To those that occasionally peruse my blog, forgive my extended absence...I've been pumping out newspaper copy like an eight-year old Cambodian boy on the Nike assembly line this summer and haven't had much time to kick out the sleazy literary jams that my friends have come to expect.
But I found myself with a few moments of solitude and one of the most disgusting, inane, horrifically stupid takes on a subject that I've ever heard, so I figured it was time to dust off the satire, cynicism and angst in my return to the blogging ring.
So, let me ring the goddamn bell...
The U.S. had a 5.9 (or 5.8, depending on the source) magnitude earthquake near Richmond, Va., yesterday afternoon. It caused some damage, a smidgeon of panic in cities such as our illustrious national capital and overall gave media outlets some news other than our inept government to chew on for a day.
Of course, folks on Facebook came up with the litany of jokes that were to be expected, such as the debt ceiling collapsing or there being an Obama or Bush fault line being at fault for the earthquake...ya know, the typical humorous and sometimes snide remarks that accompany such an event, especially in D.C.
But I knew that good-natured ribbing wouldn't last long before some ignorant twit opened their mouth and allowed for something hateful and prejudiced to come out.
Sure enough, some dumbfuck Rabbi in New York made my blog really easy to write today by blaming the D.C. -area earthquake on gay marriage.
First, let me say that I feel safe in knowing that religious leaders in our country are such scholars versed in plate tectonics, seismic waves and geology that they can discount a natural occurrence, which was taking place long before neanderthals could even speak the word "gay." I guess I should tell my daughter to forget going to college for geology and skip right ahead to getting her minister's certificate online for $15 bucks.
Because obviously Dr. Attila Kilinc, a geology professor at the University of Cincinnati whose class I took, and who explains earthquakes and their causes in a methodical, scientific way, was WAYYYYYY fuckin' wrong, right?
It was gay marriage all along. Shit...how could I be so blind? We've been duped!
You can read the good rabbi's true, scientific explanation for the earthquake and the accompanying video here:
http://www.rawstory.com/rawreplay/2011/08/nom-speaker-blames-east-coast-earthquake-on-gays/
I have to wonder if God ever gets tired of being blamed for every natural disaster by those corrupt, insane humans on this Earth that preach hatred under the veil of religion. I mean, really, if I'm God, I'm feeling like a scapegoat for a lot of idiots right now.
Pat Robertson, The Westboro Baptist Church; the list goes on and on...
Blame all the world's calamities on gay folks, liberals, atheists, anarchists and their ilk...then go to home to your $10.5 million home like Joel Osteen, while thousands starve in our country daily...
Or go get a massage from a gay escort, Ted Haggard...
Or use the profits from your Operation Blessing, Pat Robertson, to fund a blood diamond mine in Zaire...
Or cover up child sexual abuse, Father (Insert name here).
Or, blame a fucking earthquake on gays, because, well, they are an easy target, aren't they, Rabbi Levin? And you are just so Godly in addition to being a seismologist.
The worst is that Americans listen to Levin, Robertson, Osteen, Haggard and their cabal of hatemongers that blame the disasters that happen throughout the globe to "immorality."
It's a tired schtick. But one that ignorant followers of these bastards, in addition to some bandwagon-hopping politicians, keep lapping up like a thirsty dog and it's one that is slinking its way into our country's political system, one inch at a time.
God help us all if that happens.
I'll wrap this up with a funny thought that's been tumbling through my gray matter over the past day...
God and Jesus love everyone. The Bible tells me so.
Us humans just decided to add stipulations to the fuckin' contract.
-Spragoo
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Flying solo at the defense table...
April 18, 2011.
What do I make of that day in my history now?
Is it just the segue between scenes in the movie of my life, or is it the beginning of a new chapter in my book?
Or is it just a day?
I awoke that morning to a slew of story assignments for the Venice Cornerstone, a monthly newspaper in my old stomping grounds of Ross, Ohio. While needing to be done, it was nothing but busy work. I took no pleasure in it — all it did was distract me from my appearance at the gallows pole later that afternoon.
I finished the assignments — an interview for a high school jazz concert and a photo op — and trudged to the local Half-Price Books, thinking that possibly blowing 50 bucks on Rammstein CD's and Steinbeck's "The Winter of Our Discontent" would soothe me.
That's a big negative, gold leader.
The bells of Hamilton finally tolled three...and I found myself walking to the city government building alongside someone that had shared my hopes, fears, losses and triumphs throughout the last 15 years of my life.
Someone who now resembled a stranger.
Walking with her to finalize the end of a dream.
The Butler County Court of Domestic Relations will forever be an image stained into my mind's eye...a narrow hall lined with benches, a simply way station for those souls traveling towards dissolution or divorce.
The Hall of Heartbreak, I now call it.
Lawyers trolled the hallway, clothed in imitation Brooks Brothers outfits and cubic zirconium cuff links, dispensing last minute legal advice or inane small talk.
Dysfunctional couples filled the seats of despair, allowing the white noise to filter into one eardrum and to exit the other.
One couple even physically manifested the somber tone of the room, becoming combative as their lawyers scrambled last-minute to piece together how the fragile truce went awry so quickly ... and how they could salvage it.
Cases were called, shoulders sagged, and not a single individual held their head high as they proceeded to the lethal injection chamber of marriages — the courtroom.
Finally, our number came up. My companion in this sojourn and I stood up and shuffled to the door, allowing more wreckage to occupy our space on the bench. Eliminate one case and another takes its place.
Her lawyer instructed me to sit at the table on the right side of the room ... the defendant's table.
A place I soon found as the loneliest I've experienced on this earth.
I had no representation. No lawyer that I had doled out greenbacks to in order to contest support amounts or custody issues.
The stranger seated on the left of the room and I had already come to terms on that. Everything was settled between us, it was amicable, and this appearance was simple formality.
Until the judge ran through the standard questions required of such formality.
"Mr. Sprague, do you agree to this dissolution?"
I croaked out a weak yes ... not because I was attempting to salvage something lost, but because it was the most blatant admission of failure in my life.
"Mr. Sprague, you will have to speak up for the recording."
"Yes, your honor."
The interrogative litany continued. I became a automaton, responding yes to everything while my vision narrowed to a pinpoint shrouded in black, with only the court stenographer in my sight.
Soon the act was complete. The mansion of promise and hope was crumbled in a mere five minutes by the legal wrecking ball.
It truly only takes a moment to extinguish a lifetime.
My newly-minted ex-wife and I shuffled again back to our respective vehicles afterwards. Light chatter accompanied apologies, and soon we parted ways.
Her alone. And I alone.
Is it a beginning for me, despite it being an end?
That is the thing that I find myself playing Twister with 10 days later.
Yet even with the end of a life goal, I was reminded that I still had a life. A mere 30 minutes later, I found myself stuck in traffic on the way home through Ross. It seemed there had been an auto accident on the road ahead.
One which included the fatality of a 20-year-old college student. One full of promise, life and dreams. Ones that will never be realized, through a simple moment in time.
A lifetime wiped clean by a single moment, and it was a jarring awakening that in spite of my slate being erased...
I at least still had a slate. One that a new story can be written upon.
And that, in and of itself, is a damn good start.
Regards,
Spragoo
What do I make of that day in my history now?
Is it just the segue between scenes in the movie of my life, or is it the beginning of a new chapter in my book?
Or is it just a day?
I awoke that morning to a slew of story assignments for the Venice Cornerstone, a monthly newspaper in my old stomping grounds of Ross, Ohio. While needing to be done, it was nothing but busy work. I took no pleasure in it — all it did was distract me from my appearance at the gallows pole later that afternoon.
I finished the assignments — an interview for a high school jazz concert and a photo op — and trudged to the local Half-Price Books, thinking that possibly blowing 50 bucks on Rammstein CD's and Steinbeck's "The Winter of Our Discontent" would soothe me.
That's a big negative, gold leader.
The bells of Hamilton finally tolled three...and I found myself walking to the city government building alongside someone that had shared my hopes, fears, losses and triumphs throughout the last 15 years of my life.
Someone who now resembled a stranger.
Walking with her to finalize the end of a dream.
The Butler County Court of Domestic Relations will forever be an image stained into my mind's eye...a narrow hall lined with benches, a simply way station for those souls traveling towards dissolution or divorce.
The Hall of Heartbreak, I now call it.
Lawyers trolled the hallway, clothed in imitation Brooks Brothers outfits and cubic zirconium cuff links, dispensing last minute legal advice or inane small talk.
Dysfunctional couples filled the seats of despair, allowing the white noise to filter into one eardrum and to exit the other.
One couple even physically manifested the somber tone of the room, becoming combative as their lawyers scrambled last-minute to piece together how the fragile truce went awry so quickly ... and how they could salvage it.
Cases were called, shoulders sagged, and not a single individual held their head high as they proceeded to the lethal injection chamber of marriages — the courtroom.
Finally, our number came up. My companion in this sojourn and I stood up and shuffled to the door, allowing more wreckage to occupy our space on the bench. Eliminate one case and another takes its place.
Her lawyer instructed me to sit at the table on the right side of the room ... the defendant's table.
A place I soon found as the loneliest I've experienced on this earth.
I had no representation. No lawyer that I had doled out greenbacks to in order to contest support amounts or custody issues.
The stranger seated on the left of the room and I had already come to terms on that. Everything was settled between us, it was amicable, and this appearance was simple formality.
Until the judge ran through the standard questions required of such formality.
"Mr. Sprague, do you agree to this dissolution?"
I croaked out a weak yes ... not because I was attempting to salvage something lost, but because it was the most blatant admission of failure in my life.
"Mr. Sprague, you will have to speak up for the recording."
"Yes, your honor."
The interrogative litany continued. I became a automaton, responding yes to everything while my vision narrowed to a pinpoint shrouded in black, with only the court stenographer in my sight.
Soon the act was complete. The mansion of promise and hope was crumbled in a mere five minutes by the legal wrecking ball.
It truly only takes a moment to extinguish a lifetime.
My newly-minted ex-wife and I shuffled again back to our respective vehicles afterwards. Light chatter accompanied apologies, and soon we parted ways.
Her alone. And I alone.
Is it a beginning for me, despite it being an end?
That is the thing that I find myself playing Twister with 10 days later.
Yet even with the end of a life goal, I was reminded that I still had a life. A mere 30 minutes later, I found myself stuck in traffic on the way home through Ross. It seemed there had been an auto accident on the road ahead.
One which included the fatality of a 20-year-old college student. One full of promise, life and dreams. Ones that will never be realized, through a simple moment in time.
A lifetime wiped clean by a single moment, and it was a jarring awakening that in spite of my slate being erased...
I at least still had a slate. One that a new story can be written upon.
And that, in and of itself, is a damn good start.
Regards,
Spragoo
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Old-school Army hijinks...
This was a parody that I wrote during my last year — roughly May 2009 — in the United States Army. They had just given us soldiers access to Facebook and Twitter on the government computers at work.
Much less to say, it was quite interesting...and I sent this email out — on government computer, mind you — to my entire platoon at Fort Leavenworth.
Enjoy.
"Army twittering into the future"
By Rosa Corrales
USA Today
The old-fashioned way of military recruiting is about to change as starting May 29, the US Army is allowing social-networking internet sites such as Facebook and Twitter to be used by both soldiers and civilians on government computers.
The Army has allowed this, according to Major General Rufus Hackbarth, US Army Recruiting Commander, in order for "soldiers to present a true view of the military; its lifestyle, its demands and its benefits, all in the voice of the boots on the ground."
This is a drastic change in direction from previous policy, where the military services were known to dishonorable discharge and incarcerate soldiers who had used government computers simply to check Yahoo e-mail.
However, despite this new approval from higher-ups, some senior leaders are not very comfortable with the idea of "Twittering" and "Facebooking." Command Sergeant Major Barney Simmons of the 4th Infantry Division in Fort Hood, Texas, strongly disagrees with it.
"We already have too many children in our armed forces who think that war is "Call of Duty 4," Simmons said. "It's like giving poo to the monkeys to throw at people in the zoo. We are just asking for soldiers to lie, fabricate, and discourage other meat from joining the Army."
Simmons also questioned how Army recruiters will be able to do their job with the entire military force now able to express their opinions on service.
"What are our recruiters good for now?" Simmons said. "What ever happened to a recruiter being able to lie through his or her teeth and get that prospect?"
Due to the possibility of soldiers lying about how the Army really is on Twitter, it could strip the power base from recruiters, Simmons said.
"Numbers will go down, without a doubt," he said.
Simmons was asked if he had a Facebook account that he would access while on duty.
"Yes, my wife set one up for me," Simmons said. "It was for us to keep in contact while deployed. I'm addicted to sending drinks to people."
The realities about U.S. military service — and soldiers expressing those realities via Facebook — are not ones that the general public wants to hear, Simmons said.
"You want the truth? I don't think the American public wants the truth," Simmons said. "We drink, we screw, we get rodded, we have illegitimate babies. Then, we drink some more! Then we get the clap again! You think anyone wants to be a part of that?"
Those very reasons could explain the military meeting its recruiting goals for the month of May.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Going for the throat...the times, they are a-changin'...various musings on pointless things
Who knew in November, right?
Knee-jerk reaction was at its finest. RepubliTeacanPartiers were promising job growth, smaller government and winning numbers to the Mega Millions drawing; whatever it took for them to get the public to raise their pitchforks and run those Gawd damn-ned Democrats out of office.
And the voting public acquiesced. Suddenly, we had a boatload of fresh faces in various local, state and federal offices and the general consensus of those voters that placed them in office was that things would be different. Things would be fixed...
I am guffawing at this idea as I type.
I'm an independent, pure and simple. Not a Libertarian, a Tea Partier, a Green Jello-er, Coffee Partier, elephant, donkey or any of the remaining excuses we have for folks that supposedly pledge our best interests as a society before their own personal agendas.
Because, personally, I don't like having a black hood draped over my head by any political party in order to keep me blind, which is exactly what the latest crop of "conservatives" has attempted to do since taking office.
Wisconsin...Ohio...anti-abortion bills...healthcare bill repeals...yanking funding from PBS and NPR much like a bad parlor trick.
All of that doesn't resemble job growth and small government to me. It appears more as if they are going for the throat of the American people — attempting to turn the public worker unions into eunuchs, outlawing abortion without actually rescinding Roe vs. Wade and stripping the lifeblood of two news organizations that likely represent the least biased news organizations in the country.
Why the ruckus? The presidency in 2012, that's why. Union's support Democrats, abortion supporters' back Democrats, and NPR and PBS are labeled "liberal," which is synonymous with...
You guessed it...the Democrats. Known in some circles as the "Demoncrats," they aren't innocent in all of this either, nor have been in the past (see: Lyndon B. Johnson, Jimmy Carter and Bill Clinton.)
Ah, fuck. Just stop the parade of lies, political charlatans. We'll respect you more if you just tell us face to face that you plan on sucking the marrow from our bones and feeding off our middle-class remains.
Just please give us the reach-around at least after you fuck us in the ass, as Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, our beloved senior drill instructor, begged in the past.
The times, they are certainly a-changin'.
The anti-union bills in Wisconsin and Ohio spurred protests at those state's respective capitals and college campuses. Meanwhile, it seems the entire Arab world has opened its eyes and realized that a bevy of tyrannical despots have been running roughshod over that region for years...or is it centuries?...or eons? — thus the multiple revolutions and uprisings.
The Clash, if they were around today, would title the song "Multicultural Riot."
Speaking of musical groups, here is a quick aside. Ohio once again got screwed...neither the Dropkick Murphy's or Tom Morello swung by the Buckeye state to lend their support to protesters like they did in Wisconsin.
Instead, I think Ohio had a barbershop quartet and some half-assed bagpipers. Nice.
Throw in a mulleted hair band while you're at it, or fuckin' Nick Lachey.
Ohio always gets shafted musically. James Brown left King Records in Cincinnati...Reznor left Akron and Cleveland, as did Chrissie Hynde...Manson left...Guided by Voices retired. Now all we have is repetitive emocore from Dayton's Hawthorne Heights.
And fuckin' Nick Lachey.
When country artist Jerry Reed wrote the lyrics "She got the goldmine, I got the shaft," he was waxing poetic about O-H-I-O.
Ok, now back to the original train of thought.
Folks are plain tired. They are tired of the broken record-ness of political systems and tired of lies. They are tired of seeing an elite few reap the rewards from the broken backs of the downtrodden many.
We haven't been this pissed off of a proletariat in a very long time...and 2012 is shaping up as either a beginning of things to come or the end of things as we know it — in more ways than one.
I will leave those ways to your imagination...
Let's get a little more lighthearted now. I'm just going to bitch for bitching sake and rattle off some random musings on pointless things I've read, seen or heard over the past few weeks.
You might as well throw on a swarthy jumpsuit and gold chain, Jim Tressel. Your days of dressing like Pa Cleaver and snookering the Ohio State faithful with your homespun coaching act is over. You bent over backwords to cover your players asses while flipping the bird to the university when it came to properly doing your job — which includes reporting player misconduct. Hmmm...
I now have no doubt that you didn't just throw, but rather violently flung former OSU running back Maurice Clarett under the bus when he raised his allegations about you back in 2003-04. More and more it looks as if the "thuggin' " ex-con from Youngstown was telling the truth about Tressel.
Interesting...we took the word of a white man over that of a black one. No surprise there, but it certainly has caught up to the white man now and deservedly so.
Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi has written a "novel." No, strike that. She dictated some ideas to a writer and then slapped her name on the book, which is nothing but a half-hearted attempt to fictionalize her partying exploits with the rest of the cast of "The Neanderthal Shore."
In the novel, there is even a date rape scene where either Polizzi or her hired gun writes that a girl deserved to be raped.
You, Snooki, deserve to be fucking fist-pumped in the face then dropped off in a Hell's Angel's clubhouse in Berdoo. Let's see if you feel the same way and would write the same drivel after that experience.
Have you ever been raped, Snooki? Have you ever had something forcefully taken from you — peace of mind, faith and self-worth — without your consent?
I know you shorts come unzipped easily, tramp, but that doesn't mean every woman's has too.
And folks bought the book. Hemingway is puking in his grave and it makes me think of some graffiti I once read in a gas station restroom.
" 'The Jersey Shore ' gives dagos a bad name." What a contradictory, yet strikingly perfect sentence.
Adrian Peterson, running back for the Minnesota Vikings, compared the labor situation in the National Football League to slavery...this coming from a man who makes multi-millions dressing up like a Road Warrior and carrying an inflated balloon of pigskin.
All on his own accord.
What the fuck did they teach you at the University of Oklahoma, Adrian? That you can volunteer to play a game for more money than a soldier, cop or teacher will make in a lifetime, yet it's on par with slavery?
What a way to piss on your ancestors. Fuck 'em, they're dead right? Who cares what they had to endure...Peterson's football career and future photo-ops on the cover of "Madden" are at stake, dammit!
Is there any wonder we have cults when we have idiots like this running around? Maybe he should marry Snooki...perfect goddamn couple.
Finally, let me briefly place my toes on the bandwagon/car wreck name Charlie Sheen. Nah, forget it.
I can't fault the man for his "Winning" attitude...it's the American way, after all. Blow shit up, regardless of whether it's yourself or other people, and win at all costs. We love watching him self-destruct and honestly don't want a damn soul to intervene and stop it.
As Sensei Kreese said back in 1984, "We do not train to be merciful here. Mercy is for the weak."
U.S.A., U.S.A!
Onto the flipside,
-Spragoo
Knee-jerk reaction was at its finest. RepubliTeacanPartiers were promising job growth, smaller government and winning numbers to the Mega Millions drawing; whatever it took for them to get the public to raise their pitchforks and run those Gawd damn-ned Democrats out of office.
And the voting public acquiesced. Suddenly, we had a boatload of fresh faces in various local, state and federal offices and the general consensus of those voters that placed them in office was that things would be different. Things would be fixed...
I am guffawing at this idea as I type.
I'm an independent, pure and simple. Not a Libertarian, a Tea Partier, a Green Jello-er, Coffee Partier, elephant, donkey or any of the remaining excuses we have for folks that supposedly pledge our best interests as a society before their own personal agendas.
Because, personally, I don't like having a black hood draped over my head by any political party in order to keep me blind, which is exactly what the latest crop of "conservatives" has attempted to do since taking office.
Wisconsin...Ohio...anti-abortion bills...healthcare bill repeals...yanking funding from PBS and NPR much like a bad parlor trick.
All of that doesn't resemble job growth and small government to me. It appears more as if they are going for the throat of the American people — attempting to turn the public worker unions into eunuchs, outlawing abortion without actually rescinding Roe vs. Wade and stripping the lifeblood of two news organizations that likely represent the least biased news organizations in the country.
Why the ruckus? The presidency in 2012, that's why. Union's support Democrats, abortion supporters' back Democrats, and NPR and PBS are labeled "liberal," which is synonymous with...
You guessed it...the Democrats. Known in some circles as the "Demoncrats," they aren't innocent in all of this either, nor have been in the past (see: Lyndon B. Johnson, Jimmy Carter and Bill Clinton.)
Ah, fuck. Just stop the parade of lies, political charlatans. We'll respect you more if you just tell us face to face that you plan on sucking the marrow from our bones and feeding off our middle-class remains.
Just please give us the reach-around at least after you fuck us in the ass, as Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, our beloved senior drill instructor, begged in the past.
The times, they are certainly a-changin'.
The anti-union bills in Wisconsin and Ohio spurred protests at those state's respective capitals and college campuses. Meanwhile, it seems the entire Arab world has opened its eyes and realized that a bevy of tyrannical despots have been running roughshod over that region for years...or is it centuries?...or eons? — thus the multiple revolutions and uprisings.
The Clash, if they were around today, would title the song "Multicultural Riot."
Speaking of musical groups, here is a quick aside. Ohio once again got screwed...neither the Dropkick Murphy's or Tom Morello swung by the Buckeye state to lend their support to protesters like they did in Wisconsin.
Instead, I think Ohio had a barbershop quartet and some half-assed bagpipers. Nice.
Throw in a mulleted hair band while you're at it, or fuckin' Nick Lachey.
Ohio always gets shafted musically. James Brown left King Records in Cincinnati...Reznor left Akron and Cleveland, as did Chrissie Hynde...Manson left...Guided by Voices retired. Now all we have is repetitive emocore from Dayton's Hawthorne Heights.
And fuckin' Nick Lachey.
When country artist Jerry Reed wrote the lyrics "She got the goldmine, I got the shaft," he was waxing poetic about O-H-I-O.
Ok, now back to the original train of thought.
Folks are plain tired. They are tired of the broken record-ness of political systems and tired of lies. They are tired of seeing an elite few reap the rewards from the broken backs of the downtrodden many.
We haven't been this pissed off of a proletariat in a very long time...and 2012 is shaping up as either a beginning of things to come or the end of things as we know it — in more ways than one.
I will leave those ways to your imagination...
Let's get a little more lighthearted now. I'm just going to bitch for bitching sake and rattle off some random musings on pointless things I've read, seen or heard over the past few weeks.
You might as well throw on a swarthy jumpsuit and gold chain, Jim Tressel. Your days of dressing like Pa Cleaver and snookering the Ohio State faithful with your homespun coaching act is over. You bent over backwords to cover your players asses while flipping the bird to the university when it came to properly doing your job — which includes reporting player misconduct. Hmmm...
I now have no doubt that you didn't just throw, but rather violently flung former OSU running back Maurice Clarett under the bus when he raised his allegations about you back in 2003-04. More and more it looks as if the "thuggin' " ex-con from Youngstown was telling the truth about Tressel.
Interesting...we took the word of a white man over that of a black one. No surprise there, but it certainly has caught up to the white man now and deservedly so.
Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi has written a "novel." No, strike that. She dictated some ideas to a writer and then slapped her name on the book, which is nothing but a half-hearted attempt to fictionalize her partying exploits with the rest of the cast of "The Neanderthal Shore."
In the novel, there is even a date rape scene where either Polizzi or her hired gun writes that a girl deserved to be raped.
You, Snooki, deserve to be fucking fist-pumped in the face then dropped off in a Hell's Angel's clubhouse in Berdoo. Let's see if you feel the same way and would write the same drivel after that experience.
Have you ever been raped, Snooki? Have you ever had something forcefully taken from you — peace of mind, faith and self-worth — without your consent?
I know you shorts come unzipped easily, tramp, but that doesn't mean every woman's has too.
And folks bought the book. Hemingway is puking in his grave and it makes me think of some graffiti I once read in a gas station restroom.
" 'The Jersey Shore ' gives dagos a bad name." What a contradictory, yet strikingly perfect sentence.
Adrian Peterson, running back for the Minnesota Vikings, compared the labor situation in the National Football League to slavery...this coming from a man who makes multi-millions dressing up like a Road Warrior and carrying an inflated balloon of pigskin.
All on his own accord.
What the fuck did they teach you at the University of Oklahoma, Adrian? That you can volunteer to play a game for more money than a soldier, cop or teacher will make in a lifetime, yet it's on par with slavery?
What a way to piss on your ancestors. Fuck 'em, they're dead right? Who cares what they had to endure...Peterson's football career and future photo-ops on the cover of "Madden" are at stake, dammit!
Is there any wonder we have cults when we have idiots like this running around? Maybe he should marry Snooki...perfect goddamn couple.
Finally, let me briefly place my toes on the bandwagon/car wreck name Charlie Sheen. Nah, forget it.
I can't fault the man for his "Winning" attitude...it's the American way, after all. Blow shit up, regardless of whether it's yourself or other people, and win at all costs. We love watching him self-destruct and honestly don't want a damn soul to intervene and stop it.
As Sensei Kreese said back in 1984, "We do not train to be merciful here. Mercy is for the weak."
U.S.A., U.S.A!
Onto the flipside,
-Spragoo
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Wicked Westboro...you are the draggin' queen...get outta here, ya bum!
Where do we draw the line?
Our saintly United States Supreme Court decided
Wednesday that the wicked Westboro Baptist
Klan - those most un-Christian of "Christians" -
could freely protest at the solemn funerals of
U.S. military members with their utter garbage
of "God Hates America" and "God Hates Fag
Enablers."
It's their First Amendment right, after all - or so
says the Supreme Court.
I'm ripped in half concerning this conundrum.
There is a reason for this.
As a veteran, it disgusts me to no end what this group of ignorant, hateful people do at the funerals of Americans that paid the ultimate price of death for our country. Yet, as a journalist and staunch supporter of the First Amendment, for me to root for the abolishment of their right to protest and speak - no matter how vile and putrid the rhetoric might be - would be in essence to cheer for the erosion of the basis for my chosen field.
That is the crux of my dilemma...and I'm sure as hell having a hard time staying objective.
So, I won't.
Take the hatred of the Nazi party, the ignorance of the Klu Klux Klan, the theocratic nonsense of Al-Qaeda and mix it up in a blender. Now let it sit in the sun for two days and spoil.
BOOM! You have Fred Phelps and his lobotomized minions spouting their most-definitely-not-the-word-of-God drivel.
Did you stop and think, Phelps, you convoluted bastard, just why in the hell you are protesting the very defenders of every freedom you live and breathe daily?
Do you think that Matthew Snyder and his other fallen comrades whose funerals you sullied only fought for homosexuals, Catholics and Jewish folks?
No.
They fought for you and your insidious klan of heathens.
I say "klan" because I refuse to call you a "church." In places titled "churches," they teach things such as the following...
"A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another." - John 13:34-35
Guess that doesn't really make you disciples or God's authority on much of anything, does it Mr. Phelps?
Send us a postcard from Hell when you and the kinfolk get there, Fred.
Let us know if global warming is having its effects there, too.
Speaking of homosexuals...
I visited my first gay bar last week, to assist a dear friend of mine in celebrating her birthday. It just so happened that a drag show was the entertainment of the evening, so it was a double-first for me...popping my cherry in the LGBTQ world, so to speak.
Talk about a convivial atmosphere!
An electic mix of shiny, happy people it was. I observed no mean-mugging, no fisticuffs, no arguments and some pretty stellar dances moves from the queens.
Throw in cheap beer and no wannabe Ronnie's from "Jersey Shore" and all in all it was a good time. Hell, I even got hit on by more men in one night than I have women in the past six months - sad but true.
Even a drag queen took her shot at me, which brought the biggest laught of the night.
Here is the scene...I'm outside on the front porch of the bar, killing myself slowly with the not-so-sweet smoke of a Marlboro when the following exchange occurs with an old drag queen - whom already had informed me that she wanted to have my fourth child after hearing me explain to another gent that I was straight and a father of three.
Drag queen: "So, now do I get to touch your dick?"
Me: (roars of laughter) "You are cracking me up."
Drag queen: "No, seriously. The two lesbians over there are busy making out and she (referring to a drunk passed out on a bench) is out of it. So, do I get to touch your dick?"
Me: (blushing brighter than Mephisto) "Ummmm...unfortunately, no."
Heavens to Betsy, what a way to close out the night, right? Quite flattering, I do have to say.
But goddamn, could a woman say that to me? Puh-leeze?
Ah, now for more insanity...
I work a second job in addition to being a hack journalist, as a rent-a-cop - I prefer the title "Centurion" - for Duke Energy in the downtown 'Nati.
And no, I can't help you with your electric bill.
Anyways, we have a camera in an alleyway next to the building that we monitor. It has a dumpster and heating grate that has quickly become the hottest night spot in Cincinnati outside of wherever the fuck George Clooney is filming. It has attracted a literal horde of bums.
Bums who over the past two nights have shit, pissed, masturbated and fought in the alleyway...which I now refer to as Golgotha.
It's a gathering of drunken rummies that have turned an alley into a microcosm of society today...the basest of human instincts in action.
It's amazing, hilarious and truly sad to watch.
It makes me wonder where we, as human beings, are really going and what we are.
We may never know.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my real "reality" TV viewing of homelessness and poverty.
-Spragoo
"He who makes a beast of himself relieves himself the pain of being a man." - Hunter S. Thompson
Our saintly United States Supreme Court decidedWednesday that the wicked Westboro Baptist
Klan - those most un-Christian of "Christians" -
could freely protest at the solemn funerals of
U.S. military members with their utter garbage
of "God Hates America" and "God Hates Fag
Enablers."
It's their First Amendment right, after all - or so
says the Supreme Court.
I'm ripped in half concerning this conundrum.
There is a reason for this.
As a veteran, it disgusts me to no end what this group of ignorant, hateful people do at the funerals of Americans that paid the ultimate price of death for our country. Yet, as a journalist and staunch supporter of the First Amendment, for me to root for the abolishment of their right to protest and speak - no matter how vile and putrid the rhetoric might be - would be in essence to cheer for the erosion of the basis for my chosen field.
That is the crux of my dilemma...and I'm sure as hell having a hard time staying objective.
So, I won't.
Take the hatred of the Nazi party, the ignorance of the Klu Klux Klan, the theocratic nonsense of Al-Qaeda and mix it up in a blender. Now let it sit in the sun for two days and spoil.
BOOM! You have Fred Phelps and his lobotomized minions spouting their most-definitely-not-the-word-of-God drivel.
Did you stop and think, Phelps, you convoluted bastard, just why in the hell you are protesting the very defenders of every freedom you live and breathe daily?
Do you think that Matthew Snyder and his other fallen comrades whose funerals you sullied only fought for homosexuals, Catholics and Jewish folks?
No.
They fought for you and your insidious klan of heathens.
I say "klan" because I refuse to call you a "church." In places titled "churches," they teach things such as the following...
"A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another." - John 13:34-35
Guess that doesn't really make you disciples or God's authority on much of anything, does it Mr. Phelps?
Send us a postcard from Hell when you and the kinfolk get there, Fred.
Let us know if global warming is having its effects there, too.
Speaking of homosexuals...
I visited my first gay bar last week, to assist a dear friend of mine in celebrating her birthday. It just so happened that a drag show was the entertainment of the evening, so it was a double-first for me...popping my cherry in the LGBTQ world, so to speak.
Talk about a convivial atmosphere!
An electic mix of shiny, happy people it was. I observed no mean-mugging, no fisticuffs, no arguments and some pretty stellar dances moves from the queens.
Throw in cheap beer and no wannabe Ronnie's from "Jersey Shore" and all in all it was a good time. Hell, I even got hit on by more men in one night than I have women in the past six months - sad but true.
Even a drag queen took her shot at me, which brought the biggest laught of the night.
Here is the scene...I'm outside on the front porch of the bar, killing myself slowly with the not-so-sweet smoke of a Marlboro when the following exchange occurs with an old drag queen - whom already had informed me that she wanted to have my fourth child after hearing me explain to another gent that I was straight and a father of three.
Drag queen: "So, now do I get to touch your dick?"
Me: (roars of laughter) "You are cracking me up."
Drag queen: "No, seriously. The two lesbians over there are busy making out and she (referring to a drunk passed out on a bench) is out of it. So, do I get to touch your dick?"
Me: (blushing brighter than Mephisto) "Ummmm...unfortunately, no."
Heavens to Betsy, what a way to close out the night, right? Quite flattering, I do have to say.
But goddamn, could a woman say that to me? Puh-leeze?
Ah, now for more insanity...
I work a second job in addition to being a hack journalist, as a rent-a-cop - I prefer the title "Centurion" - for Duke Energy in the downtown 'Nati.
And no, I can't help you with your electric bill.
Anyways, we have a camera in an alleyway next to the building that we monitor. It has a dumpster and heating grate that has quickly become the hottest night spot in Cincinnati outside of wherever the fuck George Clooney is filming. It has attracted a literal horde of bums.
Bums who over the past two nights have shit, pissed, masturbated and fought in the alleyway...which I now refer to as Golgotha.
It's a gathering of drunken rummies that have turned an alley into a microcosm of society today...the basest of human instincts in action.
It's amazing, hilarious and truly sad to watch.
It makes me wonder where we, as human beings, are really going and what we are.
We may never know.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my real "reality" TV viewing of homelessness and poverty.
-Spragoo
"He who makes a beast of himself relieves himself the pain of being a man." - Hunter S. Thompson
Friday, February 11, 2011
The aural death of John Mayer and DMB...don't want quoted, don't talk...monster to tackle
Welcome again.
I'm a college student, for those of you unaware of my subversive activities. I frequent such areas on campus as a bookstore, a food court and convenient store.
And every goddamn time, it seems, the cliche of college is playing over the blasted Muzak in those places.
John Mayer and the Dave Matthews Band.
Please, give me an icepick to slam violently through my eardrums so I don't have to listen to this crap anymore.
Cliches abound in college. It will never fail that frat boys will have navy blue shirts with "College" written across them, aping John Belushi in "Animal House."
It is guaranteed that there will be one white guy that lost his caucasian identity and became the trendy, cracker rastafarian doppelganger of Bob Marley.
"Old School" is regarded as a classic of modern American cinema...
It never changes. It truly doesn't. I've had the (unfortunate?) opportunity to be a college student in two eras - the late 1990's, when Dave Matthews and his motley troupe of seasonings were really hitting primetime - and the 2010's, when Dave Matthews and his motley troupe of seasonings are STILL being used as some sort of swan song for college youth.
The lamb-like college youth, that is. The ones that think "Crash" makes them enlightened and earthy while they throw on Abercrumbie and Fitch made in some third-world sweatshop.
You know, the places where folks still shit in their rice paddies to fertilize them?
I'm tired of the Dave Matthews Band being the house performers for college stereo systems throughout the United States. If you want to be earthy, toss on the Dead's "Truckin'" and don't bathe for eight days.
That's earthy...and fucking disgusting. But that is an aside.
John Mayer, meanwhile, was just a tiny tot when Dave Matthews was paving the way for warbling voiced, pro-hemp charlatans. Like most kids, he probably figured the easiest way into that sorority girls vaporlocked panties was acoustic whining and quoting Will Ferrell from his SNL days.
Mayer has done well, it must be said. He convoluted DMB's style, sprinkled in some "wonderland" bullshit and before you know it?
BANG! Jessica Simpson.
BANG! Cameron Diaz.
BANG! Jennifer Aniston.
'Nuff said. The man found the perfect elixir of crotch-dampening lyrics, guitar work that couldn't even hold Jack Black's jock - yes, Mayer is that bad - and pointless tattoos for street cred. He has elevated himself past the now-vanilla Matthews.
But still sounds exactly like him. Which means he sounds like absolute shit.
Yet college kiddos love 'em. Sigh.
One of my other subversive activities is being the news editor of the student newspaper at the prestigious university I attend. It makes for very interesting conversations and stories...
It also makes for pissing folks off, too - one of the perks I really enjoy.
I did a story last week, where I quoted a media representative from a company owned by a prominent sports figure. Guy was a PR douche, in other words.
Asked a few questions of him regarding the story, he answered cordially, end of discussion.
Bridge just built.
So, forward to running the story. I used quotes from the email correspondence with PR douche. I end up the next day with PR douche emailing me, "horrified" that his comments were printed.
He wailed that I should have asked permission to use his quotes and that I "may have thought I was juicing up my story, but all that I really did was burn a bridge."
Oh, and the threat that word gets around about such - gasp -devious things that I do.
Shut....the.....fuck....up.
PR douche claimed he had been in journalism for 50 years. Yeah? Well, if that is the case then you know, dumb bastard, that if you don't tell me "don't quote me on that" or "it's off the record" that -GUESS WHAT? - I can use it.
Much less to say, he did none of those things. So I used his comments that were not favorably towards the sports figure he represents. The situation reeks of PR douche getting his ass ripped by said sports figure, getting pissed off and wanting to take it out on me.
Well I have news for you, sir.
I don't burn bridges. I nuke them with extreme prejudice.
And I will leave the pieces for YOU to rebuild, not I...especially when you are fucking wrong.
I'll close with a heartfelt thanks to those who expressed their support of my book idea about the effects of the detention camps in Guantanamo Bay, both on former guards and detainees.
I worked there for two years, so it gives me an inside view and perspective others lack. I tossed the idea out there and received more feedback on it than any other post I'd placed on Facebook...
Ever.
So, I will tackle the monster. A monster it is, and I may as well sign off on five years of my life in writing it.
Will it be worth it? Financially? Mentally?
Only time will tell, but one thing is for certain...the stories need to be told.
And the story is not about me.
-Spragoo
I'm a college student, for those of you unaware of my subversive activities. I frequent such areas on campus as a bookstore, a food court and convenient store.
And every goddamn time, it seems, the cliche of college is playing over the blasted Muzak in those places.
John Mayer and the Dave Matthews Band.
Please, give me an icepick to slam violently through my eardrums so I don't have to listen to this crap anymore.
Cliches abound in college. It will never fail that frat boys will have navy blue shirts with "College" written across them, aping John Belushi in "Animal House."
It is guaranteed that there will be one white guy that lost his caucasian identity and became the trendy, cracker rastafarian doppelganger of Bob Marley.
"Old School" is regarded as a classic of modern American cinema...
It never changes. It truly doesn't. I've had the (unfortunate?) opportunity to be a college student in two eras - the late 1990's, when Dave Matthews and his motley troupe of seasonings were really hitting primetime - and the 2010's, when Dave Matthews and his motley troupe of seasonings are STILL being used as some sort of swan song for college youth.
The lamb-like college youth, that is. The ones that think "Crash" makes them enlightened and earthy while they throw on Abercrumbie and Fitch made in some third-world sweatshop.
You know, the places where folks still shit in their rice paddies to fertilize them?
I'm tired of the Dave Matthews Band being the house performers for college stereo systems throughout the United States. If you want to be earthy, toss on the Dead's "Truckin'" and don't bathe for eight days.
That's earthy...and fucking disgusting. But that is an aside.
John Mayer, meanwhile, was just a tiny tot when Dave Matthews was paving the way for warbling voiced, pro-hemp charlatans. Like most kids, he probably figured the easiest way into that sorority girls vaporlocked panties was acoustic whining and quoting Will Ferrell from his SNL days.
Mayer has done well, it must be said. He convoluted DMB's style, sprinkled in some "wonderland" bullshit and before you know it?
BANG! Jessica Simpson.
BANG! Cameron Diaz.
BANG! Jennifer Aniston.
'Nuff said. The man found the perfect elixir of crotch-dampening lyrics, guitar work that couldn't even hold Jack Black's jock - yes, Mayer is that bad - and pointless tattoos for street cred. He has elevated himself past the now-vanilla Matthews.
But still sounds exactly like him. Which means he sounds like absolute shit.
Yet college kiddos love 'em. Sigh.
One of my other subversive activities is being the news editor of the student newspaper at the prestigious university I attend. It makes for very interesting conversations and stories...
It also makes for pissing folks off, too - one of the perks I really enjoy.
I did a story last week, where I quoted a media representative from a company owned by a prominent sports figure. Guy was a PR douche, in other words.
Asked a few questions of him regarding the story, he answered cordially, end of discussion.
Bridge just built.
So, forward to running the story. I used quotes from the email correspondence with PR douche. I end up the next day with PR douche emailing me, "horrified" that his comments were printed.
He wailed that I should have asked permission to use his quotes and that I "may have thought I was juicing up my story, but all that I really did was burn a bridge."
Oh, and the threat that word gets around about such - gasp -devious things that I do.
Shut....the.....fuck....up.
PR douche claimed he had been in journalism for 50 years. Yeah? Well, if that is the case then you know, dumb bastard, that if you don't tell me "don't quote me on that" or "it's off the record" that -GUESS WHAT? - I can use it.
Much less to say, he did none of those things. So I used his comments that were not favorably towards the sports figure he represents. The situation reeks of PR douche getting his ass ripped by said sports figure, getting pissed off and wanting to take it out on me.
Well I have news for you, sir.
I don't burn bridges. I nuke them with extreme prejudice.
And I will leave the pieces for YOU to rebuild, not I...especially when you are fucking wrong.
I'll close with a heartfelt thanks to those who expressed their support of my book idea about the effects of the detention camps in Guantanamo Bay, both on former guards and detainees.
I worked there for two years, so it gives me an inside view and perspective others lack. I tossed the idea out there and received more feedback on it than any other post I'd placed on Facebook...
Ever.
So, I will tackle the monster. A monster it is, and I may as well sign off on five years of my life in writing it.
Will it be worth it? Financially? Mentally?
Only time will tell, but one thing is for certain...the stories need to be told.
And the story is not about me.
-Spragoo
Sunday, February 6, 2011
The curse of Mary Kay Letourneau returns...shirts or "Skins"?.....giving it 50 till the Running Man
The curse of Mary Kay Letourneau returns...
This photo is from the Cincinnati Enquirer, showing the walk of shame by soon-to-be former Mason High School teacher Stacy Schuler, who taught health and physical education to the youth of today.
And, allegedly, banged the hell out of five male students at the school...after getting them hammered, too.
Oy vey!
I'll say allegedly because she hasn't been convicted of a crime. I'll throw her that bone. But, you know what? It's my goddamn blog and I'll express my opinion about this rarity known as the female pedophile.
Look at her. She is 32 years old, a relatively attractive woman. I'm flabbergasted as to why she would stoop to bedding 15 to 18 year old boys.
Can anyone help me out here? She is too young to be considered a cougar...
I have my ideas. They may not be right, but I think they fall close to the mark.
Popularity.
Yessir, ole' Madam of the Night Schuler couldn't live without being the most popular in school...disregard the tiny fact she was essentially raping adolescents. She wanted to be wanted and talked about...mature relationships with other 30-somethings wasn't cutting the mustard. Most 30-somethings have moved past high school - popularity and being cool as shit don't feed the kids or pay the house payment.
Some, however, can't let go. Schuler seems to be one...no longer the center of attention amongst her peers, she delves into a pool of impressionable youth for her own self-gratification now.
It's fucking pitiful.
She is facing one to five years on each of the 19 felony counts of sexual battery and three counts of serving alcohol to minors she is charged with. I really hope that choosing these kids to make the beast with two backs was worth it all when she spends the rest of her prime in Marysville at the Ohio Reformatory for Women.
Rah, rah sis boom bah.
The students, meanwhile, ride out having lived the tawdry dream of getting hot for teacher...and sadly won't learn a damn thing from this mess. Sigh.
To quote the punk band the Misfits, "Children in heat, they have no conscience, no resistance."
How very true.
Speaking of teenagers, the new MTV show "Skins" just adds fuel to fires such as this. It glamorizes the lives of teenagers, putting their sexual exploits, drug use and all-around fucked-uppedness on display for a public that is more than willing to watch it.
Makes it...cool.
Why? Why do we watch it?
Seriously, I'm no prude. I'm not a proselytizing religious fanatic shouting a sermon on sin from my pulpit. But, I was a teenager once...I lived through similar shit.
What makes these fucking twits and their teenage angst so much more interesting than mine? What could they being going through that we as a society haven't experienced in our days of yore?
We've all known someone who had an eating disorder, used drugs, drank, had sex, smoked in the boys room, had uncool parents, oh bla de oh bla da.
Life goes on.
"Skins" is nothing special...just another whorish grab by the show's "stars" to make a cheap name for themselves. For MTV, it's another show to pull in the lobotomized viewers that get a fucking kick off shows that wallow in misery...hence the popularity of "16 and Pregnant" and other rubbish.
We are a society that craves disaster. We crave it like a junkie with their next injection of black tar heroin. It explains why family-oriented sitcoms have gone the way of the DeLorean and why primetime is filled with sociopathic plankton figuratively backstabbing and throatcutting the person next to them to get the recording contract, the million dollar prize or just their photo on OK! magazine and a few red-carpet invitations.
True, it has happened for almost three centuries in our country. It's just that we never televised or relished in it before.
Seeing the way this cultural phenomenon of "reality" is going, I give it no more than 50 years until we have a show similar to that of "The Running Man."
For you youngsters, it was a film starring Ah-nold Schwarzenegger and a then-hot Maria Conchita Alonso based on a Richard Bachman/Stephen King novel.
A novel that, written in 1982, tackled the idea of "reality TV" before it was even born. It's 2025 in the novel, the world's economy is utterly gutted (hmmm...) and violence is rising throughout the world (double hmmm....).
Ah-nold's character needs dough, so he enlists in a game show that forces him to run like a jackrabbit and survive the show's hunters that are trying to kill him. Ah-nold gets more money the longer he stays alive.
Right now we have a show titled "Survivor" that rewards folks for outlasting others...with money.
It's not a far leap to televise manhunt games and live death, now is it?
Grab your popcorn, kids. We used to be enlightened...but fuck that.
It's not as cool.
Keep your powder dry,
-Spragoo
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