Don’t think of them as Americans any more

Colin Powell is at it again. Nothing has changed with Powell since last December when I ripped him a second asshole, except he’s become ever the more useful idiot and tool of the left to bash the few real conservative voices remaining.

Powell is not alone in his suicidal quest. Damn near all of the high-position elected Repubicans are striving to be more like the statists now running things (into the ground). The lot of them have decided it’s better to be loved and admired than pursue any difficult course of action that doesn’t end in personal glory.

Ours is an age of pure politician, with only a sprinkling of statesman.

The Republican Party is in disarray and deserving to lose because despite the recent weak rebranding it still stands for nothing. Though true conservatives haven’t gone anywhere, the party has abandoned its core conservative principles of limited government, low taxation, strong (logical) national defense and a historical framework of moral values based on Judeo-Christian teachings. I didn’t make these up just now, nor do I necessarily wish any of these to be taken to “extremes”, but these are principles that governed the way America ran from 1776 to the 1930s,—historically unique ideas which worked to build the greatest of all nations—before the first rivulets of the flood of communist horseshit we’re drowning in today began creeping into the streets.

I can’t even write about this any more. There are so many mental drifters, slaves and honest-to-God ignorant fuckups flooding this country from within and without, it’s like a race between the illegal aliens and their enablers and the idiot factories knows as government schools to see which can create the more harmful parasite/voter in greater numbers.

Reminds me of a scene from Invasion of the Body Snatchers or one of its many remakes or rip-offs, where a military guy or scientist(s) is observing, through a thermal imager, a gang of children that have been taken over by alien parasites.  One of the men says, “”Don’t think of them as children any more.”

And so America begins its decline, 2009. I can’t believe there’s anything left to discuss with so-called ‘Americans’ that demand the government take care of them from cradle to grave, while commanding everyone else on how to live their lives. Such people already exist by the millions…they’re called Europeans (and Canadians) and their cultures are dying more rapidly than ours.

Statists are not Americans. It would be wise not to think of them as Americans anymore.

Reviews of movie previews I watched with disdain

When I went to see Star Trek, I got hit with the endless stream of previews I’d hoped to avoid by showing up 10 minutes late to Wolverine.

I already knew Will Ferrell is a talentless asshole from his last 10 movies, so why make Land of the Lost? There wasn’t a single reaction from the sizable crowd to anything in the preview. The best “funny” line the morons who made this turd could come up with is, “Matt Lauer can suck it.” That wouldn’t be funny even if people knew who Matt Lauer is/was/whatever.

The preview for the new Terminator movie, now out and given awful reviews, also garnered no reaction from the crowd. I felt silly-assed for ever liking Terminator after seeing it. After the audio of what’s-his-face yelling at some poor shlub on the set was leaked two months ago I lost interest. Hey, Jerkoff: you’re a multi-millionaire actor and beloved Batman. No less than Ivanka Trump called you, “some kind of Adonis”. You don’t need to piss and moan over an honest mistake. People go to the movies to escape from asshole bosses yelling at them.

The only preview that got any reaction at all was the CG movie UP, which should’ve been called “The Old Jew’s Flying Balloon House”.

SkyJew* would also be a badass name for a movie, but it doesn’t yet exist. No one tell Will Fuckface Ferrell about SkyJew.

Thanks.

*(Apparently, the term “skyjew” already exists, as an anti-Semitic reference to seagulls! What a world, what a world).

Hey, I’m trying to write here

I ate three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches around midnight. I’m going to have bizarre dreams, fer sure.

I’m trying to write 250 words minimum per day about anything. I’m not there yet but am trying. Anything is a terribly limited subject.

Butterflies have “powder” on their wings, according to some dudes at work. Mess with the powder and they can’t fly. I just looked it up online. The “powder” is really microscopic scales. I suspect the butterflies can still fly after the powder is messed with, but they should be left alone.

I’m wary of women with butterfly tattoos.  Even if they have huge tits, they should be left alone.

It’s better to read a book than surf the web to fall asleep. The pages of a book don’t glow bright like computer screens, which wreck everything.

I still have to shower before sleep. And floss and brush. That’s a lot of work.

At least I have Sunday off.

I recently returned to exercising regularly. At the moment I neither love nor hate it. Exercise is something I have to do daily for the rest of my life, like taking the meds that keep me unpsychotic. I hate others at the gym more than ever.

I’m up to 189 words with more to follow as I type. I’m going to stop now, well short of 250.  No one will read this anyhow:  it contains no references to p0rn, Marc Wallace, Mia Powers. Kaylan Nicole or Flo from the Progressive insurance commercials.  Good night!

Life Explained in 6 words minus the ending

“Satan is King!”

“Sometimes He is.”

THE END

Struggling for second place

“I have found God, and he is insufficient.” -Henry Miller

Henry, I feel the same way. Earth is just a giant waiting room and I’d feel better as a ball of energy than a meatsack human being. This body is nothing but trouble, a festering cesspool for the ego to roll around in.

The mind is a crumpled paper airplane in a hurricane, but the ego thinks it’s a fighter jet.  The capacity for self-delusion is bottomless.  The mind is its own worst enemy; why it throws fear at itself I understand, it’s a survival mechanism. But why does the mind attack itself with doubt?

Life was brutal for the caveman but far simpler: at any given moment he was either alive and afraid or unaware and eaten. Attempts at poetry or deep thought were ended by saber-toothed tigers.  Now there’s nothing to stop bad poetry.

Sorry God, but I’m ready to go back. I won’t learn anything else here, life is all reruns now. I’m too lazy to meditate, I’d rather sleep.

I’m having trouble remembering why I didn’t commit to suicide when I was an atheist.  If it was all meaningless, why didn’t I end it?  The Satanist proclaims pleasure the greatest virtue.  I couldn’t extract pleasure out of anything except being an observer and surfing over others’ hypocrisy.  Obviously I survived.  But lived?

I was alone then, before then, and now.

My pal Hal swears if he won the lottery he’d build an underground house and never leave it.  Everything would be ordered and brought to his door.  I don’t blame him.  “Hell is other people,” is the greatest line ever written.  Everyone else with a pen or keyboard only struggles for second place while the moon shits cold fire and the women sleep with other men.

How I spent my last Saturday off

Every few weeks I get a weekend off and drive across the bridge to Hal’s. Hal lives with a ‘slave’, a real-life woman who obeys him. Mostly. But this post won’t be about their absurd relationship. I’m a firm believer in the main point of Geroge Orwell’s essay, “Shooting an Elephant”, which is. when one party assumes the role of tyrant, it’s their own freedom they destroy.

Sorry to get you interested in what I won’t be talking about for the rest of this post, but here’s a little bit more: Hal’s slave is far younger than he, with great snowy skin, but she’s fat in a not-hot way, despite the large rack. Also, though Hal knows her moods, I find her unsmiling obedient presence dour; I’d like to show her the door when I’m over there.

Hal has one of those ginormous big flat fucking televisions and all we do 90% of the time is play Xbox360. I find myself totally absorbed in the games, especially on the huge screen.

For the third time in as many weekends we tried to get the cheat of “Unlimited health” for Metropolis in the terrible Superman Returns game, but it never works. I really wanted to love the game, but it just sucks. I bought it for $9.99 at a Gamestop where the girl clerk said she should pay us $5 just to take it away.

After Superman, we played the demo download of the new X-Men Origins: Wolverine game. This was the highlight of the day. While the game has some flaws (everyone has their nitpicks) Wolverine the character is damned-near indestructable, just like in the film. But the game is so much gorier than the movie and Wolvy so brutal, I actually felt bad for some of the African mercenaries, literally diced into salsa like tomatoes in a blender. Nerdgasms will ensue.

Hal and I played the new UFC game demo. It was realistic and fun, and I say this not as a UFC fan. I like fighting and fights, strategy and sportsmanship, but UFC is a sport, not combat, and after awhile the ground stuff begins to look gay, even when one guy is ground and pound-ing the shit out of the other’s face. I found myself getting angrier and angrier at losing quickly. Just like in the real UFC, being hit at the correct angle drops your guy like a bag of dirt. I was cursing up a storm even when I won.

I played Ninja Gaiden II on the sissy setting. Excellent graphics but very tedious.

After a long, LONG day and night, eating the shit out of everything in sight (pizza, cheese sticks, ribs) and with my eyes feeling like scoops of napalm jelly, Hal and I fired up Rainbow Six Vegas 2, an excellent game with a dizzying shitload of options. Hal and I played split screen matches where we hunted 35 terrorists in various settings. We both ended up infuriated with each other for our incompetence and lack of communication, and were shouting and cursing and getting more and more pissed off. It was both hilarious and very depressing to be killed so many times, I wondered if these games make anyone think twice about going to war. Thanks to practicing meditation, between rounds I did have moments of absolute calm where I would laugh at the intensity of my rage. When I felt anger, frustration and hatred it was VERY real, yet a few times I could close it all off like a spigot. Negative emotions literally eat your strength away, but don’t tell it to Hal, who admires the Sith.

That was how I spent my last Saturday off. It will be three weeks before I get another one. We need some new games.

Smallville Season 8 Finale – Sucked

I’m not gonna put any more effort into this review than the writers did with Smallville’s season finale.

Really, the show is so bad that I’m more impressed with how little the producers are offering fans and how much they’re getting away with rather than how well any story is told.

Doomsday, both character and storyline, was a total flop, and the featured non-battle lasting less than a minute was exactly what I figured they’d do, with the exception that Super-Lana was nowhere to be seen.

I didn’t look for any announcements online that a Season 9 had been approved, hell, maybe it hasn’t been. It would almost be a blessing to leave it all in limbo.

The obscenities against fans are stacking up: power orbs, talismans, prophecies, the female Lex wannabe, a dumbfuck Clark whose powers are stripped from him or their limitations rewritten every other episode, and now future/time travel shit with the League from the Future or whoever they are, brought in as a plot-saving cheap stunt in the vein of “it was all a dream”: I can’t believe there’s any Smallville fan over the age of 12 who shed a tear when Jimmy Olsen “died”.

I’m wondering if the one guy who actually visited M39 to argue that ‘you’re not being forced to watch the show’ would still show his face after tonight’s miscarriage.

Why do I still subject myself to Smallville? Because I love Superman and the Superman mythos.

Unfortunately for the still-millions of Smallville fans, we’re not being entertained and rewarded for caring.

We’re only watching for signs of life.

The best damned review of the new Star Trek movie you’ll ever read

The new Star Trek is a good–not great–science fiction romp that could have just as easily been made without the Star Trek brand.

The only notable standout was Mr. Spock, and either because I’m insane or just love him, I was weeping in the theater (Spock has a rough time of it.)

I will probably buy the DVD, but not watch it over and over.

That’s it!

You’re now done reading the best damned review of the new Star Trek movie you’ve ever read.

I’M WOLVERINE!

Got to the theater to see Wolverine! The Motion Picture 10 minutes late and was shocked to find the movie half over. What, no COMMERCIALS (the nerve of those advertisers) followed by three coming attractions for diarrhea-inducing romantic dramedies?

Walking up to the window to buy the ticket and on through to the lobby with the smell of fake butter coating everything I couldn’t stop thinking of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog at Comic-Con shouting, “I’m Wolverine! I’m Wolverine! I’m Wolverine!”

I couldn’t feel any more like a failure if I was wearing black socks with sandals and wielding a metal detector.

I entered the theater when Wolverine was in the tank (last seen in X2) about to be injected with cockamamium or whatever the hell. Suspense, for me, was nil. Of course during The Procedure the Bladed One’s heart stops. The military milf reading Wolverine’s vitals says with alarm, “Blood pressure, 280 over 160!” which is my normal blood psi., especially eating movie popcorn floating in butter.

Once Wolverine escaped (of course) the movie got a little more interesting. Were it not for Hugh Jackman’s considerable acting, this movie would’ve been like sticking your hand between the plates of a hot George Foreman grill. Did I say hand? I meant dick.

There was some kickass fighting (not enough) but being an old(er) fuck, I was thrown out of suspended disbelief by small inconsistencies rather than gaping plot holes. Example: the movie’s supposed to take place in the mid-70s and the sinister secret government agents were driving Humvees instead of Jeeps. Humvees didn’t go into service until the late 80s.

“Yeah, but they musta had the prototypes, being top secret and all!”

Shut up, nerd.

Also, if there was a raucous battle in an alley on Bourbon Street that shattered fire escapes and blew up hundreds of stacked boxes, wouldn’t there be at least a few dozen extras running to find the source of the rumpus?

And this Gambit fellow that’s all the rage, would you seriously sit down to play cards with a guy who could make the whole fucking deck float perfectly as if he had the mutant power of CGI?

I paid 4 bucks to see Wolvy and that was about right. I was more excited watching 16-year-old White girls with their bubble buttocks in shorty-shorts in the butter lobby. But then, I’m a failure. I have a right.