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Preview: Y-2-DRAY 4-EVER!


Droppin' it 'til I drop. Not quite kid friendly or safe for work. Batteries not included. Wash hands after use. Close cover before striking.

Updated: 2017-09-07T22:14:51.379-03:00


Nothing to see here now... move along... life happens... later.



For quite a long time, this blog has been languishing along with my other projects.

In the past, with some new means of expression, I would play around , do some shits and giggles, then, once bored, run off to do something else with a new toy.

In this case, my new toy is "The Jacques Treatment".

"The Jacques Treatment" was originally a series of vids that I did on YouTube. Unlike the vitriol that I've posted on this blog in the past, mine consisted of some random thoughts and other silly shit. There was some great potential with them. People would subscribe to my channel and post something.

Then, I became bored with that. There are so many people doing vids, plus doing the post-production and uploading took a lot of my me-time to watch other people's vids.

Throughout all this time, I was going through therapy, a failed relationship, work stress, several near-evictions, financial woes, midlife and existential crises, addiction, recovery, relapse, re-recovery, anger, confusion, personal behavioural issues, self-reflection...

All these things would drive a normal person to suicide.

I admit: I'm not really that normal a person.

I'm not a totally responsible person.

Sometimes the competitiveness, mandates and chaos of the real world pisses me off and I simply wanted to withdraw just once and find solace in the eternal playground of my mind, which never stops creating an alternate universe and thinking well outside the box.

In the past, I didn't live my life right. I've probably made more mistakes and have gotten into trouble that any normal person would never think of doing in the first place. I've made a lot more enemies than I have made friends. all for the wrong reasons. And I may have alienated many more than I care to remember..

I've done my share of self-delusion and self-medication. I've given into temptation many times over. And I must admit, I enjoyed the ride while it lasted until either the money ran out or when the ride started to affect my "normal" life, the one that created the money in the first place.

I will not explain to you my 2 "bottoms". This is not something that I would wish to discuss except to a few trusted people who know. It was, in hindsight, very unpleasant and has cost me more than my sanity. But they woke me up, albeit too late to undo any damage made in their wakes.

But here I am. Recovering. Regrouping. Rebuilding.

I may not have enough time on this earth - the human body doesn't rejuvenate itself and will always betray  and foil its master at times. But I still want to be The Man. Hopefully sooner than later.

I accept my past. I cannot change it. I cannot rewrite it. I cannot ignore it. There are times when I simply damn it. But I'm proud of the small victories that I have made and the contributions that I have made to society, to the community.

But my priority is the here-and-now. And things don't get done on their own. My job, as a creative being, is to live a better life. To create. To express, Without a gun pointed at my head.. So to Hell with you, World. I'm here to stay.

The world stops for no-one. It sure as hell didn't stop for me. Don't expect it to stop for you.

09SEP01: “Once upon a time in Esquimalt, British Columbia”


The place where I woke up one Tuesday Morning in 2001I was never a fan of mornings.I knew that Tuesday morning would be no more different than Monday morning, except that it was one day closer to the weekend that I used to crave. Once with booze, tunes, women, girls, and more booze.Given the type of person I was back in the day, I usually wound up with more booze. And there were times that I had to pay for the women.But this was a Tuesday morning in September, as grey as the ship on which I served, tied up alongside at Canadian Forces Base Esquimalt, located just outside Victoria, British Columbia, Canada. And it was a day that was no different from the Monday that preceded it, nor should it be from the following Wednesday. Come to think of it: back then, nothing mattered but the weekend from a Tuesday point of view. I was there to get paid. And hopefully to get laid. Which, in my case, I had to pay for that privilege.The only thing I had to do first was answer that alarm clock. She was an unforgiving bitch with a snooze button effective for only 3 minutes until she got vindictive with a louder blast. So I decided, “Fuck it. I’m up” and struggled to sit upright on my bed. I grabbed my pack of smokes and took out the first stick of the day, a ritual that was costly since a 20-pack of anything would run up to 10 to 11 dollars in BC at the time. But I was jonesing bad for that nicotine fix, because I knew that the day would be another crashing bore of training, teaching, training, dills, more training. I really didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, nor did I really cared about giving a fuck, but it paid for the smokes and the booze. And that was good enough for me.It didn’t make matters any better that I was also a senior naval combat information operator on that boat. The naval reserve maintains 12 maritime coastal defence vessels, 6 per coast. Of the 6 in Esquimalt, 1 is set aside for refit and alongside training. My job consisted of ensuring that the kids under my control get familiarised with the equipment in the operations room and to get ready for work at sea. Honestly, I had no clue what I was doing, everything seemed a little over my head and I preferred to delegate the dirtiest of dirty works to my 2 senior Leading Seamen. Even though I was their boss, I always wound up partying with them on weekends, trying desperately to behave more sober than the minions. The end result , of course, was major fail.After I lit up the first stick, I turned on the radio. The Victoria radio scene reflected the Zeitgeist of the 21st century "Naughts" - either all poppy or all crusty. It reflected the city’s attitude which was that of the “nearly-wed or the nearly-dead”, reflecting on those who were close to being married, yet were eventually condemned to an unfulfilling existence, and those who were close to meeting their respective makers, yet were eventually condemned to an unfulfilling existence. A no-win situation if you were stuck on an island. Rather than deal with the vapid blathering of the morning pop-radio deejays, I opted for the tried-and-true CBC Radio 1.Normally, on this station, there would be talk about politics, world events, local events, more politics and fluff pieces on home and garden care in the morning, with more of the same in the afternoon and in the evening. No matter where you are in Canada, there is always a CBC Radio 1 for news and talk and a CBC Radio 2 for arts and talk, all more or less homogeneous in content and ideology. In fact, the only thing that kept me from being a complete fan of Radio 1 was because their “unbiased” dial seemed to be turned  all the way to Loony-Left. Not that there was anything wrong with dippy hippy philosophy, but when someone would host a “serious” current events show, the last thing the the listener would want is an indoctrination. At least the news coverage was good.Something was really wrong on that day. The news was centred around a couple of plane crashes, one in New York City, another one in Washington, DC, yet[...]

The Occasional Rant:
"Cowboys and Aliens"
"Rise of the Planet of the Apes""


Great way to spend a vacation Tuesday with a double bill worth 12.00. Had to spend extra for some Starbucks and Swiss Chalet. But what the Hell: it's my vacation and I can spend it any way I want.First movie was Jon Favreau's genre-bending "Cowboys and Aliens", a noisy fusion of outlaws, natives and some rogue space invaders. This more is more like a spaghetti western rather than "High Noon" or "Shane". A Man With No Name wakes up in the middle of nowhere , wondering what happened to him and his wife. A posse passed by and recognised him as a wanted man. After overpowering said posse, no-name arrived at a one-horse town where an intoxicated son of a cattle baron started to shoot things up.Things get interesting after the stranger winds up sharing the paddy wagon with the aforementioned delinquent. Strange flying objects swoop into town abducting townspeople like cattle. Not a good day in the West.As I have said, this film is more spaghetti western than the traditional strain. Alliances have been created amongst outlaws (cattle barons and train robbers), settlers and the natives. Daniel Craig does his take on the Clint Eastwood persona while Harrison Ford channels a cowboy Indiana Jones. Aliens or no aliens (the opening body cavity brings to mind the alien from, ahem, "Alien"), this is a fairly decent popcorn movie. Nothing mind-blowing or inspirational, just another fun caper in the Old West.In "Rise of the Planet of the Apes", was the director trying to makes this ragtag group of chimps, orangutangs and gorillas into the new Navi? I hope not, because by the way the soundtrack was going, this movie seem to be playing the "Avatar" race card.James Franco plays a researcher trying to find a cure for the Alzheimer's that's slowly claiming his father (as played by the progressively ageless John Lithgow). He brings home a baby chimp that was rejected by his mother who was injected with a prototype drug known as ALZ 112. Apparently, this chimp, who inherited the drug at birth, starts to display a considerable amount of intelligence. Being a latchkey kid, however, doesn't do the beast any favours, and eventually, the chimp grows up to be Andy Sirkis (a la that character he played in "24-hour Party People" vice Gollum in the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy). Chimp eventually goes emo, scares a dog, beats the crap out of a douchy neighbour and eventually winds up caged with Draco Malfoy and Brian "I can haz any starring roll" Cox.More monkey business ensues when the researcher has to juggle municipal bureaucracy, Byzantine office politics and the well-being of his father. Eventually, the chimp steals a couple of cans of new and improved ALZ 113 to be unleashed on his fellow inmates. The rest, as they say, is history.When you get down to it, the "Planet of the Apes" movie series that existed in the 60s and 70s acted as social or political metaphors. Behind the camp are subliminal (or somewhat obvious, depending on which side of the fence you are sitting) messages regarding nuclear war, racism, fascism and the generational gaps - after all, some of us were once called "little monkeys" once in a while. And sometimes these messages get flogged at every moment. The original "Rise" movie involved the offspring of time travelling gorillas who escaped an imploding future Earth, and eventually created an egalitarian, trans-species society - imagine a simian Soviet Union. The flicks were great fantasy until the Marxisms started to add up.In this reboot, I suspect that the producers had the "Avatar" bug and drafted our distant primate cousins into the ranks of the Na'vi. Sadly, the "unobtainium" in the movie eventually turns into a curse - without spoiling it, think "Ebola" - and thus we have a cliffhanger, with the primate escapees getting a primo view of the Golden Gate Bridge.I did feel the movie in the first half, but the way the soundtrack was arranged and Tom Felton's over-acting (I'd blame the melodramatic writing in the story) made me lose interest. Of course, I've seen a better ma[...]

The Amazing Atheist - It's Only Sexist When Men Do It


How very sad. How very true.

Two legs and a vagina - good.

Three legs bad.

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Faith No More - We Care A Lot (Video)


Sometimes, I feel like singing this song out quite loud.

Because there are days when the world really could piss you off.

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The Occasional Rant: Bummertime


So here I sit in my living room all alone again, naturally.
Typing away like a confused madman,
while the heat rises up to my crib from the floorboards.

A year ago I would've chilled with my woman,
made plans to go some place where we could see boats going by
into the North Atlantic Blue.

But this summer is different.
I no longer have a woman in my life.
Not that I'm complaining.

And it isn't as if I could've lived my life better.
Yes, I would've lived it better,
but what's done is done and can't be undone.
So I'm learning to do it better every day,
one day at a time.

I've had my relapses - yes I'm human and I can stumble.
I can be articulate but I can also mumble.
I can think of bigger things to happen
but instead I prefer to be at least humble.

So I'm moving on and looking forward
even though it will not go beyond the next hour or two.
At this time it's way past my bedtime
since I ended my shift at quarter-past-two.

But here is something that you should know.
I am here. Here to play. Here to stay.
I'm neither robot, superman nor demigod,
demagogue, religious fanatic, right-wing douchebag,
nor liberal ass-lick, hate-baiting psycho-blogger
who spends virtually most of his time online
reading other people's blogs, watching silly viral vids
or downloading the latest album/tv show/movie via torrent.

I'm just your average, poverty-stricken,
mellowed-out, aging, balding, horny
and thoroughly diabetic romantic hater
who's looking forward to either a decent summer
or a bummer of a summer.

I'm for real. I'm not a bot.
If you see me around and about
on the streets of Halifax, Bedford,
Sackville or Dartmouth, Nova Scotia, Canada,
say hi, whassup, yo, dude when you can,
for I do exist.

There's at least one thing I cannot change
and that's my anger at things that are sometimes
beyond my control,
things that I should've done,
things that I shouldn't have done,
things that others shouldn't do
and the lies presented as truth.
Thank god I can still write.

Right about now, I'm beyond tired.
Shall I crash or catch a second wind?
I'll soon find out.

Have a great summer. Stay tuned, Romantic Haters.

The Occasional Rant: As True As It Is Now As It Was Then


Over 2 years ago I posted this ranting on a CBC forum. I believe that it still makes a lot of sense.

So here we go...

On any given day, you can ask any Canadian celebrity on what Canada and being Canadian means. Almost all of them were reading from the same book of peace, love, diversity and socialized medicare.

But all of them miss the point.

This country started out as a cash cow for the ancient tribal empires until more people moved in and slowly displaced the First Nations who were there since Day One.

We did have a bloody history. We had slavery. We had our spats with the ingrates to the South. Had we been more tenacious, the Alamo would be flying the Maple Leaf (or maybe the Fleur-de-lys).

But we prefer our wide open spaces, the freedom to roam and the ability to invent - and re-invent - ourselves.

Sadly, I would hear people take pride in what we're not, as in "We're not as cold-hearted as Americans" or "We have a better health system, not like the Americans". Because for the most part, we have descended from Americans - United Empire Loyalists who believed that Mad King George had the better idea than George Washington or Ben Franklin.

But let's not nitpick over technicalities. Canada is still a young nation... in fact, more of a concept rather than a nation. Canadian is a state of mind, rather than a nationality. The land, like its contemporary society, is a mosaic. Each province and territory is a nation in its own right. We work, create, procreate and sometimes deviate in our own way.

But most of all, we live.

We are humans living in a land that that was cultivated by the First Peoples and bound by Celtic ferocity and tenacity, Gallic pride and joie-de-vivre, Anglo-Saxon resolve and good old American know-how.

Collectively, we can be the mouse that roars, the gentle giant, the silent beacon of hope.

Yet we are not perfect. Our medicare costs money. Some people carry ancient grudges and use our freedom to stoke their fires. And our politicians try to be everything to everyone, satisfying no-one.

But as long as the human species remains flawed and the polar icecaps keep melting, I am and shall always be a Canadian.

I'd like to hear one of our celebrities come up with something better.

Even to this day, I never hyphenate myself: there's no point or logic to hyphenation. A man is either this or that, black or white, alive or dead.

In the end, being a Canadian means simply being, in the here-and-now, in Canada.

Happy Canada Day, Romantic Haters.

If Osama bin Laden is dead, why am I not drinking with Satan?


On September 11, 2001, I woke up in Esquimalt, BC to get ready for another day at work. I got myself tuned to CBC Radio because at the time Victoria’s morning DJ’s were a little on the lame side, and I needed something a little more intelligent. It was then when I heard news of the Pentagon and the World Trade Center being attacked. And I thought to myself, “Great. Now my day is complete.” Actually, it didn’t really start of that way. I woke up hearing President Bush railing against evil foreigners on American soil and how they were going to face retribution. And I thought to myself, “Great. Another fucking day in Paradise.” So I got washed up, dressed up and walked all the way to the ship where I had to train all these sailors-to-be. And as soon as I got aboard I headed off to the main cafeteria where virtually every lower-deck denizen was glued to the tv screen showing a blazing WTC building. Then a huge jet plane swooped into another building. Minutes later, they fell. And I thought to myself, “Great. The End Times are here.” From that point on, Osama bin Laden killed my buzz, divided peoples, triggered wars and exposed the dark side of a religion that can only be explained – and worshipped in – Arabic. And now, 9 years, 7 months and 21 days later, justice has been meted out. Or has it. Before we high five each other, drink ourselves silly and have dogs and cats living together, allow us to think real carefully about what may, or may not, have transpired. According to news reports, US special forces (or it could be JTF2, Spetznaz or Mossad – these things don’t necessarily happen on their own) raided a compound in the little Pakistani hamlet of Abbotabad where they encountered a firefight. In the end, bodies were carried out, identified, then disposed according to Islamic customs. Now, if you were the president of the Most Powerful Nation of the World, you would do anything to see someone like bin Laden tagged-and-bagged, dead or alive. If you were the World’s Most Wanted Person. you would pull out all stops to make like a hole in the water. Now let’s extend that a little further. Let’s suppose if you were a world leader who appeared to be getting it from the Left, the Right and even the Centre for attempting to be everything to everyone and pleasing no-one in the process, whose approval ratings were sinking faster than the Titanic, whose country’s economy was showing signs of multiple-personality disorder and whose detractors were demanding to see your birth certificate, baptismal record and signs of your first bowel movement in the country of your birth, you would do anything to gain their trust, confidence and respect. And let’s suppose if you were the World’s Most Feared Terrorist Leader who was sick and tired of being sick and tired of running and doing nothing, who claimed to have united a religion yet because of greedier warlords had fractured itself further and wanted to pull just one more big operation before succumbing to kidney failure, you would do anything to attain anywhere close to Godhood. The events leading up to bin Laden’s demise, and his eventual burial at sea, appear too good to be even remotely credible. The least intelligent amongst the masses would celebrate in the streets. The more intelligent civilians would acknowledge the feat, yet remain vigilant. The more intelligent and sceptical would demand answers right from the start. But it will always be the cynics amongst us asking, “What?” I can count myself as one of these cynics. Is bin Laden really dead? Did he really wanted to go out as a Shaheed? Was he willing to risk his life by living at a relatively open mansion? Was it really his corpse getting dumped into the sea? Or was it all make believe? Could Osama have used many different body-doubles so he could make a safe, hasty exit? Could Barack Obama have sta[...]



Straight up.

I'm not going to say too much about this video that is appearing on YouTube, hopefully for a limited time only.

(Translation: if you see a blank blob of nothing or something-or-other, it may have been yanked.)

Following in the prefab footsteps of Rebecca Black, Jenna Rose is working on making a name for herself.

She did release a somewhat innocuous tweeny-bop vid that looked a bit like this...

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A sensible person could have let Miss Rose be content with this one clip. But then came this...

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Before you could say "My God (or Allah, or Satan, or Nietzsche) - has she grown fast!" I would advise to do the following...
  • close your eyes, listen to song;

  • mute sound, watch video;

  • look at her and the dancers and speculate what they might be conveying; and

  • take into consideration that this singer is 12 years old.
If you're a parent watching this you might want to tell your children about the dangers of the internet and remind them that the worl is full of sick, deranged people who gratify themselves by controlling others.

I have a 13-year-old niece. I'll be damned if I see her follow in that poor kid's footsteps.

I may be overreacting, but something's wrong as fuck here.

Once again... what's happening to kids these days?

Opiate of the Masses - “We Love Death”


We Love Death” by Aryeh Tepper @

This article clearly states, albeit in simplistic terms, the motivations behind "suicide attacks" on civilians by fanatical Muslims.

While other religions have supremacist agendas (see the Old Testament), Islam is trapped withing the confines set by those who hold the whip. The fascistic strain that has bloggers' keyboards clacking has created so much negative attention in the non-Muslim world, yet many of the Muslim youth seemed enamoured by its illusion of immortality and empowerment. There's little doubt that some of the bloggers on the Right would set their virtual targets on Islam itself: it is, arguably, a faith based on a person's submission to a higher power as interpreted by a mortal, Muhammad. But there will be time for debates later.

The Next Best Thing From Ireland That Doesn’t Sound Like U2.


Who says rock is dead when you have these cats making such noise? Thanks, YouTube, for this music.

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Fuck that Charlie Sheen. Fuck him up his stupid ass. That whiny, self-centred, sanctimonious, spiteful little bitch is everywhere. That overpaid twat shouldn’t bother me, but he does. I am sick of his name. I am sick of his face. I am sick of his voice. I am sick of his backpedalling, backstabbing, backbiting, hand-biting and bridge-burning every time he turds out a Tweet. He thinks that he may be funny. He thinks that he’s still cool. He thinks that he can be a hit with all the ladies. He assumes that everyone will empathise and sympathise with his perceived plight. He believes that he is owed an apology. He believes that he’s entitled to damages. I don’t know about you, but he’s at least entitled to a foot up his backside. When someone has talent and a good thing on the go, a rational mind would force that person to work hard on keeping them. I would call that the art of maintaining a personal status quo: whatever works, don’t fix; whatever is doable, do it right; whatever good is sown, reap and share the bounty. If I had followed the blueprint set by my parents, I would’ve had Charlie Sheen’s job – or at least something resembling it. I would’ve had the lovely talented wife, the beautiful children, lots of spending money, a roof over my head, a steady, guaranteed job surrounded by good people… At this point, I’m happy with the last 2. I’ll be damned to let them slip away. But all this money must’ve woken up a winning monster inside that Estevez kid. Back in the day I would’ve love to dance with Al and Coco, and maybe bring Tina, Mary and Harry along for the ride, if Sid and Stacy didn’t mind. For some reason, I chose Al and Mary, then simply stuck with Al. Now I prefer Nico’s company – no Homo. But old Carlos would rather dance with the thin white duchess and fuck everyone over in the process. What a winner. He would take up a skanky pr0n h0 and tie and beat her senseless. He has lost the confidence of his bosses, his wife, his kids, his mind and eventually his job. All his interviews will not save his scrawny ass. All his Tweets will not redeem his tarnished soul. For Sanity’s sake, Charlie Sheen must be destroyed. He should be bound to a mountain face by heavy chains where raptors can feed off a pound of his flesh – only to be regenerated to be eaten again. He should be prodded mercilessly by pitchforks wielded by enraged denizens of Chuck Lorre’s ancestral shtetl. He should be fed to the tigers from which he stole their blood so he could live his winning lifestyle. He should be set upon by trannies in whatever jail to which he may be sent. He should be bound to a chair in a metal shack deep in the heart of Death Valley in the middle of summer and be forced to watch ALL his movies and TV shows. He should be crucified to a burning cross. He should be guillotined with a blunt, rusty blade. He should be rolled in powdered sugar and then be left at the mercy of ravenous ants. Preferably in a remote part of the Amazonian rain forest. He be sent on the next NASA probe heading to the Sun. He should be sealed in Davey Jones’s locker. He should be dressed as a pig, then air-dropped into the middle of Mecca. During Ramadan. Or maybe the Hajj. Same diff. He should be burned alive. He should be frozen alive. He should be hanged, drawn and quartered, then have the remains in remand, then put back together. Repeat. He should be fed to a volcano. He should be fed to the Kraken. He should be shot. But most of all, he should just shut up, walk away and not come back until he can fix himself up and learn to live in the human race. I hope he does that, because if he doesn’t… I’m just going to ignore him. [...]

A Romantic Hater's Valentine's Day Wish


"Love can be as sticky as a vat of molasses, as unpalatable as a hunk of spoiled yeast, and as all-consuming as a six-alarm fire in a bamboo and canvas tent." - Rod Serling, "Twilight Zone"

Happy Valentine's Day, Suckas.

"Quo ea vice magis idem est"


It's way too early to say whether the people-power overthrow of Hosni Mubarak was a good thing or a bad thing.Should we celebrate the end of autocratic, kleptocratic rule?Should we fear the rise of Islamic fascist fundamentalism at Israel's doorstep?Should we hope for the best, and maybe betterment of relations within the middle East?Should we pray for a truly secular Arab state?I have some serious mixed feelings about these events that are unfolding throughout the Arab/Islamic world. On one hand, people in general have had it with the type of kleptocratic, oligarchical rule that benefits only those who hold the whip and makes everyone else equal under misery.On the other hand, the very same people who oppose fascist oppression never studied the intricacies of Western Secularism that drive the (relatively) more prosperous democracies throughout the world. If someone were to spend a good balance of his life under regimentation, only to wind up thrust into a situation that he would have to think, live and work for himself, would he adapt?And if he were to adapt to a world of free thought and free will, how long would it take for this person to master his life? Would he prosper? Would he relapse?As an addict, if you were to deprive me of something on which I base my dependency, I would definitely be upset. You may have freed me of something that was destroying me but then how would I now justify my existence, my reason for being in this world and living this life? I could adapt to my new surroundings and get in touch with things that I have missed while I was using. I could find new interests and redefine my purpose in life.Or I could find a new drug. I would not want to call it a relapse: I would prefer to call it a refocusing. The drug would probably be more dangerous than the one that you took away, but at least I would know that I could regain the sense or at least intense illusion of power, gratification, release and control through my usage. Many people would be disappointed or hurt by my relapse, but I would be more damned if anyone were to interfere with my comfort zone.The reality is that there is no such thing as pure freedom. Due to the imperfections and randomness that exist in nature, we have to discipline ourselves in order to survive. There will always be a need to put a roof over my head and food on the table, therefore I have to work to pay for it. My freedom includes the right to go to work, get paid for my troubles, then go to the office to pay my rent and utilities. Hopefully I could have some cash left over so I could buy that leg of lamb that I've been craving for weeks. And definitely I wouldn't mind a week or two of vacation to decompress, recharge and regroup.It was very hard to let go of the vices that landed me in destitution. I could've had a larger house. I could've worked at a better place for more money so I could afford the 100 Mb/s internet and that 52" HDTV so when I go and start playing Call of Duty: Special Ops I would revel in such awesome pwnage! But at least I am still above ground. And I'm always looking forward.It was because of my vices that I got released from the military. I did my job well but my focus was messed up beyond belief. I had a tough time getting along with people because my mind was locked into getting the next high, drunk or orgasm. And then I realised that most of my life had been plagued by instant gratification, and I was enjoying and hating every minute of it.Being under a dictatorship is almost like going through an addiction. Once you have a taste of it, you'll learn to despise it first, then tolerate it and eventually make it part of your being. Eventually, when you get freed from it, you have to figure out what[...]

The Occasional Rant: Why Am I NOT Surprised?


Everyone knows that the Palestinians™ want Peace™!

So it's little surprise that a revered member of HAMAS has acknowledged Shoah in own "special" way...
"The lie according to which they were a victim of a holocaust and the (Jewish) people are a victim -- this lie has crumbled with the holocaust of Beit Hanun, the holocaust of Al-Fakhura and the other countless holocausts ... committed by the Zionist enemy."
Note the compassion, the sympathy shown by this fine leader of malleable immortals.

It would make you want to cry.

So, bless those Palis™ and especially their leadership, for they are really aware of what's going on in their little world.

It's a shame that reality and truth will soon overtake them.

The Occasional Rant: "Is it just me, or is something really going wrong around here?"


Kudos to Debbie Sclussel (my favourite yenta - we need more yentot, dammit)! Here's my 2¢ on an article about some obscure Detroit commentator that she doesn't like too much...No conspiracy theorist or total hater (okay… so I am a romantic hater). But:1) It takes an intelligent person to come across as an ignorant airhead playing to the least intelligent and most malleable (hola, Paris Hilton and Tila Tequila);2) If the sevenfold rule of biblical vengeance were to be applied to WW ver 2.0, wouldn’t Nazi Germany be reduced to a smouldering trash-heap and the Germans reduced to near extinction? And wouldn’t Japan be part of China or Korea by now? And by extension, wouldn’t Islam be reduced to Scientology status – significant, yet utterly insignificant? (Don’t get me wrong – I love Germans, Japanese and Arabs just as I love anyone else – with a grain of salt the size of Helen Thomas’s head);3) If there were truly a war going on (since when sere we ever at peace, eh?), wouldn’t this Beckmann dude be either a traitor or at the very least part of the Fifth Column of Evil? Just asking; and4) If the Jews truly run Hollywood, why aren’t we seeing any movies and shows where Fascist Islamists get their justly deserved desserts (deserts)? And wouldn’t these pan-Islamists (read “closet Jihadists” or “undercover Islamists” or “secret genocidal Fascists”) be at best alive and unemployed?The paranoid need answers. The rational need discussion.Ka-ching![...]

John Lennon. 30 Years On and Beyond.
(Or: "Okay. And so?")


I wrote this as a little response to an article made by blogger Debbie Sclussel. Take it with a grain of salt - but I stand by it.

DISCLOSURE: I was born around the time the Beatles broke.

I took their music for granted because it was there.

I never thought they were ever great because of their talent - only George Harrison (bless his soul) appeared to me the most professional of the lot - but because of the marketing savvy of Brian Epstein.

(BTW - He was to Lennon what Mr. Herbert was to Chris Griffin in the "Family Guy". Think about it, eh?)

All of Lennon's songs in his solo carreer sucked except for "Whatever Gets You Through The Night" (muchas gracias, Elton).

I (figuratively) shed more tears for George Harrison, the 9-11 victims, my ex's mom and my father (Of Blessed Memory. Amen) than I did for Lennon (to whom I shed a couple as a sign of respect).

Mark David Chapman now represents more of a threat to himself than to anyone with a pulse and synapses. Back then I thought he should fry - murder is murder, anyway - but then I don't care.

I wouldn't blame Lennon for destroying Western Civilization as We Know It - the post-WWII/-"Cold" War complacency of the constantly satiated masses took care of that - but he deserves neither beatification nor deification.

Lennon was just a man with a guitar, attitude and ideals, chained to a wife with Lady MacBeth ambitions, who managed to make a lot of money for what he did and what he became.

Nothing special. Nothing terrible. The rest of us will just keep living.

Rest In Peace, Eggman.

YouTube-ing: At the Top of the Burj Khalifa in Dubai (2717 ft.) - Mission Impossible ...


Your "Holy Fuck" moment on top of Dubai's Burj Khalifa, the world's tallest building.

Whatever you do, don't look down.

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They should have brought up some watermelons, just in case...

YouTube-ing: Ice T The FIRST 'BLACK OPS PRESTIGE UnBOXING VIDEO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


The Iceman in the muthafukkin' house!

He ain't left. He's playing to stay. And he's kickin' it oldschool.

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I'm-a get this game.

I'm-a pwn.

Now if I can get my hands on an X-box for cheap...

Sooner or Later, All Pop Stars Will Be Like This...


Be very afraid. All the Divas are now put on notice.

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Taking a break off Facebook


For the past 2 years I’ve delved into the wonderful world of social networking in the form of Facebook.

So far it has been a good long ride, but recently a few changes and challenges have occurred.

A lot of this is personal – only a few people know what I’m going through, and right now I’m going through a healing process.

I need to recharge, reassess, rearrange and reinvent.

Most of all, I need to write and vent.

Facebook is a place to get reacquainted with those left behind and to keep in touch with everyone that you meet in your travels. And it’s great to know that the ones I know are doing fine.

But as I said, there are some personal issues that need to be worked out, and there are times that I hardly use Facebook because of them.

So as part of my own healing process, I’m taking a hiatus from Facebook. I’ll be using my resources to concentrate on this blog and YouTube. I need to create and improve on whatever talents I have.

Over the past few years my views and outlook on life have changed dramatically – sobriety does that. Yet I still struggle with staying on the right path. When you deal with multiple addictions, you’re dealing with a potential to relapse back into one of your vices. And relapse is a bitch. You fall back into that rabbit hole that seems to have deepened since the last visit.

I’ve been there. I don’t want to go back.

So I’ll do what I enjoy doing best. I’ll write. I’ll post. I’ll create. I’ll invent.

But most of all, I just want to live my life. And learn to love myself again.

So… there you go.

How to turn into a Dick (Sanchez) in a day


Poor Rick Sanchez.

CNN just fired his ass and all the pundits are pouncing on this latest slow-news non-issue.

Don't get me wrong. As someone who sits himself down in front of a camera delivering news as a glorified talking head, ol' Ricky Retardo ahould have known better than to shoot off his mouth on XM Radio.

Tsk, tsk. Painting Hebrews with the same tainted brush does not your job keep. Especially at CNN, rh?

It used to be that Rick was a decent reporter at a Fox affiliate in South Florida. But I suspect that eventually all this success and notoriety would have gone into his teeny weenie head.

And now Sanchez has joined the ranks of unemployed pros such as Don Imus, whose outspoken views have gotten him into more hot water than a lobster with nine lives.

Don't let the door beat you up when you leave, Rick. You deserve to get spanked for this.

The Occasional Rant:
Hail 2 the Yenta!


One political blog that I read on a regular basis is the one created by Debbie Schlussel, a Michigan-based pundit who has the nerve, the gall and the audacity to say what she damn well pleases, thank you.

Even though my vitriol has diminished over the years - 4 years of sobriety can do that to you - I can still recognise right from wrong from absolutely abominable. I occasionally fly off the handle if I witness something that may not fit in this plane of transient existence. Due to work and other obligations, I no longer have that luxury to play blog pundit as much. And having experienced my own demons, I can't be too judgemental either.

Yet Debbie has managed to say most of what I feel considering that like me, she's a child of a Holocaust survivor. Like me, she recognises the threat of fascist islamism, even though we do disagree on the Muslims. As an agnostic, I do cringe at times when Debbie would bring religion into the picture - for me, organised religion is ideology.

Yet I can't write enough about her blog and therefore ask that you check it out for yourself. Yes, you'll have trolls in the comments section, but at least you'll be challenged. And a challenge is what we meat puppets need once in a while.

No offence, Steven. But you're a jackass.


Oh, Steven Slater. You should've known better, my son.

You have chosen a profession that, for all its perks, could eventually kill you in the end.

You decided take on this career with all the stress and hardship that exceeds being a postal worker, mine clearing specialist or call centre technician.

You have the ability and opportunity to check yourself and get the necessary help.

But, yeah... bills have to be paid and the travel's always free.

Get some rest, okay.

The Occasional Rant:
Sorry, Prince. The Internet is All Over.


Adapt or die. Go with the flow. Sink or swim.These are some of the examples explaining the basic tenets of evolution.When I first got online way back in the early 90s, I was convinced that this invention was going to be big. As early as 1986, I had a feeling that eventually everything that we need for communication and entertainment will be reduced to 1 box, 1 screen, 1 user.I'm quite sure that everyone would want to have this 1 box to talk to others, order some chow mein, take in a concert or a movie, get an education and simply frag some poor sucker to kingdom come in WOW.Not to mention having a box to groove to some tunes.So I am quite surprised that Prince (the artist formally known as Prince Rogers Nelson) would reject the internet that he once embraced as a medium for his insane creativity.In an "exclusive" interview by Mirror journo Peter Miller, Prince proclaimed..."The internet's completely over. I don't see why I should give my new music to iTunes or anyone else. They won't pay me an advance for it and then they get angry when they can't get it."The internet's like MTV. At one time MTV was hip and suddenly it became outdated. Anyway, all these computers and digital gadgets are no good."They just fill your head with numbers and that can't be good for you."The Mirror article was mainly about Prince's upcoming release "20TEN", his views on his current life and his eccentric creative processes, but it was this one quote that caused this storm of controversy throughout the web and the traditional media - you do remember newspapers, tv and radio, right?Whether Price had a point or was simply shooting from the lip at the time is irrelevant. What started me to think was the revolution that started at around the same time I discovered the internet.This revolution is called streaming media.To reiterate the basics of the internet, information in forms of pictures and words get broken down to bits - ones and zeroes - then get reconstituted at the end-user's machine of choice. Back in the 80s, the compact disk format was starting to take off, and my assumption at that time was that sooner or later television, radio and stand-alone music players would be rendered redundant, if not obsolete, by this new medium. All this thanks to a roomie's Commodore 64.Fast-forward to the here-and-now and we see iTunes, Hulu and YouTube getting into the public consciousness. We have media players such as the granddaddies of them all, RealPlayer and Quicktime, and it's bastard offspring Winamp, Windows Media Player and the iTunes player. Kids - and adults run amok with their iPads and its rivals and variants. And don't get me started with the iPhone, the iPad, smartphones, laptops and netbooks. I suspect that my vision is slowly coming true, that for some reason the proliferation of the web into the public consciousness is starting to worry Prince.Understandably so, since the availability of more bandwidth, affordable computers and more user-friendly software and hardware has made the once wild, wild web into something more mundane, more accessible, more democratised.We've seen various iterations of peer-to-peer file-sharing software come and gone: Napster, Gnutella, LimeWire, Kazaa, BitTorrent, etc. The traditional media, stuck in the quagmire of their own paradigms, struggle to comprehend why they are losing their shirts while at the same time working to apprehend, stifle and even eliminate what t[...]