if this will get me sushi. She says it will. I take off my pants. 11:30: I pause while unzipping my pants, wondering what type of underwear, if any, I have on. I consider not taking my pants off. I realize that getting food quickly is more crucial than my dignity. 11:31: I take off my pants. I have on pink and white striped Gap boxers. They are too tight. I make sure my package is tucked in. People watch me do this. 11:32: I order sushi by pointing at the pictures and grunting. 11:33: I show a guy at the sushi bar my breathalyzer. He is impressed. He shows it to everyone. People begin congregating around me. I am a star again. 11:41: I blow a .17. I tell everyone my goal. Someone orders me a shot. 11:42: I do the shot. Something that has a familiar taste, makes me feel warm inside. I ask what it is. "Cognac and Alize." There is a God, and he hates me. 11:47: My sushi arrives. I slosh soy sauce over it and shovel it into my mouth as quickly as my hands will get it there. 11:49: My sushi is finished. No one is paying attention to my table manners, as everyone is crowded around the breathalyzer, waiting their turn to find out their BAC. 12:18: I blow a .20. I AM A GOD. The sushi bar erupts. Men are applauding me. Girls are pining for me. Everyone wants to talk to me. I forgive them their flaws, as they are all paying attention to me. 12:31: My deity status is lost. Someone blows a .22. This is a challenge to my manhood. I order a depth charge with a Bacardi 151 shot. And a beer back. The crowd is in awe. 12:33: I finish the depth charge, and the beer. I talk shit to my challenger, "Who runs this bar now, BITCH??" The crowd erupts. Momentum has swung back in my direction. I am Maximus. I am winning the crowd. I will rule the sushi bar. 12:36: I take a better look at my challenger. He is a tall, broad-shouldered, heavily muscular man. His natural facial expression is not one of happiness. He quietly watches me, then orders a shot, throws it back without noticeable effect, and smiles at me. I consider that talking shit to him was a bad idea. At this point I also realize that my stomach is very upset with me. I ignore it. I still have a public that needs to adore me. 12:54: I blow a .22. Only mild cheers this time. Everyone is waiting for the challenger to blow. 12:56: He blows a .24. He smiles condescendingly at me. I order two more shots. 12:59: I do the first shot. It doesn't go down well. I decide to take a short break from drinking. The crowd is not impressed. 1:10: Reality sets in. I am going to vomit. A LOT. I try to discreetly make it outside. 1:11: I knock a girl over as I sprint through the door. 1:11: I trip over a bush, stumble into it, and begin throwing up. Out of my mouth. And nose. It is not pleasant. 1:14: I can't figure out why my legs hurt so much. I look down at them in between heaves. I have no pants on. Thorns and branches are embedded in my shins. 1:18: The vomiting is over. I am now trying to stop the bleeding. A bright light hits my eyes. I am not happy. I tell the owner to "get that fucking light out of my face." The owner of the light identifies himself as an officer of the law. I apologize to the officer, and ask him what the problem is. A long pause ensues. The light is still in my eyes. "Son, where are your pants?" Remembering past encounters with the law, and realizing there is no one around to bail me out of the county lock-up, I summon every bit of adrenaline in my body to sober myself up. I apologize again, and explain to the officer that my pants are in the restaurant that is less than 50 feet away, and that I came outside to share my sushi with the bush. He doesn't laugh. Another long pause. "You're not driving tonight are you?", "Oh, NO, NO, NO...no sir, I don't even have a valid driver's license." 1:20: He tells me to go back inside, put on my pants, and call a cab. 1:21: I go back into the sushi restaurant. A few people stare at me in a peculiar manner. I look down, and then tuck my partially exposed sack back into my boxers. I don't know what to do about my bleeding legs. I look around for my pants. 1:24: I can't find my pants. My breathalyzer is in clear sight. I blow. A .23. Someone informs me that my challenger just blew a .26. They add that he hasn't thrown up yet. I tell them to "kiss my fucking ass." My last clear memory. 8:15am: I wake up. I don't know where I am. It is very hot. I am sweating horribly. It smells like rotting flesh. 8:16: I am in my car. With the windows up. The sun is beating down directly on me. It is at least 125 degrees in my car. I open the door and try to get out, but instead I fall onto the pavement. The scabs that cover my legs tear and reopen as I move. My penis falls out of my pink Gap boxers and lands, along with the rest of me, in a dirty puddle on the asphalt. 8:19: The fetid standing water finally propels me into full consciousness. I can't find my pants. Or cell phone. Or wallet. But I do have my breathalyzer. I blow. A .09. I am still not eligible to drive in the state of Florida. 8:22: I drive home anyway. Let me be clear about this night: it was in my top 5 drunkest nights ever. I was completely shit-housed. I threw up multiple times, some of them through my nose. JESUS CHRIST, I WOKE UP blowing a .09. That's fucking ridiculous. That thing is awful. All you do is drink in order to increase your BAC. That device is the devil dressed in a transistor. My advice to you: avoid it at all costs. Posted by Administrator at 11:13 PM
1950s pinup model Bettie Page dies in LA at 85 By BOB THOMAS Bob Thomas 7 mins ago LOS ANGELES Ė Bettie Page, the 1950s secretary-turned-model whose controverisal photographs in skimpy attire or none at all helped set the stage for the 1960s sexual revolution, died Thursday. She was 85. Page suffered a heart attack last week in Los Angeles and never regained consciousness, said her agent, Mark Roesler. Before the heart attack, Page had been hospitalized for three weeks with pneumonia. "She captured the imagination of a generation of men and women with her free spirit and unabashed sensuality," Roesler said. "She is the embodiment of beauty." Page, who was also known as Betty, attracted national attention with magazine photographs of her sensuous figure in bikinis and see-through lingerie that were quickly tacked up on walls in military barracks, garages and elsewhere, where they remained for years. Her photos included a centerfold in the January 1955 issue of then-fledgling Playboy magazine, as well as controversial sadomasochistic poses. "I think that she was a remarkable lady, an iconic figure in pop culture who influenced sexuality, taste in fashion, someone who had a tremendous impact on our society," Playboy founder Hugh Hefner told The Associated Press on Thursday. "She was a very dear person." Page mysteriously disappeared from the public eye for decades, during which time she battled mental illness and became a born-again Christian. After resurfacing in the 1990s, she occasionally granted interviews but refused to allow her picture to be taken. "I don't want to be photographed in my old age," she told an interviewer in 1998. "I feel the same way with old movie stars. ... It makes me sad. We want to remember them when they were young." The 21st century indeed had people remembering her just as she was. She became the subject of songs, biographies, Web sites, comic books, movies and documentaries. A new generation of fans bought thousands of copies of her photos, and some feminists hailed her as a pioneer of women's liberation. Gretchen Mol portrayed her in 2005's "The Notorious Bettie Page" and Paige Richards had the role in 2004's "Bettie Page: Dark Angel." Page herself took part in the 1998 documentary "Betty Page: Pinup Queen." Hefner said he last saw Page when he held a screening of "The Notorious Bettie Page" at the Playboy Mansion. He said she objected to the fact that the film referred to her as "notorious," but "we explained to her that it referred to the troubled times she had and was a good way to sell a movie." Page's career began one day in October 1950 when she took a respite from her job as a secretary in a New York office for a walk along the beach at Coney Island. An amateur photographer named Jerry Tibbs admired the 27-year-old's firm, curvy body and asked her to pose. Looking back on the career that followed, she told Playboy in 1998: "I never thought it was shameful. I felt normal. It's just that it was much better than pounding a typewriter eight hours a day, which gets monotonous." Nudity didn't bother her, she said, explaining: "God approves of nudity. Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, they were naked as jaybirds." In 1951, Page fell under the influence of a photographer and his sister who specialized in S&M. They cut her hair into the dark bangs that became her signature and posed her in spiked heels and little else. She was photographed with a whip in her hand, and in one session she was spread-eagled between two trees, her feet dangling. "I thought my arms and legs would come out of their sockets," she said later. Moralists denounced the photos as perversion, and Sen. Estes Kefauver of Tennessee, Page's home state, launched a congressional investigation. Page quickly retreated from public view, later saying she was hounded by federal agents who waved her nude photos in her face. She also said she believed that, at age 34, her days as "the girl with the perfect figure" were nearly over. She moved to Florida in 1957 and married a much younger man, as an early marriage to her high school sweetheart had ended in divorce. Her second marriage also failed, as did a third, and she suffered a nervous breakdown. In 1959, she was lying on a sea wall in Key West when she saw a church with a white neon cross on top. She walked inside and became a born-again Christian. After attending Bible school, she wanted to serve as a missionary but was turned down because she had been divorced. Instead, she worked full-time for evangelist Billy Graham's ministry. A move to Southern California in 1979 brought more troubles. She was arrested after an altercation with her landlady, and doctors who examined her determined she had acute schizophrenia. She spent 20 months in a state mental hospital in San Bernardino. A fight with another landlord resulted in her arrest, but she was found not guilty because of insanity. She was placed under state supervision for eight years. "She had a very turbulent life," Todd Mueller, a family friend and autograph seller, told The Associated Press on Thursday. "She had a temper to her." Mueller said he first met Page after tracking her down in the 1990s and persuaded her to do an autograph signing event. He said she was a hit and sold about 3,000 autographs, usually for $200 to $300 each. "Eleanor Roosevelt, we got $40 to $50. ... Bettie Page outsells them all," he told The AP last week. Born April 22, 1923, in Nashville, Tenn., Page said she grew up in a family so poor "we were lucky to get an orange in our Christmas stockings." The family included three boys and three girls, and Page said her father molested all of the girls. After the Pages moved to Houston, her father decided to return to Tennessee and stole a police car for the trip. He was sent to prison, and for a time Betty lived in an orphanage. In her teens she acted in high school plays, going on to study drama in New York and win a screen test from 20th Century Fox before her modeling career took off. ___
>You are in the middle of some kind of project around the house. Mowing the >lawn, putting a new fence in, painting the living room, or whatever You are >hot and sweaty.. Covered in dirt or paint. You have your old work clothes >on. You know the outfit: shorts with the hole in crotch, old t-shirt with a >stain from who knows what, and an old pair of tennis shoes. Right in the >middle of this great home improvement project you realize you need to run >to Wal-Mart to get something to help complete the >job. Depending on your age, you might do the following: > >In your 20s: Stop what you are doing. Shave, take a shower, blow dry your >hair, brush your teeth, floss, and put on clean clothes. Check yourself in >the mirror and flex. Add a dab of your favorite cologne because you never >know -- you just might meet some hot chick while standing in the checkout >lane. You went to school with the pretty girl running the register. > >In your 30s: Stop what you are doing, put on clean shorts and shirt. Change >shoes. You married the hot chick, so no need for much else. Wash your hands >and comb your hair. Check yourself in the mirror. Still got it. Add a shot >of your favorite cologne to cover the smell. The cute girl running the >register is the kid sister to someone you went to school with. > >In your 40s: Stop what you are doing. Put on a sweatshirt that is long >enough to cover the hole in the crotch of your shorts. Put on different >shoes and a hat. Wash your hands. Your bottle of Brut is almost empty, so >you don't want to waste any of it on a trip to Wal-Mart. Check yourself in >the mirror and do more sucking in than flexing. The spicy young thing >running the register is your daughter's age, and you feel weird thinking >she is spicy. > >In your 50s: Stop what you are doing. Put a hat on, wipe the dirt off your >hands onto your shirt. Change shoes because you don't want to get dirt in >your new sports car. Check yourself in the mirror, and you swear not to >wear that shirt anymore because it makes you look fat. The cutie running the >register smiles when she sees you coming, and you think you still have it. >Then you remember the hat you have on is from Buddy's Bait & Beer Bar and >it says, 'I Got Worms.' > >In your 60s: Stop what you are doing. No need for a hat anymore. Hose the >dog shit off your shoes. The mirror was shattered when you were in your >50s. You hope you have underwear on so nothing hangs out of the hole in your >pants. The girl running the register may be cute but you don't have your >glasses on, so you are not sure. > >In your 70s: Stop what you are doing. Wait to go to Wal-Mart until they >have your prescriptions ready, too. Don't even notice the dog shit on your >shoes. The young thing at the register smiles at you because you remind her of her >grandfather. > >In your 80s: Stop what you are doing. Start again. Then stop again. Now you >remember you needed to go to Wal-Mart.. Go to Wal-Mart and wander around >trying to think what it is you are looking for. Fart out loud and you think >someone called out your name. You went to school with the old lady who >greeted you at the front door.
Keeping it simple Iím a simple man that writes an occasional poem. I live a quiet life, in a modest home. When, things seem to get out of hand, I remain calm over what, I donít understand. Itís taken a long time to find the key. I no know what it takes in life for serenity. Acceptance is the answer to all the problems I face today. Itís best to meet my fears head on and not run away. Life isnít a smooth course ran without tribulation and trials. We will never know whatís ahead around the bend or, the next mile. Itís having a blind faith that keeps us strong. Weíre to do good things and try and do no wrong. Sometimes, when I almost bent and I hate the way I feel. Iron has to go thru the fire before it can be steel. When, my life is troubled, I can get comfort from the maker of this universe. I always have to remember, as bad as it seems for me, Someone out there, as it a whole lot worse. Chris
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