Tagged: women

Intro to the Darkness

Well, friends, fans and foes, the time has finally come. The time, that is, for me to make the announcement you’ve all been waiting to hear. For like three years. Yes, that’s the one! My fourth novel is finally finished! After you finish celebrating by banging pots together and doing jumping jacks and lighting off fireworks on the back patio, come back and read all about it! I’ll wait!

Okay, you’re back. I hope you didn’t burn your hand or lose any fingers. Or shoot the dog with roman candles. So as you might remember, I was closing in on finishing the novel back in January of 2016. Actually, that’s when I was actually technically finished with all the edits my Ideal Readers Group gave me. That’s literally three years ago. Wow. Anyway, alls I needed to finish at that point was the cover. I just needed to shoot a model wearing a blindfold and edit the file in Photoshop. That’s it! That should not take three years.

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Lest Ye Be Judged…

The church I attend is spread across two campuses. I go to the North Campus. Not sure why I capitalized that, but there you are. It wasn’t always like that, though. Not the capitalization thing, the two campuses thing. There used to only be one campus. It was the South Campus. But of course, back when it was the only one, it wasn’t called the South Campus. Or the south campus. Or even the campus. It was just called the church. And if I capitalize that, you’ll start thinking of Under the Milky Way.

Anyway, the point is that when it used to be just one building, and that’s where I went, I was married to a different woman than I am now. I have nothing negative to say about my ex-wife. She’s a lovely gal. We just weren’t meant for each other like I used to think. When we went through our divorce, which was one of the most difficult times I’ve ever gone through, I stopped attending that church. I also lost forty-five pounds. That should tell you how stressful it was, and – therefore – how seriously I took it. I hate divorce, and can often be heard saying I don’t believe in it. But that’s a whole other column.

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Farewell to the Help Desk

For the last 18 years I’ve been working on computers in some capacity. About eight of those years were server engineering and data center operations, but the rest has been help desk. I’ve always preferred the help desk because it’s more hands-on with people. I have the great privilege to make people happy, one person at a time.

Help desk obviously doesn’t pay near as well as the server side of things, but it’s always been enough to support my family and me. And you know me – I’m not greedy. I only want to make enough to cover what I need, plus a little allowance for toys and beer. I have no desire to drive a fifty-thousand-dollar luxury automobile, or have a summer cabin in the mountains. Though that does sound quite nice now that I think about it.

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New York Diaries, Vol 1

I’m finally changing career paths. At almost forty years old. But they say it’s never too late to learn something new, right? I’m tired of fixing computers for a living. I’m pretty good at it, and I’m almost never stumped by a problem for too long anymore. I mean, there are perhaps an infinite number of things that can go wrong with a computer or a piece of software, or a printer… But a lot of them start to look alike – and certainly have the same solution. And I’ve been doing this a really long time. Yeah, it’s time for a change. So my company sent me to a three-day training course in New York City. So this is it, huh? I finally get to go to New York. Well let’s do it!

You see, all my friends have been. Well, most of my friends anyway. My red-haired wife has been. My dad has been. And everyone says you have to experience it firsthand to really get the full drift of what it’s like down on the street. Well, I’ve been here for four days now, and let me just say this about it: you have to experience it firsthand to really get the full drift of what it’s like down on the street.

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Here’s the thing about weddings.

See, I get mad when I think or talk about weddings. Not just the kind of mad you get when someone slams a door behind you unexpectedly. No, not even the kind of mad you get when someone calls your mom a whore. The mad I get is like the burning fiery rage of a thousand suns. It makes me angry in my soul. When I find myself getting into a conversation about weddings, I have to withdraw instantly, lest I burn up inside and start shouting all the reason they’re bullshittical, hogwashical and colossal wastes of money. And there are several reasons why this is so. I shall now tell you about them.

First of all, I know the big white weddings are traditional. Most women (and I know I’m gonna get a lot of flack for this, but that’s fine – I’m ready) seem so stuck on this “tradition” excuse that they turn into robots. I SIMPLY MUST GO SPEND A THOUSAND DOLLARS ON A DRESS. Yeah. You must. Why? Because your mother did it. And her mother before her. And you know what they all have in common? They all had an expensive white dress in their closets that never got used again. Because when it comes time to pass your dress down to your daughter, she’s going to say, “Oh, that’s so 1950s! I need my OWN one.” And your daughter is going to do the same damn thing. “Oh mom, I can’t wear that! That’s so 2001!” So yes, by all means, you’re right. You absolutely MUST go out and spend a thousand dollars on a dress you will wear one time. Ever. Because YOU have to follow tradition. You’re smarter than the rest of them.

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SpaceBrew Review: The Windup Girl

The Windup Girl
by Paolo Bacigalupi

I have a lot to say about this book. It was a big book, so it needs a big review. And by big, I mean twenty hours. I listened to it on audiobook, you see. I think Jonathan Davis was a great narrator, but he reads very slowly. He’s very precise with his words, and his pauses between sentences are often pregnant with wait. This probably added several hours throughout the entire book. But it’s also big because Bacigalupi was very liberal with his words. If words cost money, he spared no expense.

It was good. Well written. Mr. Bacigalupi has a way of romanticizing famine and plague, terrible conditions and even rape with such smooth words. They feel like warm honey running over your skin. It’s very easy to latch onto the world, and feel like you’re part of it. His world is a post-apocalyptic version of ours, a couple of hundred years in the future. Not that he ever actually comes out and tells you that, mind you.

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Cheerleaders Don’t Lift My Spirits

Here’s a hot sports opinion for you: I think cheerleaders are annoying.

What, you wanted more? No, that’s it. Yeah, that’s all I wanted to say. I think they’re distracting, irritating and annoying. And boring. Sigh. Okay, I’ll explain for you. We go to my son’s football games, and we sit in the bleachers and – well, since he’s in middle school, they don’t take football near as seriously as high school and – well, I … let me start over. Okay, the schools at which his team plays only have bleachers on one side of the field. Which puts you in the uncomfortable predicament (pre · di · `CAY · ment) of sitting right beside the opposing team’s fans. And, more specifically to my point, both groups of cheerleaders are right there next to each other. On the same side of the field. Like five yards away from each other.

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The Summit of Mount Nerdly

It probably doesn’t come as any big surprise to most of you who know me that I call myself a geek. I am familiar with computers, one might say. I have dabbled in code and graphics design and network administration, internet systems, databases and even paintbrush. Heck, this very site you see in front of you was hand-coded from scratch to finish using nothing more than Notepad++ by yours truly. Meh. Not a large achievement there, but I’m proud of it. I like it. Anyway, I still do some things sometimes that make me step back and blink, and sometimes even go so far as to turn my head and frown, thinking, ‘Damn! I really am an insufferable geek. A ridiculously overboard, head-to-toe nerd to the highest power.’ This here’s one of them stories.

Let me back you up a little bit though, just for the sake of the journal. I took a computer lit and a computer programming class when I was in seventh grade. I did exceedingly well at both, as the language and theory just sort of “clicked” with me. It just made sense. The hot teacher, therefore, invited me back the next year to be her lab assistant. I wish this had some kind of awesome twist to it where I told you stories of being stuck in the lab alone with her on several long, late nights, but alas – nothing like that ever happened. Now my English teacher, on the other hand…

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SpaceBrew Review: Gray Matters

My red-haired wife and I watched Gray Matters last night. It’s a chick-flick. You see, chick-flicks are not my first picks when I’m looking for movies, and it’s certainly not my favorite genre. But I am an artist, and can appreciate all kinds of art. Which is why I’ll listen to rap if there’s actual talent to be heard in the track. Shrug. I don’t close my mind and avoid watching (or listening) to something just because it falls into a particular genre of which I’m not typically fond. I am also very objective in my reviews of such pieces, because I’m evaluating the art. Not the category. That being said, this was a fine movie.

I will back up a second and admit to you that the only reason I rented this one was because Heather Graham is in it. And so is Bridget Moynahan. And there happens to be a particular scene in it where they… I don’t know how to say it… uh, they, well, let’s just say they kiss a little bit. No, I am NOT shallow. But these two women are pretty close to the top of my celebrity hit list and so if they’re kissing each other, I need to know about it. And I need to see it. And not to ruin the movie for you, but the kissing scene of which I speak was really well done. Tasteful and not gratuitous, surprisingly. Yes, seriously, I was really surprised that it wasn’t just a gratuitous make-out scene the director threw in just to classify the movie. It was cute, fun and – well, very believable. And damn sexy, if I might say so.

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SpaceBrew Review: The Adjustment Bureau

It’s been a long time since we actually went to a theater to watch a movie – and I’ve never been to Studio Movie Grill. But that sounds like exactly the kind of place I should be going to watch a movie. They serve beer. Nothing further, your honor. So I took the red-haired wife to see The Adjustment Bureau. Let me tell you a little bit about it.

If you were to write down exactly what I typically look for in a movie, you might get something pretty close to the script for this movie. I mean, on paper, this is exactly the kind of stuff I want to see on film! A behind-the-scenes group who makes sure things stay on the right path, and controls the outcome of events… The ability to open any door in the city and have it take them anywhere they want to go… Wow. Dude, are you sure I didn’t write this script myself?

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Happy Monday, Planet Earth

There are several things on my mind this morning, all of which I intend to share with you. Well, except one of them. One of them isn’t appropriate for this website. But the rest of them are. In fact, the rest of them are part of the core values upon which this website was founded! Humor, entertainment and a good dose of pissed offedness.

First off, I’d like to award the SpaceBrew Movie of the Week award to Despicable Me. If you haven’t seen it, you should run out and rent it. Or buy it, hell. You’ll end up watching it several times. The other day my kids and I watched it in the morning. We then ended up at my Pop’s house and they wanted to see it so we watched it again. And I still laughed at all the funny bits. I’m still not bored by it.

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Area Man Refuses To Grow Up

So I had a birthday party Friday night. This isn’t very peculiar. However, there were a few items of interest that do make that list labeled peculiar. First of all, as most of you know, I’m almost thirty now. So let’s just for ease of conversation, say that I am “twenty-seven” now. And then allow me to elaborate on those items I found peculiar.

First of all, I had a birthday party. That in and of itself should not be viewed as out of the ordinary. I wanted to have a few friends over, listen to some music, stand around and drink beer and tell each other war stories, and compare tattoos. Without necessarily taking our shirts off. It’s not even really all that odd that there would be a cake for me. I mean, well, actually I specifically told Haycomet not to make me a cake. But she wouldn’t have any of that. “If I make one for everyone else, of course I’m going to make one for my partner in rhyme.” She does have a valid point. So thus, I had a cake at my party. No candles, of course. But there was a cake. A ridiculously extravagant cake, no less. A Cake. Capitalized. One that someone might have paid perhaps upwards of a couple hundred dollars for. So what was so odd?

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What is a reunion without first a union?

It’s that time of year again. You know, that time after Halloween when you begin taking down the sheety ghosts and throwing away the rotten, moldy, blackened, gnat-infested carcasses of the pumpkins on your porch and prepare to replace them with Christmas decorations. It’s that time when we begin winding down the year and getting ready to board up the tree houses for the winter, and start migrating inside where we can convene around fireplaces and football games. We also tend to have a lot more family reunions this time of year.

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Bacon Talk: Toys

Good morning and happy Friday, SpaceBrewers! It’s been an interesting week here with all that has happened. Wade Phillips got fired, the Cowboys lost another game – anyone surprised by that anymore, really? – and Celine Dion did another two shows at Caesars Palace. Wait. That’s not out of the ordinary. Anyway, we’ve pulled up our stuffed Argentinian Whale Bladder recliners and filled our favorite mugs with SpaceBrew. And there’s a plate of hot, greasy bacon in front of us. So you know what that means!
Bacon Talk! Woot woot! Hooray! Woo hoo! :D :) :| :what:
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Bacon Talk: Friends

Hey, Space! It’s a beautiful cool crisp day. I brought the pumpkin pie flavored coffee, and I see you have brought my favorite meat candy. Uh, I better clarify- I’m talking about your giant sack of bacon.

I love Autumn. The leaves are changing, it gets darker earlier, the air has a slight chill, and Halloween has just passed. That gives me a great idea for today’s topic… friends!

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Bacon Talk: Breasts

Good morning, friends. Welcome to Bacon Talk: our award-winning weekly segment, where we get together and discuss whatever’s on our minds, over a hot pot of coffee and a greasy plate of bacon. Really, can you think of anything more perfect? I think – excuse me. Uh, Haycomet, please make a note to remind me to get with Butch and Bruno after our talk. I want to go ahead and have a balcony built outside the 23rd floor conference room windows. I’d like to have bacon outside next week.

Sigh. Okay. Sorry about that, readers. Anyway, here on Bacon Talk we’ve been covering some really ground-breaking topics that are both newsworthy and relevant to your lives in a way you and I can’t really begin to express. Yes, friends, we do listen to our readers. And we do talk about the very things that make you happy. Because making you happy makes us happy. And when SpaceBrew is – okay, I’ll shut up.

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A Spacey Definition of Fashion

Have you ever gone through your closet and just looked at some of the clothing you have in there, realizing that some of it is actually quite old? Well I did this the other day. I looked through all my nice clothing, all the Structure and Z Cavaricci fashion I have hanging on my closet poles, and realized that I haven’t bought new clothing in quite some time. Now I have plenty of new t-shirts. Seriously. But yeah, my double-belted purple slacks and other fine couture articles have been hanging in my closet now for close to fifteen years. I clearly needed to go shopping.

I mean, don’t get me wrong – I’m not wasteful. I will still wear my purple Z Cavs on occasion, because they still look really good. I only wear them on special occasions – not when I’m changing my oil or digging French drains in the backyard. So there’s no point in getting rid of them. But I felt like I could treat myself to some new fashion. It’s been a long time. It’s time for a trip to the shopping mall.

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Phone Call Gets Area Man Laid

Have I ever told you about how I lost my virginity? Well, it’s not the actual misplacement of my chastity that makes for an interesting story. Obviously, I could go into details about what happened in my pickup that night down by the lake, but really – you’ve probably heard very similar stories already. And heck, you may even have one of your own! Suffice it to say that it happened, and certain parts went certain places just like you imagine, certain motions were made (as were certain faces), then I very kindly told her she needed to get out of the vehicle and find a way home. I also explained to her that if I did indeed find her undergarments somewhere in the vehicle, I would mail them to her at a later date. See, you’ve all heard the story, and I’m not really interested in trying to prove to you that I actually did, in fact, get laid. Trust me. I’ve got two kids. I’ve done it a couple of times. :haw:

Anyway, the interesting story here is the events that led up to the main event, so to speak. How did you meet your first lover? (cheap date, one-night stander, whatever you want to call him/her) Well here’s how I met mine.

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The Heisenberg Handbag

Are any of you married? I don’t know if that really matters. I think the more relevant question is, “Do you know a woman?” This question is really only aimed at the men though. So, men, do you know a woman? And secondly, does she have a purse? Because OH MY GOD. My wife does. And I’m not talking about the two-hundred-dollar job she bought from some online French retailer. It cost sixty bucks to ship the damn thing. And when it got here it looked like a nylon bag to me. I mean, props for the orange rubber handle, but dude – seriously? It looked like a ten-dollar cheap-ass Target job.

Well, I guess I sort of am talking about it. See, I’m actually going to talk about all of her purses. She has several thousand, I’m sure. It’s ridiculous. I actually had to build an add-on to our closet just to house all her fine luxury purses. And we’re not talking Target job shit here. She only buys the finest handbags made from the finest material. Like Indonesian Batwing Silk, South African Lion Mane Weave, Alaskan Malimute Pelt and Egyptian Dung Beetle Chiton. And she always tells me how great of a deal she got on them. “Oh but honey, this Hungarian Elephant Scrotum Silk one was on sale for half off!” Oh, that’s great, babe. So how much was it? “Three hundred and sixty dollars. Can you believe that deal?” she says, wrinkling her nose. No. I can’t believe it. How could anyone pass that up? Why didn’t you get four of them, sugar?

:what:

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The Time Traveler Convention

We had a little get-together the other night with a few friends, and I think some of the things that happened that night are worth mentioning. It was a hot summer night, just like every other night has been this year, here in Texas. It’s so hot that when my wife and I sit outside and just enjoy the cool night air after the kids are in bed, it’s actually still over 100 degrees. And we’re talking about after nine o’clock. But there is one good thing about it. At least we’re not in Oklahoma.

So Haycomet and Byronic came over and brought their tinycomet – who (and this is another story, but) installed Open Solaris on one of my print servers and re-allocated a slash 28 from my DHCP scope to serve as her science lab, then delved into some hard coding time, whereupon she ran all six of my computers at 98% CPU usage for over two hours grinding out application for her theory about relativistic dimensional vacillation. So in short, we spent a few hours sipping cognac in a fine 17th century hall surrounded by warpainted women in loincloths and pasties who thought we were Norse gods. Thanks, tinycomet!

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Wait. What birds? What bees?

A few years ago, when my nephew was still just a little shaver, we found ourselves faced with an uncomfortable confrontation when my sister mentioned something about sex. Now it wasn’t something inappropriate, to be sure, but rather something along the lines of “sex in a movie” or something equally as innocuous. So all she did was basically say the word sex. It might even have been something like, “what sex is the child?” or whatever.

Anyway, my nephew, hearing the unfamiliar word, piped up with this little gem: “What are secks?” Well, seeing that a possibly uncomfortable situation might abound, I went ahead and stepped up to the plate with a perfectly delivered response, when I said, “Well, son, let me tell you what secks are.” So as the boy sat on the couch and looked at me, I told him that secks were like different categories into which women are grouped to determine their eligibility. I said, “For example, your mother would be in Seck A. Grandma over there? Well, she’s in seck B. Now Step, my red-haired wife? Yeah. Hi-five. She’s Seck C.

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Yes I saw The Notebook. No, I didn’t cry.

Weren’t you one of the ones who told me to watch this movie, and that when I did watch it, I would cry? Well, if it wasn’t you, it was everyone else. Every single person I’ve talked to who’s seen it, has told me they cried. Oh my God, it was so sad! I just LOST it at the end. OMG. :yawn:

Now let me back up and make two points before I continue with this. Point one: no, this is not a SpaceBrew Review of The Notebook. I will not be talking about the plot, the acting, spoilers, plot devices and how they could have made this movie better. Hence the title. I don’t feel the need to review this movie. Notice how most of the Brew Reviews I write always get good stars? Well I think they do, I don’t really recall. See, that’s because I really only like to review the good movies.

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Talking Pillows with Jessica Simpson

Greetings, SpaceBrewers, and welcome back to another edition of the Daily Brew, with Space. You know sometimes we have celebrities stop by the offices here at corporate, and we are usually very cordial with them; invite them in, sit and talk with them, give them bacon and coffee, you know, the usual. Other times we’re simply too busy to accomodate them, and have to turn them away at the door. We just don’t have time to see every single fan of the site personally, you know? It makes us sad, and in a perfect world, we would. But this isn’t a perfect world, is it?

Anyway, occasionally, some of our Hollywood friends will stop in and say hi, and we’ll set up our recording device and interview them as a courtesy to give them some momentum on whatever they’re currently promoting. Remember, for instance, when Michael Crichton stopped by the Brew to promote his new book? And the times Stephen Cannell did the same thing? Those were nice instances of when they stopped by and we made them feel accommodated. There have been others, of course, like when Charlize Theron stopped by and I interviewed her, but it got a little out of hand, she crawled over the table and we started making out right there. I had only asked her a few questions when the interview was suddenly over, and we’re suddenly naked right there in the front conference room, just going at it. Obviously, that’s not very appropriate for the site.

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Bacon Talk: Marriage

Happy Friday, SpaceBrewers! For this special day, we thought we’d do a special co-authored column for you with your favorite two writers. And we’d like to dive into a subject that’s seldom touched upon here: marriage. Yes, we’re going there. See, Haycomet and I are married. Well, not to each other. But we are both married to other people. The point is that we both know what it’s like to be married. We’ve both been married a long time, and we both have the same core values and outlooks on the big M word. So what’s it like to be asked the same questions?
So that’s what we’ll get into here. We believe that ‘on the rocks’ is a good thing, as it refers to a special way of drinking bourbon. So keeping your marriage on the rocks is always desirable: it represents success and prosperity. If someone were to approach a man and a woman and ask them both the same questions about marriage, how different would their answers be? If the most important thing in a married man’s life is sitting on the couch drinking beer, what then, would be most important to the woman? Well, obviously it should be cooking and cleaning, but we’re going to find out!
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Life Lessons From Space: Driving

Well I didn’t finish the video I promised you yet. I got a little busy last evening with some other issues. Oh and get this: I found out that the back door on the pickup rebroke itself. I guess the nuclear putty didn’t hold after all. I’ll have to try some SolaGlue. Meh. Anyway, I’ll put some work into it this weekend amidst all the pool time and beer drinking we have planned. I hope to get it done soon though because it’s gonna be good.

So I realized the other day that when Moonshine did her columns about Life Lessons from a Good Girl (here, here, and here), I started my own series here. But I never finished them. And what’s more, the only topic I wrote about, fighting, is not something with which I am even well versed. I mean, I’ve been in a ton of fights in my life, and I’ve faired pretty well, but I’m not really what anyone would call a fighter. I’m more of a “writer”. You like that? And today there’s sort of a new age of fighters. Dudes have gotten really big and really mean. So I just avoid it at all costs and let my friend Mr Browning handle my confrontations for me.

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The Sunset Beach Diaries, 2010

We made it back. It took twenty-four straight hours on the road, but we did indeed make it back. Man, that’s a lot of driving. We never stop into hotels or anything, what with having several drivers to switch out, we can just catch up on sleep a couple at a time while the others are pulling shifts. We even let the kids drive for a while when we all got too tired to carry on. The closest we came to actual stopping down was this morning around 04:30, we pulled into a rest stop and just leaned the seats back for a few hours. Tampa Bay to North Dallas is just under 1200 miles though. And like I say every year, next year we’re flying.

We had a great time. We got rained out the first few days, so a lot of our time was spent up on the deck at mom and dad’s, or at Ka’Tiki Bar, where you’re basically outside, just covered with palm fronds. It’s nice, the Ones are Cold and there’s always live music. Not all of it is great, but it’s all at least tolerable. Not like the guy who plays the keytar at Caddy’s.

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The Men The Women Can’t Avoid

I’ve often found myself considering the stars, the planets, space and the harmonic oscillation produced by a pair of bouncing breasts. I also spend a lot of time in thought about beers, breasts, buddies… So we’ve established that I’m a very considerate and thoughtful person. But am I a nice guy?

Most women I’ve dated in the past have said they thought I was an asshole when they first met me. I will admit that I’m very forward, I speak my mind, and I don’t really pull any punches. I sort of always just tell it like it is. If there’s something I don’t like about you (well, that actually involves me in some respect), I will let you know about it. If you don’t like it, I guess you’ll think I’m an asshole. I don’t deny that. Some people just don’t like my forwardity. (You like that noun?) And that’s fine. I’m not for everyone. But women are (at least in my experience) attracted to it.

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Truth in Advertising

I’d like to talk with you about radio commercials. Well, I don’t really want to, but rather, I think we need to talk about it. Specifically, I think a message needs to be sent out to these radio advertisers. And the message doesn’t need to be long or complex, or deep. I just want to say a couple of words. Namely, “I don’t give a flying AIDS-infested skunk’s ass what your damn name is!”

Wow, it feels really good to get that off my chest.

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Team-Building Events That Work

The other night, while sitting outside with Siege, our discussion rounded upon the topic of women at work. We work with some cute women. Don’t know how many of them are “chicks” by Haycomet’s definition, but there are probably eleven women to every one man in our building. I’d say that’s pretty good odds if you’re single. Which he is. Ahem, ladies. So anyway, I came up with what I think is an excellent idea to break the ice a little and get things moving if you’re wanting to meet some people and find out more about them.

This also applies to building that “team feeling” you get at one of them really good jobs. A lot of companies out there are really suffering in the trust and teamwork departments. Now don’t go looking for the “teamwork department”. It’s just a phrase, dude. But if you work in one of these unfortunate places where the sexual tension is just through the roof and the executives oppress your right to free love in the bathroom stalls and network closets, you should definitely read on.

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iPhone, it’s over between us.

First of all, I’d like to take a moment to stop down and say happy birthday to my insanely, ridiculously gorgeous wife. She’s officially a cougar as of today. Aside from that, yes, we’ve already had her birthday party. We had a combined party yesterday and killed one bird with three stones when we celebrated Stout’s, my sister Lisa’s and Two-Step’s all at once. That’s how we do.

So an update on the iPhone front: yes, it’s really over this time. I finally got fed up with the Kin. It was too much like a toy, or a child’s phone. I mean, seriously, no calendar? Even my old junk ass flip-phone had a shitty calendar on it. I tried, guys. I really did. I tried so hard to like this phone. I lied to people. I lied to my wife. “Ah, no, honey, I love this phone! Come on now! Look at how cool it is!” But it was all just lies. I always hated it. I like the way it looks and the way it puts your Facebook and your Twitter all right there on the home screen. I like – well, I guess those are about the only two things. I couldn’t take it anymore.

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Happy Birthday Hard to Come By

Wednesday was Stout’s birthday. So Siege and I took him out to the Works to have a few drinks, look at some girls, have a few laughs – you know, the usual birthday celebration that real men do. Real men. And we had a good time. That’s one of the main reasons we like going to GameWorks is because it’s typically totally douche-free. They only allow 21 and up in the bar itself, so there’re no 17- and 18-year-olds hanging out being retarded and thinking they belong at all. It’s a cool place, and it’s got some soul. They serve good cold beer and the bartenders are pretty.

So anyway, we hung out there and closed the bar down (they close at 11. I know. Gay.) so we rolled out to Nick’s to maybe shoot some pool and have a couple more Cold Ones before we called it a night. And that was where we made our mistake.

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Keep On The Grass

Well for the last two months I’ve been away from Geek Squad, settling into my new job, and loving it. No more people approaching the counter demanding refunds for the laptop that just “stopped working” with the promise that there’s “no way in hell” they dropped it, and oh, what’s this crack in the LCD? Well that stuff just happens. Or it came like that. Or software did that. :rolleyes:

Anyway, it’s nice not to have to deal with the brunt of society’s idiots on a daily basis. Now I provide desktop and server support to all the clinics for the company for which I work, but really there are no stupid people here. There are those who have no idea what’s what in the world of techmology, but they’re sensible people. This is, after all, the medical industry. And I love it. So why am I writing? Ah, you know me. I don’t write about things when I’m happy about them.

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Multi-Use Material

So I was lying there last night, thinking about some awesome things we have, and I came up with what I think might be the most brilliant idea any man has ever had. This column, though, unfortunately needs to be divided into two sections. One is partly a rant, and the other is the brilliant idea. Which one would you like to read first?

Okay, so here’s the genius: you know that memory foam shit that they always tout was developed for NASA? Yeah, they make mattresses out of it. Well I have come up with an alternative use for it, that I think you’ll agree is probably the smartest thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life in the world. You ready for this shit? Okay. Here’s my idea.

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Interview With a Feminist

For a long time, I’ve been friends with Stella, who is a true, bona fide, self-proclaimed feminist. But we’ve never really talked about it. Most of what we talk about is about more important things, namely, things centered more around manly things. So what exactly is a feminist, and what do they believe in? Do they really honestly expect people to believe that women should be treated as man’s equal? Ha! Oh. Yeah, apparently they do. So we here at SpaceBrew, in the ever-endeavor to get to the bottom of humanity and its insane ways, have decided to do a little research into one of the biggest problems plaguing our civilization: the women’s liberation movement. (Sorry, Stella, my shift key broke there, or I’d have capitalized all that.)

So I sent some interview-like questions to Sean and she replied, myspace interview style, in an effort to better educate us. Ever the good sport, she didn’t get terribly upset at the insults I hurled at her. She just accepted that she is a woman, and therefore, my inferior, and sort of just took it in good spirit. Before posting this column, I actually allowed her to read all my parts as well as her answers, all in context. At the bottom of the column, I gave her a ‘final word’ area, where she can comment on anything that didn’t appear in the questions I sent her.

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Life Lessons from Space: Fighting

I figured since Shine is posting her series on “How to be a Good Girl”, I could help you fellas out from a male perspective. Now I must preface this with a disclaimer – I will not tell you how to be a “good boy” or anything gay like that. I’m not, nor have I ever been what anyone would call a “good boy”. I know nothing of it, and therefore cannot offer any words of advice in that direction. I can, however, tell you some things that might help you make it through life without being made fun of or getting your ass whipped too badly.

I also can’t promise you that I will have ten rules. I may or may not add to this list at some time in the future, but for now, be happy with the few rules you’re getting. And take these to heart. They’re coming from a tried and true bad boy with personal, first-hand knowledge on how well they work.

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The Sunset Beach Diaries, 2008

Lonely UmbrellaRemember how I told you I was going to The Boot? Well actually it’s more like A Used Condom, but whatever. The point is, I went. I snorkled on the beach (actually in the water near the beach), I sat under umbrellas and watched the ocean, I drank cold beers and I looked at women. Did you know you can get Corona in a can? I thought that was pretty awesome. I got some pretty good shots while I was out there. Click on that picture and you can see the set. I put nine photos up in the set.

Anyway, I wanted to tell you about my return flight. Because no one cares about what happened on my vacation. Nothing exciting. I got in several fights on the beach, beat up an entire team of muscle-bound volleyballers because they pissed me off, got bit by a shark and ended up dislocating his jaw for him, got so tan that I got discriminated against at Ricky’s All-White Bar and Lounge… Like I said, nothing interesting.

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Did you have to?

The Space CrocsMy office is pretty basic. Your typical cube farm with a few offices around the edges. For my own personal office, they knocked down some walls and joined a few of the smaller ones together so I have about 5000 square feet of space. Pool table, arcades, wet bar – just the essentials, you know. I’m pretty important here though. Anyway, it’s not like a corporate environment. We’re all professionals, but none of us is corporate – if you know what I mean. Shorts, crocs, t-shirts, women leave their bras in the car, the usual. It’s a fun environment to work in.

Anyway, even though it’s relaxed and comfortable and pleasant, it’s not conducive to concentration in a lot of ways. And it’s also not very private. For instance, when you enter the bathroom, you get the feeling the people in the next room can hear everything that’s going on in here. And they can. I can hear everything that goes on in the women’s restroom. So yeah, when Penny Nichols, the Hottest Girl in the Office, walked by me on our way to the restrooms this morning, she waved and said, “Hi Dr. Space!” and I smiled and said, “Wuddup, Penny,” and I went in to the restroom thinking all was dandy. Until I heard her stall door close. I was like, “Oh no. No. Please no.” And then that bowl breaker she ripped just about broke my heart. The echo was loud and forceful. I mean, I guess I should have known that since she’s so hot she probably shits with some amount of authority. But wow. I could hear every sonic detail of her encounter with the porcelain. And boy let me tell you, she laid a slab cracker in there. Son of a bitch. :gonk:

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I just joined the Darwin Awards.

We used to do crazy shit when we were adolescents. Seriously. My mother used to shout at me for jumping off the roof into the pool. Man, if she had seen some of the really crazy shit I was doing, she would have begged me to keep jumping. My girlfriend pulled up beside us on the highway one night, honking and flashing her lights. It was dark, there was no one else on the highway, but my pickup was very recognizable. The graffiti-style paint job was distinct. So she pulled up and rolled down her passenger window, waving at me and shouting something incoherent. Well, I’ll just get my buddy to take over driving!

So my buddy slides behind the wheel and I hop over to the passenger side, crawl out my window and into the bed of the truck (while we’re still moving). Then I did the whole acrobatic stretch between the two vehicles and slipped down through her window and into the seat. I guess I could have just waited, since we were going the same place, and both arrived some three minutes later. I missed her though, you know?

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Not That Kind of Pool

A buddy of mine and I were shooting pool last night. We were sharing a table with some lovely ladies we meet there quite often. I guess you could call them pool friends. Anyway, I was on my way to the restroom and walked by the foose ball table. There wasn’t anyone around it. But one of the handles was pushed all the way in on the far side, which made the long steel piece stick all the way out on the side I was walking by. I was about to run into it. So I reached out and slapped it in on my way by. So I wouldn’t impale myself on the foose ball table, you see.

And I hear this, “what the hell!” really loud. I looked over, still walking, of course, and see a guy standing there with his hands out. “Oh, sorry, chief. Didn’t know you guys were playing,” I said, and went into the lav. After I finished I returned to my pool table. And after about three minutes, I’m leaning over the table, about to make a four-rail bank shot on the nine. And dude walks up and makes a big show of scattering all the balls on the table, then stands there with his hands out again. Staring at me.

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International Affairs

When I was still in the service of the Service, back in late 1996, I was sent to Germany for Operation Joint Endeavor. Basically, we stationed ourselves in Germany for 90-day-tours and handled their aircraft maintenance while the permanent party there flew into Bosnia several times a week. Bosnian women are hot, by the way. I don’t really care too much about color of skin or whatever when I’m on the prowl. But I for some reason thought they were a brown people. No. They’re Scandinavian. White, blonde-haired, blue-eyed snow bunnies. Cute little gorgeous cuties. Anyway, I digress. The point is not the hot Bosnian women. The point is that I was sent to Germany.

It’s funny, by the way, how German women love Texans. Garret and I wore our cowboy hats and boots and the whole getup while we were over there. Every time we would walk into the Irish House (in Germany), the women would immediately flock to us. Have you seen me? I’m not that hot. I guess Garret was. But meh. They loved my hat. And this shitty German rock band that did 80s American Rock covers was playing “Dead or Alive” by Bon Jovi when we walked in one time. And every time he would get to the part where he says, “I’m a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride”, he would point to us during the ‘I’m a cowboy’ part. Sigh. Yeah it was pretty gay. But every single time he’d say it, he would point, and every time he would point, everyone in the bar would turn to look at us. So we’re standing there just sort of waving. Every time. I might have gone home with a brown woman that night. Anyway, that’s not the point either.

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The Dredge House Chronicles, Vol 3

Volume Three: Lisa, the Notorious Cereal Thief

Lisa, my sister, likes cereal. I actually used to call her Cereal Killa. No I didn’t. I just made that up. But I should have. Being that she lived right around the corner from me, she would skate up to my house (literally, rollerblades) and visit me in the mornings. However, I knew she wasn’t really there to see me. She was there to eat my Honey Smacks. Can’t say I blame her. That was some good ass cereal. I should place a hyphen there between good and ass. I’m not sure I’m fond of the thought of ‘ass cereal’. I digress.

So she would skate up and eat a couple of bowls of cereal just about every day. And I was finally like, “Why the hell don’t you just buy your own, then you wouldn’t have to skate a quarter mile uphill in your pajamas every day?” And she was like, “Then I wouldn’t get to see you.” Uh huh. At least the quarter mile home was downhill. Well, one day I was feeling particularly generous, so while at the store, I bought two boxes of Honey Smacks. And when she came up the next morning, I gave her one of the boxes. “Here, take this home and you can eat it whenever you want!” So she did take it home. After she had a couple of bowls at my house.

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BMW vs. Jeep Wrangler

I was walking through one of my favorite stores yesterday when I was assaulted (not really, but come on) by a kiosk sales guy. He didn’t sell kiosks. He had a kiosk setup inside my store for his own company. It’s like he pays a lease fee for that floor space for the afternoon or whatever. Anyway, he asks if I’d be interested in hearing about the brand new bmw model – whatever the hell it was. I’m sure it had an X or an L in there somewhere. You know, something fast.

“Sir, are you interested in hearing about the new bee em double you ex el ex seven el ex ex seven el?” he says eloquently.

To which I reply, “No.”

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The Amazing Squirrel Incident

Gah, what a weird night. I left my Pop’s house the other night just before dark, and as I was crossing the railroad tracks, I saw a car parked in the gravel by the road with two women standing outside of it. One was on a cell phone, and they looked distressed. I made the ‘ok’ motion with my hand and the one not attached to the phone shrugged and pointed down to the ditch. She didn’t wave me on, so I pulled in to check up on them.

I get out and say, “Can I help you ladies?” The other hung up and turned to me. “There’s a squirrel laying over there in the grass. I think he’s injured real bad.” Oh. I see. Good thing I pulled over for you. Sigh.

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Another Run-In With Aria

As most of you probably remember, I had somewhat of a “run-in” with a fairly well known lady a couple of years ago at a movie expo. It was a pretty rad experience for me, since I’ve considered myself somewhat of a fan of hers. Ever since that video where she used the baby oil she’s been pretty close to the top of my list.

Anyway, I think it’s worth mentioning that I ran into her again, though this time it wasn’t such a collision as just a “seeing her in public” episode. But wait – let me back up a little. I first ‘ran into her’ in March or April of 2005. Then I saw her again at an adult expo of some sort where a buddy and I went just to see her. We heard she’d be in town, blah blah blah, went and said hi and got a snap with her. Didn’t really have time to talk. But this was about three weeks after the first time I met her.

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SpaceBrew Review: Patrice Pike

I’ve seen Patrice live five or six times now in some form or another – mostly with Black Box Rebellion. For some reason I’ve never gotten my picture taken with her though. What am I, an idiot? I’ve been a big fan since the first time I saw her perform. She’s amazing. Her stage presence is ridiculously awesome, and her talent is excessively phenomenal. So this show was really no different.

But hey she’s got a new band now. Wayne Sutton is still with her – at least he was Saturday night – but the rest are new. She has a keyboard player now, and an amazing female bass player. That bassist is something else. Full of charisma, constantly smiling, and just wildly talented. She really plays the part well, and there’s no doubt she belongs on stage with Patrice. The drummer is the same story. There are those drummers who pretty much just sit there, all resevered, and play their shows… (Like mine.) Then there are rockstars. This guy was just into it. Watching him, you really believe what he’s saying with his sticks. Hands in the air, head moving with the music, just owning the crowd with his licks. Didn’t get much from the keys. Wayne is mostly reserved too, but his talent speaks for itself.

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Happy Useless Commercial Holiday!

Yes, it’s tomorrow. Already. It seems like yesterday was Valentime’s Day 2005 and I was trying to find a way out of buying a bunch of crap for my lovely wife. My problem, before you start thinking I’m an insensitive prick, is not with buying her stuff. I do that all the time. I’d say three or four days a week I buy her stuff. My problem is that some dipshit named Ronny Valentino just suddenly decides there needs to be a holiday named after him and the world now celebrates it.

It’s not a real holiday. You know how I know? Because we all have to work! If you don’t get off work for the day, it’s not a real holiday. But secondly, the fact that it’s a nationally or globally recognized lovebirds day should not mean I am obligated to buy chocolates and flowers for my wife. She already knows I love her. But if I don’t, then I’m an asshole because all her hot teacher friends will be getting crap from their students and loved ones and husbands and gay lovers. “Oh, H24,” they’ll say, “Where’s your heart-shaped box of fattening junk food?”

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A Nice Christmas Dinner

It was this time – Christmas – of 1997, and the whole world was happy. I had just gotten back from Panama, and with my hazardous duty pay and my Christmas bonus, I bought a brand new shiny black Dodge 4×4 pickup. It had the works. Everything from leather seats to CD player, heated mirrors and one of those bitchin’ built-in cell phones that looks like a pocket calculator embedded in the visor. It was Wednesday, December 24, and I had spent the better part of three hours negotiating this buy at the dealership. I finally fiinished and tore off across I-20 for Dallas to go pick up my family for dinner. We would head to Three Forks for steak and brandy, followed by lavish dessert and maybe the men would venture outside for a cigar. Well, my Pops and I at least. My grandpa wasn’t much into that.

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Minnesota Chronicles, Vol. 1

What’s there to say about the fine state of Minnesota? Uh, well we’ll see if we can find anything worth saying. I flew in this morning to visit a friend, and – having never been here before – wanted to see the sites. Or is that sights… Either way, there were some things rhyming with “ites” that I had come to see. Let me back up a little though.

I’ll start with the plane flight. We were delayed in taking off by almost an hour. Sigh. Okay, I don’t mind sitting in the terminal. I started a paperback my friend Jim had given me. Called Jupiter. By Ben Bova. Have you read it? Well it may be the kind of book you only read in airport terminals, I’ll have to wait and see. Anyway, I had my iPod playing and was making eyes with a couple of honeys, so I wasn’t terribly upset. Fifty minutes late, we finally boreded. (Boarded. Yeah, I’m full of it today.)

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There are no women in football.

Friday night my better half spent the evening (well into Saturday morning) at her sister’s house watching girly movies with their legs curled up on the sofa. What this meant to me was that I should immediately round up the fellas for a Friday-night barbecue and beer fest. So I called Stout and Trip and Boogie (yes that’s what we call him) and Minnesota Steve, and Stout called David The Great, Trip called Showboat and Arnie and Boogie called Tina. So they all came over and – wait… Who the hell invited the broad?

Have you ever had this happen on guys’ night out? Isn’t this more than just a simple party foul? When I made the initial phone call, I said the special code sentence that alerts the individual that he is to immediately report to drinking duty. I said, “Hey Name, tonight the beer flows like wine. SpacePlace at twenty hundred hours.” And that means (to you lay folk out there) that we’re drinking tonight, and to be at my place at eight o’clock. So since when are chicks invited to guys’ night out? Since when do the women drink like men? We have shit to talk about, you see. Namely women. And you can’t well do that when there are women present. Even women as neato as Tina.

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Is there a woman who can drive?

I had to miss work yesterday because of an injury. Let me tell you what happened. I (once again) was the victim of a CWDOCP – a Careless Woman Driver On a Cell Phone. Not a big deal, but it did render my vehicle undrivable this time. I was sitting at the intersection of my street and the main street, waiting patiently to get out of my neighborhood when a woman comes barrelling into the entrance, aiming for the wrong side of the median! It was obvious she had been going too fast, and since she didn’t want to set the phone down, she couldn’t stop fast enough, and rather than keep going and u-turn to come back to the entrance of the neighborhood, she decided to turn into the wrong side of the median. While I was there.

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SpaceBrew Movie Review: Closer

I’m not big on movie reviews. I think they give too much away. Well, so do previews. But I don’t like when people tell me what parts are excellent in the movies they just saw. Then you’re watching for that part, and it never lives up to what they said it was, and so you’re distracted and it makes the rest of the movie kind of just suck and – well, you get the point. I just want to say this about the movie “Closer”. God wow.

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The Burbank Chronicles, Vol. 1

I flew out to Burbank last night for an early morning appointment today. I’ve never been to Burbank, so the experience has been unique. I have been to California many times, but never this far south I guess. Anyway, a couple of things that have happened have been journalworthy, so I’ll write about them here.

I got to the counter at the Burbank Hilton and they gave me my room key – a 200-dollars-a-night king on the seventh floor. Yeah, that’s right. Two hundred dollars. Yawn. I’m not terribly impressed. The bed was nice, but the room was warm and smelled like fresh possum ass. It didn’t look all posh like I’d expected. I mean come on. It’s a Hilton. Anyway, when I got out of the elevator to go to my room, I didn’t pass Paris Hilton in the hallway.

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SpaceBrew Review: Dido Concert DVD

You know, I think Dido is way underrated as an artist. For the last few years I’ve thought Dido was the name of the band, and that Florian Cloud Armstrong was just the singer of Dido, the band. I didn’t realize Dido was a solo artist. Anyway, the point is that I think Dido is underrated. And I’m talking about Dido the band here.

Oh holy shit you can see right down her shirt whoaDido herself is a good singer, but I think it’s the band that makes her great. My perception is that Florian’s voice isn’t quite as strong as she is, though she puts as much into it as she can, trying to make it more powerful. You can see her just giving it everything she has, and her voice just kind of comes out. It’s quite sad actually, though not at the expense of quality. She sounds pretty awesome. I’d liken it to a car with a governor on the carb.

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The Pool Party That Sank

Yesterday we celebrated my hot cousin’s 20th birthday with a whole bunch of drinking, swimming, music and drinking, and a little sunburn on the side. The party was a wild success. We played water polo, pin the tail on the donkey, simon says, and a rousing game of marco / polo. A good time was had by all!

Space & Hot Cousin LaraSome friends of mine came over to assist in the partyship, and everything seemed dandy. Then suddenly, from out of nowhere, one of the pretty girls splashed a little too wildly and her top came down just a little bit. I’m not talking full boobal exposure – just a tad bit of nipple peeked out. And one of the other girls saw it and made a comment to some of the men who were sitting on the deck (and were not fortunate [as I was] to get to be part of the audience).

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From Panama With Love

I guess I should talk about this. It’s still the source of bad dreams that wake me up during the night, even eight years after the fact. It happened when I was still in the military. Way in. I was sent to Panama on an MRT (a Maintenance Recovery Team) to repair a bird that went down out there. I had been there for about two and a half weeks when we finally got the parts in and made our repairs on the C-130. Typical procedure is that it flies home immediately and we as a crew hitch a ride on it. Well due to circumstances upon which I cannot comment, I had to stay behind for several more days, and would catch a bus to Costa Rica (ugh) and from there, fly into San Antonio. All good.

I was staying in a cheap shitty motel on the outskirts of Santiago, trying to dodge people wherever and whenever I could, lying low. I’d already had several run-ins with the locals and had almost been arrested for being white. I had sent my uniforms and all evidence of my involvement with the US military back on the plane with my team. All I’d been left with was a sidearm. Once my double-stack magazine was empty (and I hoped to God I wouldn’t have to empty it) I was out. Bare as a naked baby’s ass.

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Oh, you mean that Pamela Anderson!

For years I’ve been looking at Pamela Anderson and wondering what the hell. I look at all the same pictures everyone else does, I suppose. I check the celebrity sites sometimes to see who’s showing their boobies in public. And I’ve seen just about all her pictures. I have actually even actively sought out her pictures on several occasions for research purposes. Seriously, she never did anything for me. I would look at them to see if I could see what the big deal was for everyone. And I never did.

Yeah she's all right I guess.Until I saw her new show on Fox, called Stacked. I don’t know what it is about seeing her in action, but obviously she became three-dimensional at that point. Of course I’ve seen “the video”. Again, it did nothing for me. But now that I’ve seen her acting and being more than a two-dimensional image in a picture, I’ve begun to find her attractive. She’s definitely got charisma. She’s remarkably charming, and I’d never have guessed it.

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A Dish Best Served Full of Ashes

I got to her house around seven. I’d come straight from work and was still in my slacks and loafers. Not those nice heavy loafers you get in the military. But the thin, soft leather loafers that feel so good on your feet. She’d called me at five or so, I guess it was, saying he was there. He had come to get his stuff. After a week’s delay he’d finally arrived to collect. I said so what. “Aren’t you glad he’s there?” She’d broken up with him the Friday before, and told him to come get his shit out. He got back from Houston today and seemingly made it top priority. So all should have been well. She said no though. She wasn’t happy he was there. Oh, he’d gotten his stuff all right. But he’d left her some things too. Some bruises.

So now I was on my way. Five o’clock I got the call, five-fifteen I ended the call, and five-seventeen I was tearing up Central Expressway like a burning chariot. There’d be no patient idling this time. She’d dumped him before and I’d stood there on her patio smoking a cigarette, watching them through the sliding door as I leaned against the rail. I’d worn my shades so he couldn’t see the true thoughts in my eyes. She had told me to stand by and make sure he didn’t hit her. I had wondered why this was even a logical threat. But I’d been there for her. And every second it took him to collect his things and throw them in the long red duffel was a second I grew less patient. I could feel anger burning my veins as it pumped through them in place of my already boiled blood.

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The Long Way to Aquaintance

I was sitting in a bar, watching the tiny television in the corner. This isn’t something I do very often. I stopped into this place to have a cold pint before meeting with a client of mine at the Internet Data Center right down the road. I was to be giving him a tour of the facilities and showing him where his equipment was racked.

Anyway, I’m sitting in there enjoying my pint when a girl comes in and walks up to the bar. As she was standing there at the bar, right next to my stool, I casually looked at her, noticing she wasn’t wearing much. She smelled like a cheap hooker – cigarettes and perfume, and perhaps a little sweaty. Her hair was greasy and matted and her tank top was stained and dirty. She leaned on her elbows against the bar, and I could see through the armhole of her shirt that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

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Run-in with Aria

I got the opportunity to attend a new release movie expo the other day with Kimbre, who is an exec at a company that handles the accounting for Blockbuster. I had to of course dress up, which I’m not terribly fond of these days, but I threw a shirt and tie on the iron board and ended up enjoying myself quite a bit. I didn’t know what to expect, having never been to one of these expos, but there were a lot celebrities there. I thought that was pretty cool, and realized this was probably a little bit bigger deal than I had originally thought. I saw Willem Dafoe and Carl Weathers, Colin Firth and Julia Stiles. Probably the biggest star there was Will Smith. That was pretty nifty – though I didn’t get to talk to him or anything. But the one thing that made this event really worth going to was the little run-in I had with a C-List celebrity. Actually, if it weren’t for her fisting videos on the Internet, I doubt anyone would ever have heard of her.

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Newscasters: A Hive of Scum and Villainy

We watched House tonight on television – great show, by the way – and as I was getting up to turn off the TV, the ‘next on’ bit came on to tell me what was going to be on the news at nine tonight. Immediately I got so disgusted I wanted to hit someone. Real hard. And this isn’t one of those annoyances – this was an almost incoceivably inconsiderate and disrespectful piece they were advertising.

She said it with fervor, “… Plus, how this swimsuit supermodel barely survived the crashing winds of the tsunami!” played against some moving footage of the woman modeling in a bikini.

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Byron Nelson Breeds Breastviewing

It’s my sister’s birthday today. She turned thirty this morning around soap opera time. Thirty. You know how old that makes me? Damn. Because if she’s getting older, that means I’m getting older. It’s slightly depressing that half my life ago she snuck me into my first Ten Hands concert. I was fifteen then. A whole lifetime has passed since then. And that’s just plain crazy.

We’ve got Stella the Star Seeking Student trapped in ice this week, which is why she has been idle. Not to fear though. She said something really disturbing occurred to her last night, and she will be writing about it. I’m excited about it, as it’s a pretty good story.

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Women Drivers – An Oxymoron?

I know, I know, you’re all getting sick of hearing about how bad women drivers are. But they keep staying bad. And I had to laugh this morning on my way to work when I saw an overturned SUV in the middle of an intersection.

Now I would never laugh at someone’s misfortune or injury. But I gladly laugh at their stupidity. Because I am of the opinion that 100% of accidents can be avoided with defensive driving. You might not be able to prevent someone REAR-ENDING YOU, but the person behind you COULD HAVE PAID ATTENTION (what a novel idea) and prevented it themselves. So when some pompous SUV driving idiot tries to make a light when it’s yellow – and they’re still a hundred yards out – they end up running through an intersection, phone glued to head, on a red light. They deserve to be plowed into. Teach their ass a lesson.

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SpaceBrew Review: Whoa, Nelly!

My selected artist of the year award (which I give away every few years) this year goes to Nelly Furtado. It’s been many moons since I’ve listened to an album as musical as Whoa, Nelly! I didn’t have much hope for it, since she’s nineteen years old and all her inspirations were R&B singers. Blech. But I was hyperterrifically impressed not only with her diversity, but also her ability to write. She writes some of the most appealing, ear-catching music I’ve ever heard, and I’ve found I like every song on the album. She’s got songs ranging from sexy piano bar music to upbeat techno funk stuff, to rock ballads. This shit rocks, people. (I won’t mention that I think she’s hot.)

Chicken had this to say about Nelly Furtado: “Her voice will be the death of me.” Well, I suppose her voice is a little edgy, but I’ve found that’s exactly what I like about it. It’s definitely unique. And only when she wants it to sound like that does it even get that way. When she’s singing some of her slower songs, her voice is soft and sexy. I’ve found it to be like the Dallas Cowboys, whereas you either love it or you hate it. But if you’re a music-minded person, you’ll dig the album in spite of her edgy vocal quality – or perhaps because of it. She’s got class.

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Chick Games

Why is it that women wear things that show off their beautiful bodies? That’s it. No buts attached to that question. We obviously aren’t allowed to look at them, so why is it that they force us to by wearing these things which accentuate their better parts? I’ve been less than happy with the results I get when I give them the attention they so obviously crave. Don’t tell me that these women don’t have a choice in what they buy. If the only clothing available on the racks was this stuff that shows midriff and cleavage, and hip-huggers, then all the old women out there would be wearing the same things.

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The Sinister Sisters Behind the Curtain

There’s no doubting that women rule the world. Anyone who doesn’t believe that, try living with one for a few weeks. You’ll catch on. I’m just wondering why so many of them are psycho. You remember that movie Beautiful Girls? Michael Rappaport says it perfectly: “They’re all sisters. You never let them behind the curtain. They’re all sisters.” What a brilliant man he was. That’s exactly what they are.

Otherwise, how would they all know when we screw up? And you notice whenever you’ve been single for a while and you finally find someone worth checking into, that’s when they all come to call. When it rains it pours, gentlemen. They all know. It’s like a little alarm in their heads go off saying “Johnnie’s got a girl now! Set tits to stun! Go get him girls!” And they do. They all come around. But you never see that shit happening when you’re single. Well, unless you’re like me. But that’s beside the point.

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A Childhood Dream Comes True

Sweet goodness look at those boobs.I was sitting at a bar with my cousin and a friend this weekend having some beers, catching up on stuff. Well, we’re kind of regulars there, so we get on pretty well with the bartender. Anyway, she comes up and says, “Remember little Tiffany? The singer?” I was like, “Yeah. Of course. I used to adore her.” She says, “Well check this out,” and flops the magazine down on the bar. Lo and behold, there in front of me are Tiffany’s voluptuous breasts. I was disgusted. I can’t stand looking at women’s breasts, you know? Especially when they are that large and round and soft, and when I used to be infatuated with said person.

But it’s little Tiffany. Remember the pop singer from about 15 years ago (God, has it been that long?) who sang such hits as “I Think We’re Alone Now” and “I Saw Him Standing There”? When I was thirteen I was in love with her. I had Tiffany posters and her album, and many fantasies to boot. She was hotter than the lit end of a cigarette. I even went and saw her in concert, and some band we’d never heard of opened up for her. They were called New Kids on the Block. We saw her at the Six Flags Music Mill Amphitheatre. Oh what a show. And now this. Oh yes, my friends. My day has finally come. (So to speak.)

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Hot women don’t wait in line.

Attitude is everything. I don’t care how good looking you are, or what kind of clothes you wear, or what kind of car you drive. Attitude is everything. I would sooner take the hand of the lady wearing poor clothes and driving the hatchback Honda then the bitch wearing the Versace dress driving the Porsche. Well, depending on who has the better tits, of course. But that’s beside the point. We’re not talking physical here. It’s about character.

I saw this woman at the store the other night. I was picking up a loaf of bread and some leche. Thumbing through a magazine while I waited in the checkout line, this chick started talking to me. She was right in front of me. She had a very pleasant smile and glasses, she was humble and kind, and all in all, very attractive. And her voice was friendly and full of care. It was pretty cool, I instantly liked her. She asked what I thought about something in the magazine. I talked to her for probably fifteen minutes. The line gets really long at Wal-Mart Supercenter the day before Independence day. It was incredibly slow.

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Some People Should Not Drive

I was riding with a friend of mine yesterday, on the way home from Home Depot, and we had a kind of odd experience. Well, actually – I should clarify – I had the odd experience. It wasn’t odd to her at all. But it tripped my shit right out. She drives a convertible Mustang, but the top was up and the windows were up.

oh no holy shit we're gonna dieWe were driving – actually (again) she was driving [had I been driving (being a more competent driver altogether) we probably wouldn’t have had the experience in the first place] and she cut some lady off in a Buick. My friend drives like a blind, retarded lemur with no legs in the first place, so riding with her is a real treat. You can see in the passenger floorboard, the carpet is kind of worn out from her passengers slamming on imaginary brakes. I’m a pretty laid-back passenger and not much scares me, but when I’m riding with her, I can’t watch the road. Frankly, she scares the great green shit out of me. You are guaranteed an ulcer in twenty minutes if she drives you through downtown Dallas traffic. Not that I would ever actually ride with her through downtown Dallas during traffic.

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Men Will Be Men

I just got into a “heated debate” with a girl friend of mine about the essence of a men’s club. She can’t stand topless dancers, and has no respect for them. Thinks it’s a bad deal for men to go to them. Thinks lowly of the men who go to them too. Has no respect for them. Well who the hell said anything about respect?

While I can think of several other places I would rather have gone for my bachelor party last Saturday night, and several reasons for each, I didn’t have the great providence of being my own best man. Thus I didn’t plan my own bachelor party. And we went to a titty bar. I didn’t object. I am a man. I like titties. (Tell me you didn’t know that.) Plus, it was my party.

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Is there anybody out there?

This is another very popular argument on the claim to other life forms in the universe: “The universe is so huge, and we can hardly even go past the moon, so why would there be all that extra space if we couldn’t even use it! Therefore, there has to be other life out there somewhere.” My response? Whatever. For us to think this entire universe is completely useless if we can’t use it is just plain arrogant. We think we own the place. Well, that no more settles an argument than saying, “This garage is too big for just one car, so there must be other cars in it.” The only difference is that the garage actually is yours.

Supposing the entirety of the universe was created especially for us humans, what do you think we will do with it? There is but one planet with sufficient oxygen and perfect atmosphere and proportional water supply as to sustain life. The odds of there being another planet that matches these tight attributes is ridiculously incalculable.

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The Hot Women Like Dorks

You don't stand a chance.Why do hot women like this always end up with nerds and losers? I mean, I’m a nerd. I know how to fix computers and I read a lot of books. But I don’t look like one, you know? At least I think I don’t. But I’m certainly not a loser! But seriously, I saw this chick the other day and she was hotter than a jalapeno on fire in Texas on the sidewalk in August. Or something. And the dude she was with was a short, oddly lumpy, frog-faced dude who looked like he never showered. What in The Elephant’s name is that shit all about?

One of my best friends is knockdown drag-out gorgeous. She has the body of a – well, a great body, and has a good head on her shoulders. And she told me one time that most guys are too intimidated to ask her out. So she is single most of the time. Then here comes compuboy who has nothing to lose, so he starts asking at the top. And guess what? Bada Bing, Bada Boom. He gets himself a hot chica. At some point in their lonely single lives they say to themselves, “I’m going out with the very next guy who asks me.” So there you have it, fellas. Start asking out all the hot chicks. One of them is bound to say yes sooner or later.

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National Breast Awareness Week

Well, it’s Mardi Gras time again, gentlemen. And you all know what that means. I think it’s the main reason most men even attend a Mardi Gras festival. Yep. Tits.

When and where else can a man stand around on the street and watch girls lift their shirts and let their boobs bounce out just to get beads? You really can’t beat it. Course, I have never gone to Mardi Gras. I have been to smaller versions of the same thing, locally. Every year in Denton is the Fry Street Fair. And if you have ever been there, you know there are plenty of women showing plenty of booby. A lot of them fail to wear shirts entirely.

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You Can Dance if You Wannew

I think it’s odd that two women can dance together and somehow become the most popular women in the building. Especially at a country bar. But if you were to see two men get out on the floor and dance together, especially at a country bar, there would probably be a bar brawl on the quick fast.

I accidentally signed her boobDon’t get me wrong. I am not jealous of women’s ability to do these things without being mocked. I just think that women take strong advantage of it. Most men think it’s incredibly sexy to see two women making out and dancing, etc. I for one, am indifferent about it. I don’t find it to be super appealing, but on the other hand, if I were to be walking down the street and see two women kissing and groping, I would probably look. Hell, I would probably take a picture. But just because two women kiss and grab each other’s boobs, it doesn’t mean they’re gay. If two men did that shit… Why the double standard? Why don’t women find that attractive? Men certainly don’t. Well, most men.

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Tina Fey: The New Sex Object

I hope everyone had a fantastic Christmas. Or if you don’t celebrate Christmas I hope you enjoyed your holidays. Of course, my opinion is that if you don’t celebrate Christmas, you shouldn’t get the holiday. You should have to work. Why give someone a free day when they don’t celebrate it? People always seem to whine about getting the day after or before Easter off, but they don’t even believe in Jesus. What gives? Anyway, I had a great Christmas. Glad to be back at work though, let me tell you. It sucks being away from work for so long. It’s like my oxygen. It runs through my veins.

You know who I think is sexy? Take it or leave it, but I think Tina Fey is on the rise. She is the chick from Saturday Night Live’s Weekend Update. I think those thick-framed black glasses and messy hair are in. The librarian type chick is definitely sexy.

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Why are men such douchebags?

I go out to the pool sometimes. You know, to swim? Remember that? You like jump in the water and swim around and enjoy the cool refreshing water and the warm sun. I’m pretty sure this is what the pool was originally intended for. But anyway, it’s all a big pissing contest now.

This chick comes out all wearing a nice bikini. So what starts happening is all the guys start getting out of the water and laying out like bitches trying to show off their bodies to this chick. As if any of them have a chance with her. Now granted these are all high-class guys, with the big tattoos on their back and stuff. You know, real men.

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So this is April?

This story may seem a little out of place amidst the last few columns I’ve written on the site, but I didn’t just write it. I wrote it back in 1996, shortly after it all came to an end. It begins in April. April 13, 1994.

I was sitting in a park. In the middle of downtown Dallas, cool weather, cool shades and cool breeze. The sun was so bright that I could hardly see anything. But it wasn’t hot. It was in fact, quite cool out. But it really felt nice. Middle of April, sitting on this bench watching the fountain come on, then go off and the mist kind of disappears into the cool April air. It was so pleasant. I was waiting on someone to come out of a meeting. It was actually kind of a long wait.

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