Oliver Douglas's blog: "Oliver is here..."

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Ok, so don't laugh right away, but I saw the Brave One last night. You know, that movie with Jodie Foster? Well apparently, you don't know. Apparently no one knows. Below is a picture to refresh you. It actually was an OK way to spend 2 hours (yes, 2 hours). Anyways, I started to wonder how people don't realize that Jodie Foster is a complete DYKE. I mean, not even the slightest bit of lipstick is on this lesbian. She now sports the haircut that all boyish dykes and also every gay, male hairdresser has. My ex had it. He is a hairdresser. Melissa Etheridge had it and Ellen still rocks it. Umm, I'm pretty sure Anne Heche had it. And that weird gay guy with the bloated chipmunk cheeks on Entertainment Tonight, Cojo. This is Cojo. This photo is not photoshopped. His cheeks are actually this bulbous. This isn't really the hair I'm talking about, but at one point, he had that haircut that Jodie did. Yea, he had it. Btw, do you think he is bulimic or just addicted to plastic surgery? His face is morphing into this large, puffy cheeked, Macys Thanksgiving day parade float. It kind of reminds me of the 80's movie, Big Trouble in Little China. That really great scene where one of the three storms, Thunder, just blows up because he is so pissed... ?* I found this pic of thunder. You might not know what I'm talking about because you're 12 or something. You know what, not to REALLY spin off on a separate subject, but if you are 12, please get offline and just go play outside. As a matter of fact, be glad you don't have any responsibilities and be especially thankful that you do not have to wax or shave anything. I mean, get out of here! I don't need to look at you with your expensive computerized toys mommy bought you and your tv ccommercial laden vocabulary. You know what, scratch that. If you are 12, I hate you! kidding. I think someone is bitter about his childhood?! Kidding again. But I digress; as always. Back to closet cases. I do hate to single ole' Jodi out, but she is totally iconic to so many gay stereotypes. I know, I'm probably preaching to the choir, but there is just NO way she is a heterosexual human being. It would be more believable if you told me she were from some other planet or some alternate bizarro world where everything is backwards. But as far as I know, she is humanoid. So, the tribe has spoken. It is time for her to leave her hetero shackles behind and come out of the closet! DO IT JODIE! Be real to yourself. So many lonely, lesbian girls in small towns would finally feel validated, and whole from your one selfless act. Besides, aren't you tired of not having a real relationship? If you can't be honest with the world, who can you be honest with? Certainly not yourself, I suspect. But listen kids, go see The Brave One. And then send Jodie Foster an email letting her know you would love her no matter what. She needs that. I think she needs you to see her movie more though. I hear it's not doing very well. Hey, I enjoyed it. I think Darryl slept through it, though. Or at least he pretended to be asleep when I looked over. Here she is again. oy vey

Here are some of the things that keep me smiling... Meet Windsor! He is 4 years old. He loves riding in the car and sleeping in my arms. I do love him. This is Darryl Christopher. He is 30, as of September 14. He loves the South Carolina Gamecocks, his Alma Mater. Actually he loves all things football. He also has a brilliant smile and cuddly big arms. This is my sister, Caroline Grace. She is a gorgeous little muse. She is going to rock the world with a novel she is finishing. I can't wait until she shares it with us all. On very special late nights, she calls and reads little parts to me. My 2007 Civic EX. Not a gas guzzler because I'm not an a**hole! I got her this year and I plan to spruce her up. I won't trick her out too much though.

Do you love your Art? What would you do for it? I am breathing art 24 hours a day. I am also a writer of fiction, in addition to my music. Here is just a snippet of something with which I am working. Whew. Ok, read on. Hope you enjoy. The Gift Little Merryl curled her small, tan knuckles around the scissor handles. She gripped a box corner in her tiny hand, wedging the other edge against her abdomen. She was wrinkling the already crinkled folds. He reached over and steadied her grasp. He was dark, much darker than Merryl, and gentle. He glowed tender blue eyes at her, an abnormality to his race. His breath caressed her sun kissed cheeks as he leaned in to assist. “This one isn’t wrapped with all your love” he scolded. “I don’t want to wrap, it takes too long” she whined up at him, batting smoky eyelashes over enormous black pupils. He was a wise man, beyond his years. So, he never taught little Merryl the way an adult teaches a child. He spoke to her as a peer, an equal. “A gift is best when its purpose is to validate the receiver” he began, with almost rehearsed cadence. Merryl’s eyes lit up. She adored his words. Delicious, amazing, profound words. She lived for them. “The gift speaks to its holder” he said, snatching the package out of her fingers and holding it on a platform. “It says: ‘I see you, I know you are there.’ This message translates in volumes to the human soul. Mommy’s soul is a little, screw-faced girl; tugging at your skirt. She is crying out ‘look at me Merryl, see me! I am right here!’ You have looked down upon Mommy and embraced her soul, swooping her off of the ground and up to your level.” He reached down and picked Merryl up, holding her on his left side and the package on his right. Hoisting her high above your head, you told her ‘I see you Mommy, there you are!’ “And that” he paused for effect, placing the package back into Merryl’s grasp. “Is that, little lady. ” He set Merryl back on the earth to re wrap the package. Merryl stored this lesson away in her brain. She intended on keeping its essence alive, by accessing this file for use on any giving occasion. Alas, it was one of many files that would lie dormant among the cobwebs of nursery rhymes, first kisses, and sandboxes. The time was a Christmas, some twenty odd years ago. This particular year was filed neatly away in Merryl’s memory banks. This was the season that the man had left her. She called him Anil, never daddy or father. He liked that. And so, this was how they spoke; two young adults, one more traveled and learned than the other. But each taught the other valuable lessons. And both played a critical role in rewarding the other for doing good, giving back. Little Merryl knew that, with big Anil by her side, she walked down the path to enlightenment. But something had happened. Anil wasn’t with her now. He hadn’t been since that fateful Christmas day. She didn’t call upon the memory file, but it was there, flashing a critical warning. “Wake up, Merryl” was its alert. If only she recognized the message. Anil had told her so many things. “Never bleach your hair” he had instructed, over and over. He loved to see her shiny chocolate locks bounce about as she flitted from one thing to another. “It is you” he would reiterate. “Keep the kind way about you” he had urged her on another occasion. “The positive energy is perpetual; it will come back to you.” It was silly to her now, as she thought of it, that she, a small poor child born of nothing thought of herself as extraordinary. At the time, he had her believing she was more than human, mystical, and supernatural. A bantam, curious creature, she would dash outside and fling herself flat to the front yard, in the grass. Still and quiet as a hunter, she would wait, pressing a runty but keen ear to the earth floor. There she hearkened the palpitation of her greatest grand mother. And in the belly of soil, below the knotty roots and dirt, she acquainted herself with a thread, a common link. This string traced a circle; the repetition of historical follies, great and small, that occurred within this worldly pendulum. She studied its criss crossed pattern in order to assume what might occur again. Here at the earth, with her miniscule stethoscope thrust deep in the hubris, she heard whispering desires at the hearts of men whose lively patterns mimicked those who tread this land, ions prior. Merryl eavesdropped on steps of the sweaty, round man who brought the packages, days before he came. She even attended to sounds of children boarding the January bus, long before the Christmas holiday was over. If there was a god, and Merryl was most certain there was, she was here, deep in the ground. And this was where Anil would find Merryl, often crying, as she recounted the evils men have done or would do again. On other occasions, she would be laughing, tickled to find how clever or kind a body could be. Anil would sit in the grass, stroking Merryl’s chestnut mane, waiting, untiringly, for her daily lesson to end. During these sessions, Merryl would often speak aloud, unmindful that she shared her knowledge with Anil. After, she would bolt upright, saturated with abstract droplets of data that boomeranged from one side of her cranium to the other. At these times, she was overwhelming, speaking with the presence of a historian, or world leader or Pulitzer winning scientist. And so, this was how they spoke, two young adults. She was merely eight years old but through these experiences, more traveled and learned. How silly, she thought now. How nonsensical, to waste time on, to have believed in all of this. And what of the dangerous way Anil had indulged her? “Imagine,” she thought, “just think of the damage reality might have caused if I had not figured things out so early on.” To Merryl it seemed so real at the time. But now she was sure it must have been her age, her creativity manifesting itself, or a combination thereof. “Maybe it was best that Anil left” she reasoned. “Look at me, I am a millionaire. I speak and millions listen. I am stronger now, I am in control.”

Do you know who Sherri Shepherd is? Well, I do and I bet I did before you did! She was that funny black woman on Friends a few years back. She was also in the Fox comedy about wedding planners. It was a moderately humerous show, but I think it was cancelled. Anyways, who knew she was such a complete idiot. Not just a normal idiot, the HEIGHT of idiocy! When I first heard some mumblings of her not believing in evolution, and also the purported touting of her Baptist upbringing, I did not take interest. Her statements about evolution did show a lack of self education, but this was only mildly annoying. But then, I was listening to OutQ on my Sirius satellite radio (if you don't have Sirius, you're not living- you cheap bastard), and I heard a clip of Sherri Shepherd. I had to go home and research this for myself. I watched the entire episode. Just so you know, I don't care what type of spin she tried to put on it the next day, the stupid heffer thinks that the world is flat! Do you think she has ever read an actual book without pictures? What's so hilarious about these so called religious people is that they don't even read the Bible! They may go to church and listen to what some stranger tells them is in the Bible, but they will never find out for themselves! I can't believe we give these people such a worldwide forum to spew lunacy and misinformation. Her version of spin, on the following day, was to say that she was having a "senior poopy moment." My favorite part of her "world is flat" monologue is when the women ask her why she has never thought about this topic. She replies that her worries are about feeding her kids and Barbara Walters says "you can do both!" So many African American women are trying to refute this stereotype. They are educated, and ambitious. They are matriarchs and successful entrepreneurs, teachers, and doctors. How can we move forwards as a human race of forward thinking and moving colors, believers and backgrounds when we allow these voices to be at the forefront of popular speech? Shut up Sherri Shepherd. Go back to sitcoms where the people with brains can write your lines. Stupidity and ignorance are dangerous weapons against this country. We cannot withstand any more attacks.

In light of recent events in the news, I have started to develope a particular paranoia. Case in point; I was on layover at this little airport in Minnesota, when I suddenly had the urge to use the restroom. I sat quietly in my stall, tapping my right foot in a morse code pattern that spells out the letters 'o.r.al,' as one normally does. Anyways, so an individual square of toilet paper managed to mysteriously detach itself from the roll, float down below the stall wall, and into the stall to my left. Odd, right?! That's what I thought! But whatever! So I reached over to get it. I mean, even though someone was in the stall next to me, waste not, want not! I don't even know what that means, but my mother always said it to make me eat my broccoli. WELL, some fellow has the NERVE to push some badge looking thing under the door?! Now, first, let me tell you who I am. I don't want you to think I'm some sort of idiot who goes into bathrooms known for public sex and seeks to engage in illegal activity. I am an innocent. I was deceived by the complicated workings of the law. Now, law... hmm.. legislation. Well, you could kind of say I am a MAKER of laws since I am a SENATOR! But, well, let's not get technical. NEED I SAY MORE!?