A two-part post: Dream, Dream, Dreeeeeam & Mexican Boy Mall Adoptions

Hi, Grunt here, I just wanted to say that "Tuesday's Tips for Teens" is off the air for awhile. I am getting ready to tackle the "Wooderson" saga. I will do a refresher course post on that guy soon, so you newbies can catch up.

I was inspired to share my dreams when I read Vera's fabulous dream post tonight. You can read it here.

I only wish I had hosted the Everly Brothers, sans all the violence, in my dreams last night. Good music would have been welcome. Instead, I had freaky-assed dreams, and not the freaky-assed that could be mistaken with sexy, mind you.

For starters, I was lost in that fabled town that is comprised of every little quaint village that I have frequented/lived in my lifetime, yet is supposed to be the town that I live in currently. Parts of my past in England and various orchard towns along my home state of Utah get incorporated into a collage of sorts where I tend to have repeated themes of looking for a certain bakery/restaurant, person's home, or some forbidden/enchanted place.

This night I found a large kitchen, at which I supposedly was a chef. It was some kind of converted funeral home turned into a restaurant and they didn't take the caskets out; rather, the corpses were still in the caskets, and the caskets were left around everywhere. The most unsettling part of this was that they were propped open in various forms of display, standing up, partially open, or hanging out. My trip back to this place was to resolve something; what exactly, I don't know. I just remember an older woman placing my hand on the cutting board and nicking my thumb. I then held my bleeding thumb over some flour and began to knead it into a dough.

I baked this dough, and when it was done I pulled the bread out: it was now in the shape of the Star of David. I looked around and noticed that I was now among many gentiles in the city. I was compelled to convert all I came in contact with to Judaism, of which I am not. I tried to get mothers to give their sons barmitzfas, circumcisions, convince them of the merits and blessings of observing passover and a kosher diet in the correct manner. The weirdest part of this dream was the fact that when I needed sustenance, I would open a pouch on the inside of my foot and grab a hunk of gorgonzola cheese.

Okay, let the psychoanalysis begin.

Now, onto less weird things. I was at the mall on Monday. I took that whole day off from work, so I could enjoy the day before The Who concert. I was there at the mall to catch a flick, the new one with Will Ferrell, "Stranger Than Fiction". This turned out to be a great movie. Well, here I am walking through the mall, my brother was at some other shop and I decided that I wanted to walk the entire mall and see what I have been missing. See, I have not actually been in a mall for quite some time, and I have determined that I have not been missing much.

I am walking? Yeah, that's right. So, I start to feel like I have company. I look around and don't see anyone. I keep walking and still feel like I have someone right next to me. This time I look down. Lo and behold, there's this little Mexican boy staring up at me with an ice cream cone stuck in his gob. The moment our eyes fixed on another, we froze. The kid stopped eating his ice cream cone and let some of it drip down his chin as his eyes just grew to saucer-like proportions, as if to say, "Who the eff are you?" I had the same open-mouthed look on my face as I said to myself, "Where in the hell did he come from and where are his parents and/or guardians?" (Yes, I actually said "and/or guardians" in my head).

Well, the kid just took off after about ten seconds of our strange, little, staring contest. I sure hope he found his parents and/or guardians. I just wonder how long we had accompanied each other on our stroll through the mall. Funny.

I really admire this guy's chutzpa

I wonder, however, if this man could enlist the help of a certain tramp, a homeless avenger, yea, the mutant of the rails with mystical gypsy powers: Hobo Frankenstein!

Have any of you seen this creature? If you have, let me know.

The Who, concert was great, btw. I took about 26 seconds of video with my camera phone. It was right at that point where Roger screams "Yeeeeeeeeah" in "Won't get fooled again". It is really crappy sound and video. Maybe I'll post it on Youtube when I get the time. It was awesome, though. The opening act were The Pretenders. Chrissy was sooooo hot. I don't care how old she is; I want her!

My only gripe about The Who is that they did not play one song from Quadraphrenia. That is my favorite Who album. "Can you see the real me, preacher? Preacher???" I just wanted to hear that line sung live once in my life, because it is significant to me. I love the songs "One" and "Bellboy" amongst the obvious others off that album, too. Good news, though: Their new stuff really is great. Also, I used to feel that Pete was beginning to ditch athletic guitar work, as evident in some concert films I've seen in the past couple of decades. Not now. He was a demon! I was totally lost in his sound. Roger's vocals were so thick and gruff. The balls! Amazing, simply amazing.

Who am I seeing tonight in concert?

That's Who! I have great seats, too. I feel so lucky I could go to the loo.

Seriously, Pete's the man. This is a clip from their Woodstock performance of the instrumental "Sparks". Pete nearly kills his Gibson SG (with the soap-bar pickups). Back then, they either had to use a fuzz box of some kind, or just a plain old cranked vacuum tube amplifiers in stacks to get those heavy sounds. The later is the most organic hard rock sound that you can get, and the best, in my opinion.

If no one knows what Pete is talking about in the initial interview before the clip, about almost killing Abbie Hoffman at Woodstock, the story goes that Abbie Hoffman, a hippie activist, invaded the stage while The Who were performing. That is a big no-no. Pete Townsend was livid told Abbie Hoffman to f-ck of his stage, and then hit him over the head with his SG. Gibson SG's are made out of solid mahogany, and while not as hefty as a Gibson Les Paul, are quite heavy. Basically, if you had a baseball bat that was a bit on the heavy side, uh, real heavy side, and walloped someone over the head with it, they're going down for the count in a big way.

Anyhoo (I love that corny-hole word), I don't think Pete will be hitting any aging hippies over the head at tonight's concert. All I can say is that they better play their mod stuff. That and the whole mini-opera "A quick one while he's away". I might get a little of the first and none of the second. I just wanted to witness Roger Daltery looking silly, screaming, "Cello, cello, cello, cello, cello, cello!" I think I've lost most of you on that last bit. Oh well, I am going to have the time of my life and hope to be knocked unconscious as I make my way to the stage during a number.

YAY!

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Does this gay man scarf make me look gay? A brief look at various Scooby Doo characters

So, is it the man, or is it the ascot? Since the dawn of time, er...at least 70 years, there have been people working on this question. Even our friend, Fred Jones, is a bit mystified by this.

Fred gave up a part of his manhood to appear more sleuthy. He still managed to pull some feline, but, then again, what really happened between him and Daphne? Well, I think it is safe to say that Fred liked Daphne a lot, jeepers! Maybe, his choice to wear an ascot was part of his attempts to soften his image and appear less jockish. Maybe, he was born with the predisposed drive to wear an ascot. Who knows.

I think one thing is for sure...

Fred liked touching scary monsters. Was he a variation, a hybrid, of a necrophilliac and one who lays with the beasts of the field? Seriously, don't leave this guy, alone or otherwise, n the same room as Sasquatch. He just might try to pull of that mask and meddle a bit.

People say that Velma was the gay one of the bunch, but I have evidence to support otherwise...

Notice the longing and the look. She has always wanted Fred, but is lost in her world of clues. How can a Velma compete in a Daphne world?

Really, the ascot is not to blame here. Ascots are TIGF, but this next character about took the whole gang down to his level, and is just plain gay, in that "Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure" kind of way...

You can't hang an ascot on this travesty.

Own

This is comedic genius, Harold Lloyd, hanging from this clock. Yeah, he did it for real. He actually free-climbed this tall building entirely. He managed to do a ton of prat falls along the way. Harold owned comedy in a way that Chaplin and Keaton did, but so many others did not. I prefer Lloyd because he never got sentimental and was crazier than Jackie Chan when it came to physical feats.

Time, we borrow it, consume it, watch it drift away. David Bowie once sang in his song "Time", off of Alladinsane, "Time - He's waiting in the wings. He speaks of senseless things. His script is you and me boys."

It seems that Time has its way with us. What can we do? We don't even own this thing that we spend. What do we own?

Moments, feelings, memories: Time may alter those, erode them, but we own it. I have wanted to take a singular moment from my life and build a vibration from it. I want that vibration to shatter my existence and reveal everlasting bliss, then follow it. I can take a smile and meditate on it, not the meaning, but the mantra of a smile. It makes sense to me, at least. Maybe I am from another planet, but I have meditated on your smile, even though you have pulled away from me. I own that smile, those memories, that fascination, the moments, the way that I feel, and have felt.

Time, you are my muse, my lover, my landlord. When my rent is due, I hope to have spent you wisely--Time. But, Time, you will never take away what I own.

This clip is dedicated to Pants

It's a clip from one of my favorite dumb movies, ever: "Ruben and Ed".

This shot was taken at Pineview reservoir, only twenty minutes from where I live. This is where my pal Marlboro Man and I would spend our high school days taking his boat out and doing some serious water skiing. I can't remember just how many times I skipped school, but I'm sure that's one of the many reasons I almost flunked out. Thank goodness coach "C" and night school saved my sorry ass.

(Updated @ 11:20 PM MST: I heard that it was East Canyon reservoir, but upon further review, I have concluded that it is Pineview reservoir, which is about the same distance from where we lived and also a place where we sloughed school, bigtime. It would have made more sense to have filmed at Echo lake/reservoir. You'd have to see the film to get it.)

Tuesday's Tips for Teens: Ungooktu and Teaktee party hard!

Hello teens!

Today's "Triple T" will be more of a field trip of sorts. You get to come along with me into the rain forest and see how the natives do, yo!

I was out in the Amazon minding my own business, when all of a sudden I hear the dopest beats coming from a thicket of bushes. I found these two guys rapping on top of some tribal drums, about killing panthers, stealing other tribes ho's and biatches and snorting something they call "Vine of the Dead", or ayahuasca. How did I know that this is what it was? Well, for starters, I believe in myself and that I can do anything, if I put my mind to it. So, I put my mind to it and believed that I could speak perfect Quechua. I am also familiar with Alan Ginsberg's "The Yage Letters". I have always dug going on psychotropic benders, so I indulged in a bit of the "vine".

After some time communing with the spirits of the dead, some good, most evil, I was in need of some purging. That yage certainly cleans you out. I felt like if I were to have fallen asleep, I'd have pulled a "Spud" and crapped my bed, or my pile of leaves. Whatever.... "Trainspotting" was a totally brill film, though. I thought to myself: Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could show these guys that scene where the dead baby is climbing the ceiling and crying? That would freak the hell outta them right now! Not to mention that Iggy Pop's "Lust for Life" would have been a great song for all of us to start dancing to. But, I forgot my V-Pod. Wait, I don't have one yet. Drat!

The next thing that I know, these hot native biatches from the tribe just down the way (East side, y'all...holla!) came up to us and started making fun of my complexion. They said that the only way they'd be down wit me is if I killed them each two monkeys. I have always been good with a blow gun, and I always have some curare handy, just in case of emergencies like this. So, I prepped my darts with some curare and headed out wit da boyz to pop one in some damn butt monkey's ass. Sheeeit, boy, those monkeys were hella fast! But, we triumphed and headed to our biatches with our heads held high and our blow guns at attention. Except...

I was having some problems. Everything is so public here. I got a bit nervous and, well, my blowgun was a bit blown out. My boy, Ungooktu, had my back. He gave me some great stuff called, Muria Puama. He just called it "Whaaaaaheyhey!" I was partying in no time. We used "banana leaves", k? Gosh, I'm not a friggin' rube!

It was about this time that my biatch was not wanting to leave and it was getting awkward. Teaktee came over and saved me. He was being such a cock-blocker before, with all his yelling at my monkeys--couldn't get a damn shot. Now, he distracted this biatch with fresh panther musk and promises of a large grass hut on the riverside. I was more than happy to leggo my biatch to "Tea-boi". He is totally into polygamy, so he was more than happy to oblige.

Overall, the partying in the jungle forest was epic. We went on like this for a whole week. In fact, I don't think that they do much of anything else.

Holla!

More Grunt Inventions

I am working on an idea again. See if you guys can follow me on this. I need a bunch of those, up there.....and a pack of these, down there. I might even throw in a squirrel that's been given some Red Bull. Oh yeah, and some kind of harnesses. This is gonna be sweet! I figure that between Karyn's "Nose Sock", whatever this is, and my "Soul Patch, Patch (Yo, you down wit SPP?)", this is just the start of something big and revolutionary.

TIGF!!!(That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Men in tights

What can I say? How's about, Ta Da!!! Behold, manly men in pink tights and tutus. I've watched my share of Nutcracker Suites in my lifetime and let's just say that I was a stupid kid that didn't want to be left home alone with his crazy grandma. Yes, it had nothing to do with the fact that I really, really, liked it.

Ballet is one of those things that a man of a certain callousness, and gravelly fortitude, should never admit to liking. But, I have often wondered about the pleasures of what my friend, Ignacio, calls "stretchy pants".

Do they ride up pleasurably, or is it just plain uncomfortable? What about glide factor: Is there a significant reduction in friction, and if so, is it worth the humiliation? What color will bring out the contours of my thigh muscles more, pink or white?

It seems that it is context specific: retaining your manhood whilst wearing tights.

For example...

The Blue Demon! While he is now deceased, you still can't mess with this guy. He will actually come down from Luchadore Heaven and pile-drive your ass till your eyes pop out. He has a rep to protect. Don't be dissing his stretchy pants, or he'll throw in a figure four leg lock after flying from the top rope into you like a freaking condor getting his carrion. But, take note of this: He wears a mask. This is smart, because this accentuates his sexy and his ferocity. Oh yes, you heard me: The sexy!

Want proof that luchadores are truly magnificent men, who both are fully hetero, manly-man, and mui TIGF??? Check this out right here, bro...

Oh, how he triumphs sexually. Is it the man? No! It is the stretchy things!!!

Want further proof that stretchy things can be paradoxically manly and TIGF? Sure, I'll give you shortcakes something to put between your ears and legs. Get a load of this guy here...

Yeah, it's none other than Robin Hood himself. Not many that have messed with this guy have been able to keep their bags of gold, afterward. If you want an idea of just how important Robin Hood is just ask the poor. Ask the ladies, too. Remember, this guy here was the best, and sexiest one, to don the green tights:

Ladies, can you feel the Errol?

As for me, the only stretchy pants that I have been able to pull off...that didn't sound right. I mean, what looked good on me, were football pants and ski pants that were flared for the boots (ah, the 80's and my Roffe ski gear). I do have pair of bike shorts, but take it easy. I don't do requests.

So, all of you men, it is okay to wear the tights. As my friend Ignacio says, "Sometimes, when a man is alone in his room, he likes to put on a-stretchy pants". Just make sure you are engaged in the appropriate ass-kicking activities, and all will be forgiven.

An invention that I am currently working on

The soul patch patch. It's for easing men off of the soul patch and onto a life free of trends.

Hey

I think I might need some of your mojo. This week has been a horribly stressful one for me and my family. I have been mum to everyone except for my close friends on this. I'll explain a bit.

My 11-year-old nephew "R" started bleeding internally on Monday. My sister (oldest) did not know what was wrong. The doctor's gave him a blood transfusion on Tuesday and a bone marrow biopsy as well. We still don't know, but it is looking like he has leukemia. I'd run a tally of events that have happened to my family these past few months, but it just depresses me to think about it. I am glad that we are survivors. I just don't know how much more bad/stressful things in such a short time I can handle happening to my family. My sister "B" is finally doing well, thank goodness.

Anyway, I have been relying on Youtube to bail me out for posts. I had some great ideas, but no energy to carry them out. I was hoping to get some recording projects finished, but I am now stuck on some stupid guitar layers that I just can't seem to get right. I need to treat you guys to a vacation post and get my pics up. I need to get out looking for another job. But, guess what? I am spent. The good news is that I am about to pay the last payment on my student loans. Wheeeeeeee!

I have had some pains with my body that don't seem to be going away. That auto accident seems to really have done some lasting damage. The thing that sucks is that I already settled. I feel like such a sucker. This is why I really need another job. I can't hack it with my back and neck, anymore. I just feel so slow now. My wrist is killing me all the time. All the employment I've known has been physical work. I really don't know how I'll take to something more sit down, or office culture. That is something that gets me worried.

Hell, I can't even play my guitar for more than a half hour before I feel like I need to quit.

I know I can get better. It is just that I have not been patient and have tried to force my recovery. This is how I've always been. I had some internal surgery once where they took my appendix out and removed some tissue that was wrapping itself around my colon. I went back to work in seven days. My boss really didn't know what was going on and just seemed to care that he didn't have to find someone to replace me.

This leads me to believe that I have some reprogramming to do. I need to work in a more supportive environment. I am loyal to a fault and rarely have thought about my own benefit--I was so much into the "crew". I often wonder what all of this says about me. How many rewards have I missed out on? How many women have passed me up? Money does matter--don't say it doesn't. I feel like such a chump sometimes, but I am determined to not give up. I will make something happen. I can't feel sorry for myself. I am too smart and too talented for me to be sorry. I just have to give myself a swift kick in the ass, and get on with it--pussy!

Alright, I'm done talking shit today. You guys enjoy your Halloween candy.

I'll remove the cause...

...but not the symptom.

Just for fun, share your favorite "Rocky Horror Picture Show" moments and/or experiences from events. My favorite moment was getting monster mashed by a topless woman at one of these showings. She ran down the isle before I even knew what was happening. If only she knew that I was sporting some Arby's. I'm guessing that I threw a hotdog at her and it got her real riled up and just had to say hello in her own unique way. I am eternally grateful.

Happy Halloweeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!

Happy Almost Halloween: Alice Cooper Live, performing "Steven"!

Go here, "Ghost Story", if you want to hear about my true life encounter with the other side. Just promise me to leave my cousin alone. He doesn't blog anymore and doesn't need Gruntonians asking questions about this story. I was the one that told him to post on his blog on my behalf (this was before he got me into all this blogging mess). So, if you have questions about this story, you can email me or leave comments here.



I love Alice Cooper, and "Steven" is one of his more disturbing songs and this is an entertaining live performance of part of it. It's Halloween, so enjoy.

My celebrity look-a-like thingamajig

Why do I have to be looking like the worst President of the United States, ever? I think I make up for it more than enough by looking like all these other shit-hot guys, though. I don't have a straight-on shot of my face, so this will have to do. I'm still going as McKinley for Halloween. Who's Hrithik Roshan? Damn! I need to start telling people that I look like him, or go to his native land and clean up! I don't know what happened to Bela Bartok, but he was another good looking guy.

My favorite here is a toss up between Kanye and Kyle. Mr. Mac Lachlan gets my pick for having done so many cool flicks with David Lynch, plus that one Vegas movie. What was that one called? Oh yeah, "The stupidest movie ever invented, but as long as there are horny men in the world, will always be out of stock at your local Blockbuster Video", or something like that. I just remember it had a very long title. I have a bad memory, I think.

As for the rest, the Tom Cruise thing is not so desirable anymore. Spike Lee is beyond cool. What can I say? I look like Johnny Depp! That association could possibly get me laid on its own. I think that I need to add a few of these to the results: ??? I'm not complaining, though.

I need to get a straight-on shot and see who I look like. I'm hoping that Don Knotts and Colonel Sanders pop up.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Halloween III

Why'd they make this movie? It is so stupid. It is TIGF, but not in a good way. However, the Silver Shamrock song is way cool, and totally TIGF in a good way. Enjoy!

At the speed of fudge many interesting things happen

Seen right is Beaver O'Lindy and her magic blue ball. Lindy is what is known as a woofer in a tweeter's clothing.

I have given much thought to creating something that I'd like to call a roast beef pizza. I think it would be a hit. Gravy for the sauce, mashed potatoes for the cheese, and a Yorkshire Pudd for the crust and that is just the basic foundation, folks.

One thing that I've noticed is that the Arby's logo looks rather phallic. Every time I see Arby's ads about "I'm thinking Arby's" it's like that person just has penis on the mind. Yeah, you heard me: penis! Don't know what I am talking about? Look here: Arby's. Stick around for a bit to see all the people go walking across the screen. I swear Arby's is trying to start a revolution of phallic porportions. You want curly fries with that?

I think if I were to be any character from the Mad Max trilogy that was not Mad Max, the dog, or the Feral Kid, it would definitely be the Humungus:
He has the best body, a bitching revolver, and a kick ass car. Plus, check out his posse...holy crap! I can't wait for Fury Road to come out. I don't care how crazy Mel Gibson is. I just want one more of those movies, please!!!

Alright, short but sweet post tonight. My sister "B" is suffering from complications from her gastric bypass surgery and is still in the hospital. Yeah, nothing is easy, but I have faith that things will eventually go well. BTW, we got snow today and it stuck on the roads. Fun stuff, and yesterday it was so warm. Anyway, If you all want to, say a prayer for "B" for me, or do whatever it is that will bring blessings her way. I'd appreciate it. I try my best to not show it, but it really is worrying me right now.

Just a post in passing

I have been mui busy today. I have been working hard on some recordings and I need to wrap all that stuff up because it could just keep going and going.

Some of you are probably wondering what in the hell that green buggy is pictured to the right. That is a John Deere Gator 6x4, diesel. I have one for my work. They are fun as hell and mega useful. Today I picked me up a nice tall blonde gal, our community relations manager. I was pretty chuffed having seeing how she was responding to it all, and so gave her a nice long ride. I was tempted to take the Gator off some awesome jumps to impress her. She had a lot of fun, and I think she is finally going to grow a pair and get rid of the sad-sack ex-fiance/on and off again boyfriend just so she can go cruisin some more with her new mate--me!

There's another lady at work that every time I see her she giggles uncontrollably--real high-pitched too. I love it, because I can start pecking at her with silly remarks and almost make her hyper ventilate until she faints. She's another looker with brown hair and hazel eyes--great combo. But, she is married. Drat!

The lady that runs our mail room has confessed to me that she had an erotic dream about me. She is married too. She said that in dream world the rules are different and that she can get it on with strapping young studs such as I. She then said that she was very married after licking her lips a bit and giving me the thrice over. That one was pretty great, but now I am a bit nervous to be alone in the same room with her. Kidding! Naw, she's cool.

Now here's where it gets strange.

This guy is back following me around. I found out that he now works in our mainframe. He cornered me the other day and asked me if I were married, then what I like to do for fun. He doesn't look like it, but he's 60 and single (I thought he was younger). He was asking me all this stuff like if I wanted to come over and see his dogs, then he pulls out a big freakin' tazer, scarier than the last one and starts zapping it in my face. He then rolls back his sleeves and shows me the scars where he's tried it out on himself. After that, he pulled out a Saturday Night Special out of his boot and just held it there, twisting it around so that the nickel finish would glimmer. He then started going on about his 50 calibers and I told him I had to get going.

I think I am going to need the help of "Grunt's Angels" to protect me from this crazy sonovabitch.

A post that Christielli will love

I admit it: I am an addict. The McRib is back, folks. I have been such a good boy, too. Today I snuck off to McDonald's to get me one. I pulled up to the drive-thru talkbox and was so excited. I even called it a "McRibwich". I felt just like my buddy Homer Simpson, haaaaahhgurgle *drool*.

I got through to that magical second window and the Mexican guy was real nice and prompt, but I couldn't understand what he said other than, "You have meal and Diet Coke?" Well, I heard "McRib". I pulled away and parked in a nearby trucker lot--the prostitutes weren't out, too cold. Sheesh! I'm not like that, okay?

So, I get into my bag of goodies and find out that they gave me a Big Mac! Nothing wrong with that, I love 'em. But, that was not the fix I needed. I mean, if I am going to get fat it is going to be death by McRibwich! So, I went back in and hooped and hollered. I am a reasonable guy until you cross my animalistic needs. I mean, this sandwich is like a shrunk down version of that rack of ribs that tipped over Fred Flinstone's car. Don't they understand this? Well, if they didn't before, they sure as hell know now.

I got my meal gratis. I am special. I think I want a t-shirt to commemorate this moment. In fact, just like The Simpsons, I want to become a McRibwichead and follow its farewell tour throughout the nation. I might even get a Corvette out of this deal. I must have the last one!

Anybody want to fix up an old VW bus and come along with me?

Sorry

Some will have had the Early Bird Special, Bloglines crowd will have it as well. Just know this: I was pretty out of it and super emotional. I just didn't like what I said. I'm feeling increasingly angry and frustrated and I just need to chill out. Things are not okay, but that is something that me and my 3D's will have to take care of. If any of you did read it and got in anyway offended, well, you'll just have to contact me.

I am doing the Flickr thing for my trip photos. I didn't know that you had a monthly limit on downloads there. I will have to be selective. There are quite a few water damaged photos, but are still cool. There were some really cool shots that didn't turn out because the flash didn't work. So, look for those coming up. I want to put them on my sidebar like I've seen on other blogs. I will probably repost the blog entry after I have had a chance to look at it some more. I sometimes hit that publish button prematurely. Of course, subscribers of my blog on Bloglines get to enjoy the post. It probably wasn't that bad. I just needed to take it back in and sit on it for a bit.

Back by popular demand, and only slightly tampered with: "Type type type type type type type type type type...."

Warning: This post will be going all over the place and is not funny. Enjoy!

Seriously, I'm having a hard go of it lately. Not blogging, however; I'm good at that. Too many surgeries going on in my family, accidents, financial problems, etc. Apparently my sister decided to go and get herself scheduled for gastric bypass surgery. I found out about this when I got back from my trip. I'm dancing barefoot and outside the gym in the hallway all by myself this time because that's just the deal now. Tired of all this shit, really tired. Enough is enough. I've had it up to here...wait, you guys can't see, but I had my hand way above my head.

I had a day out with my sister. She goes in for surgery on Monday. She told me that aside from the health reasons, she was wondering what it would be like to be looked at again. She started to cry a great deal when she was telling me this: people don't look at her when they talk to her, it's as if she is not worthy of that kind of contact. In a world of big boobs and Paris Hilton-meets-truck-stop personalities, I find this rather disheartening. My sister is big, but not so huge that it is a pain to the eye. I really despise people's superficial obsessions about thighs, boobs, ass, abs, whatever. I really despise individuals that are only about that, or perpetuate such things. Hitler hated hook noses, look where that got him.

Okay, so the Hitler thing was a bit extreme, but preferences are fine, ridicule is not. As for myself, I am a very strong man physically. I have been able to bench 330 lbs. My grip has been measured at 180 lbs. Don't get me started. My point is that I can rip my shirt off and have no claim to looking like a beefcake, despite being able to kick beefcake's ass. Pasty white guy am I. I do not have that sculpted look, rather, cornfed. I have had fun looking at non-athlete, chiseled men get bested by cornfed or wiry sorts (I respect true athletes). My body can take enormous abuse. I am very calloused. However, my enormous strength and toughness are not ideal in terms of body aesthetic. My body is so broad that even when I am skinny, I look stocky. I am the last of the Neanderthals.

Since my accident I've gained back about eight pounds. Let's see, I was 260, dropped down to 215, and am now 223, all @ 5'11" tall. I could get my weight down to 185 and still look pasty and fat. I accept it. Anyone who has enough disgust with my body can arm wrestle me or get their strongest friend to do so. Some good looking people are so unhealthy it is ridiculous, but because they look good, no one cares. I love isometrics and real world labor/activities to build up strength and toughness. I had a job once that I basically shoveled dirt, picked up and carried scrap steel and timber all day long 10-13 hours a day. Before that, I worked in a window fabrication assembly line. I was carrying, lifting, flipping 15-70 lbs of finished window stock over and over, 10 hours a day (I made tons of Tongan, Vietnamese, and Armenian gang members shit list for being different as well at that job--they grouped me in with the rednecks--that parking lot was crazy). After both those jobs, I threw garbage and drove the truck for an old man and then the damn polygamists. I've never once had anyone say that I looked hot, but I could out-tough and out-last most.

Getting my education was nice, but I really didn't fit in well on campus because I had to go straight to work in blue collar land after I was done with my classes. Being truly different is not attractive, folks. Welder's caps are only cool when they keep hot cherries from lighting your mop up all spectacular and shit. I have had people tell me that a guy like me is cool, etc. Yeah, on here it is easy. I've had my share of people reach out to me online and most have been great. Occasionaly you get some that will mess you up just like 3D land, where some turn out to be real whackjobs or just plain hit and run type pals--you know, the ones that always have their running shoes on just in case things get icky (if anyone thinks that I am referring to them here, I can't help that--just get/stay in touch, okay, then obviously it is not a problem).

I have felt that until people in "real life" start noticing all these wonderful things about me, it is just a load of Mister Roger's land of make believe bullshit, but now I feel that some of you are people I can trust and count on enough to take what you say to heart.

In the real world, life is ugly and it is beautiful. From my eyes I try to see beauty, but there's too much that is ugly in hate, ugly in profane and vulgar revelry, ugly in exploit, ugly attacking children's minds in the base form of pornographic excrement (yeah, I know some of you enjoy some "hey hey", but you are adults--I won't preach to you). I can't even begin to tell you how much sorrow fills my heart at what we have done to our bodies and our minds--our souls and our earth.

I will only say this on this blog once and will edit it out eventually for the sake of it not being a distraction. My life spent as a minister/missionary in England was one of joy spreading peace, hope, and love, but I witnessed so much unhappiness that I nearly needed to forget my own name and identity to regain some of my sanity back. While that is a great moment of my life, probably the greatest, the aftermath of it all has left me alienated in a world that I was being groomed to inherit and lead. I am caught between two worlds now and am disgusted by both. I have seen the disappointment in leader's eyes when they've seen me since. I was truly remarkable and valiant in my work. Logically, it should've meant I was a lock. They see me now as a wayward soul. The world sees me as a square.

I try going to clubs and doing that stuff, but I just can't shake my past lifestyle--ironically, a lifestyle that saved me from truly anti-social and reckless behavior. I've never got the whole "I'm bad" pantomime, especially from people that are able to do so much good and uplift many around them. Only if you could see how silly you look pretending. Come and see me when you've got no hope and bad is just what happens. Then on the flipside, I can't be genuinely involved in something that I am not comfortable in administering any longer.

I have resisted running away from all of this, but I think that I might need to relocate and hit the reset button. Eventually people will wonder why I try to live such a clean life, but do not go to church and am twisted as hell. Best of all, I will have the pleasure of explaining everything to them. Talk about conflict. Talk about feeling/being alone. I know that this missing puzzle piece just made things a bit clearer. You can never escape your past.

I'm spinning till I puke still. Are you guys still spinning with me?