[ The following is angry.  If you don't like anger and angst, don't read it.  But it's shit like this that's a big part of my problem. ]

     When I was three years old, some pretty bad things happened to me.  When I told my dear, sweet, innocent mother about those things, she beat the living crap out of me for it, and called me a liar.  So, at three years old, she took a wide, thick leather belt and wailed on me with it until my legs were bloody.  She did it a million times — wherever and whenever she could.  Legs, ass, arms, torso, face … you name it.  And it wasn’t just the belt.  It was anything she could pick up.

     Whenever anyone asked what happened to my legs, she’d always say that I got eaten up by mosquitos, and had scratched myself to death.  When they asked about the stripes which went most of the way around my arms (lengths of belt tend to wrap unless doubled, and she never did), she’d tell them that I was tying things around my arms, and to not let me do that.  A blow to the head, “Oh, he fell off the swing.”  A bloody nose, “Oh, he’s prone to nosebleeds.”
     I don’t scratch my bites.  Wrapping things around my arms is laughable.  I’m only clumsy when drunk.  And I’ve only had two nosebleeds in my life outside of the ones she gave me because she had no self control.

     Nobody ever bothered to think or even to try and stop it. 

     In public, she was so coy.  So convincing, calm, victimized.  There were facades to keep up, you see.  She had to appear to be financially secure, while spending every dime they both made.  And she never let my father live down the fact that she made more money than him.

     And so, I wish him a Belated, yet Happy, Father’s day.

     Happy Father’s day to my father, who watched the Devil he married beat me my entire life.  Happy Father’s day to the man who, just last year, let her come and trash my house and start breaking computers and beating me with a plastic bethroom shelf.  Happy Fathers day to the man who, when I got a restraining order against his wife, he allowed her to have me evicted, thus destroying my credit regardless of the fact that the judgement said I didn’t owe her a dime.  Happy Father’s day, to the man who got up in court and perjured himself repeatedly during the restraining order hearing, so much so that the Judge saw right through the inconsistent bullshit of his, his Devil wife and his son.  Happy Father’s day, to the man who’s whining to everyone in the world about how it’s tearing him up that he doesn’t hear from his son, and the day that I finally call, all he can do is bitch and call me a liar.

     Ultimately, it is you, Father, who allowed that situation to continue. 

     It was you, Father, who came to my house threatening me to drop the Order of Protection that I needed.

     It was you, Father, who made up your story in court.

     It was you, Father, who didn’t call me or return any e-mails.

     And it was you, Father, who turned on me — yet again.

     And it was you, Father, who perpetrated and condoned her lies and condemnation — “See?  He’s a liar, just like he was when he was three years old!” — even when you knew better.

     You, Father, are why I never had a family.

     I never deserved any of that, Father.

     And unlike you, Father, I could never do to people that I care about what you both did to me.

     So, to the biggest liar of them all, and the perfect role model of a crying, useless husband, Happy Father’s Day!

     Are you Happy now, Mr. Good Christian Man?

     I certainly hope so.

     The opposite Love is not Hate. 

     It’s Apathy.

     Something you’ve always had plenty of.

     I have no Father.

On August 18th, 24-year-old Tommy Salter decided to celebrate his college graduation at the Fort Walton Beach, FL strip club, Club 10. From all appearaces it was quite the party.

Tommy was in good spirits.

$53,000 worth of spirits (and club cash) to be exact.

As irresponsible children do, Tommy called American Express to cancel the charges. AmEx sided with the club.

Tommy then asked his father, Joe Salter, for help. However, instead of chastising young Tommy for irresponsibly spending $53,000 in a tawdry topless bar, the senior Salter assists in suing the strip club, and having them investigated for fraud and forgery, in addition to larceny.

Investigation showed that $39,000 in charges came after the 4AM last call, however, each of those receipts were signed, and itemized bills were initialed, by the younger Salter. His father, of course, says that those signatures and initials are just “scribbles,” and that since they were signed after last call, it proves that Club 10 was illegally selling alcohol after last call.

Any rational, thinking person would be skeptical of that. The club’s policy is that any bottle of champagne (priced between $150 and $2000) requires a separate receipt, and most people do pay at last call. However, even with that, the club has gone out of its way, even offering to refund those $39,000 in charges which came after 4AM.

I suppose it just hasn’t sunk in with dear ol’ dad that Tommy Boy was smashed and is trying his damndest to get out of paying his bills.

Can you say “Buyer’s Remorse,” boys and girls?

I knew you could.

I knew that the ban on smoking in restaurants would suck. It would be a pain. I go to dinner very regularly with friends, smoking friends, and it means they either go outside regularly to smoke, or, we sit outside. In a couple of months, that will be even more of a probelm when it’s freezing cold. I propose an amendment to the ban so that restaurants that have a strong bar clientele or a performance area, can become non-smoking and 21 and up after a certain time at night. That way, they keep their business on both sides.

But there are crazy effects to this ban I never saw coming. When we went to dinner the other night, on a weekend night, there was but one person at the bar, and looking around at the tables circling the bar, you would have thought it was a day care! Lots of very small children. It seems that either, the smoking ban has meant the baby laden are going out to dinner now, or, they are not being shunted off to the non-smoking section. It’s just horrible. I now propose a “Kids Section” and a “Non-Kids Section” to make up for it.

This might be good for business. More people eating out. But, if you ever waited tables, you know that a table with kids is a nightmare to serve and they make a huge mess and they usually tip like crap. But will they drink? Will the drinkers want to hang out and unwind? That hurts the profit margin a lot, even if it helps get more people in.

For me, it makes me want to get drunk and rowdy and talk about anal sex really loud so the table of kids next to me is not brought back.

     I post this against my better judgement… but I need to. 

     “All families are dysfunctional,” someone told me once.

     But in mine, everyone’s just waiting for the next crisis.  With baited breath, they look forward to the next time they can tear into someone at the drop of a hat, complete with neverending verbal onslaughts, pathetic lies and horrible slanders that would make even Jesus Christ Himself punch them in the mouth.
     Sometimes, those situations graduate from simple character assassination to theft, vandalism, burglary, and assault — on rare occasions, maybe even a vehicular assault or a shooting.

     You can’t defend yourself against it.  You’re automatically “a liar,” and there’s no way around it no matter what you do.
     They attack first, with righteous anger, and never ask a single question — or, at least, will never let you answer anything fully — ignoring the fact that there are two sides to every story.  Most of the time, if everyone would just shut up and think, they might realize maybe something wasn’t right about the situation to begin with.  Mothers, Fathers, Sisters, Brothers, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins… All ready to jump on you and split you apart at the seams.  How could it be right?

     “I’ll never love you!”
     “You’re possessed / the Antichrist!”
     “You’ve gone too far this time!”
     “You’ve always been worthless!”
     “I’d hate to be you!”
     “I’ll spend $100,000 to handle you!”
     “I’ll break every bone in your body!”
     “I’ll burn it up with you in it!”

     Most of this is from people who’ve never even been around the situation, have no idea what’s going on, but they’re ready to throw me to the lions for doing one simple thing: I took legal action to relieve myself of one of the worst instigators.

     Like I was told today…
     “You’re selfish!  You never think about anyone but yourself!”
     That might’ve actually made me take pause, had the two of them not come into my home, threatening that I’d better “drop the charges” “or else” a few different things were going to happen.  There aren’t many things more selfish than trying to force someone to bend to your will…
     As for my being self-centered, it would be pretty difficult to find anyone who’d say I didn’t bend over backwards to help people.  Or that I didn’t listen when someone had something on their mind.  It’s hard to imagine I could be like that, and still be “selfish.”
     Besides … Pushing threats and ultimatums down someone’s throat is certainly no way to advance any situation towards resolution.

     Families should stand together, and attempt to resolve things with civility and dignity.  You’d certain expect it to be that way from a bunch of people who claim to be more righteous than the Pope.
     In situations where one person has been wholly unreasonable, attempts at resolution by a family can serve the purpose of quelling some of the insanity, and if not, at least give some insight as to where the problem lies…

     Instead, I have to deal with this blood-thirsty excuse for a family, and put up with the aftermath of a situation created by a person who isn’t taking any responsibility for any part of this situation…. a person who’s been running around to everyone in the family gaining support with a tear and a sob story.
     For my part, I’ve tried not to drop to that level.  It’s none of the family’s damn business, anyway.  The situation doesn’t concern them at all.  It’s just an excuse to do what they typical do: go on a Holy Crusade, and nail someone else to a cross.

     A family like that, who won’t even get my side of the story before they start ripping me apart in that old familiar way, that’s what I got. 

     I’ll tell ya one thing: I don’t need that in my life. 

     I have enough stress.

     It’s a wonder they never realized that maybe that was the reason I’ve moved all over the world and kept my distance from them…

     …and their “religion.”

     I snorted coffee through my nose watching Knoxville’s Number One Son…

Tip: Thanks, Laura!

     Apparently, this nutjob, California Tae Kwon Do-mom would like the Cops to enforce “Your Way, Right Away” at Burger King…

     “Ma’am, we’re not going to go down there and enforce your Western Bacon Cheeseburger … that’s not a criminal issue.”
     Fortunately, her calling 911 and tying up resources is a criminal issue.  Unfortunately, they apparently didn’t bother to arrest her.  That might have taught her kids not to be such spoiled little brats.

     What do you bet she was driving a mini-van?

     In a weird way, it reminded me of an EMS training call from Houston several years ago.  (Language Alert! — but it’s soooooo worth it)

     The original was sped up before considerably before being broadcast on the Art Bell Show (remember him?), so the voices ended up sounding as far from their original southern drawl as possible…
     Several operators who received the training call were unsure whether or not the event was real, which makes it even better.  This is what a good EMS Intructor should do — it weeds out those operators who can’t handle the stress. 

     “I need a bambi-lance!” 

     Preferably long enough to kill a deer…

Tip: Fracas

     Not that I particularly give a damn about Banana Nicole and her Company of Conniving Clowns, I did have a conversation last week about the unfortunate fact that “that poor Dannielynn” was surely going to end up with one of them.
     Fracas did a pretty in-depth editorial about that very situation:

The real issue in the whole Anna Nicole Smith mess, is whether or not baby Dannielynn is cared for properly and has a chance at a better life.

And make no mistake, by “better”, I mean more normal, not wealthier.

…

It is doubtful, as to whether Anna had the presence of mind to properly care for her baby, to make decisions for her baby or to decide who else is appropriate and worthy enough to have the right to care for or make decisions on behalf of her baby.

Yet Stern would like for the world to think it should be him.

We know that Stern has been alleged by several other parties, to be “controlling”. While much of what Larry Birkhead and Virgie Arthur have to say is their opinion only, unsubstantiated in some cases, we do have the video of him taping a stoned Anna. …

     It doesn’t strike me as odd in the least that Stern, an entertainment lawyer, might be a gigantic prick. I mean, it’s obvious he uses his tie to hold up his foreskin.

     Back in the 1980’s, various liberal organizations began trying to ban people from owning “dangerous dogs.”  Pit bulls were quickly lofted to the first position as the most cantankerous canine.
     But when a six-week-old pit bull puppy chews four toes off of a one-month-old baby, liberal organizations all over the country call for volunteers to adopt the puppy.
     At least, that’s what I hear…

     “The puppy is too young to know what it’s doing!”
     “It’s so young, it may have been trying to nurse!”
     “Killing puppies is cruel!  No animal deserves to die!”

     So, umm… What did these same organizations want to do with all the pit bulls they tried to have banned?
     Hmmm?

     The story is simple, really.
     Two parents went to sleep on the floor their home.  Their one-month-old child stayed in her car seat on the floor beside them.  An impromptu “fence” was constructed to keep the dog from waking them up.
     Somehow, the parents didn’t wake up to the screams of their own child, screams which I’m certain would have been indicative that something was wrong.  Instead, they slept two feet away as the puppy ate four of her toes.
     Because, you know — it’s the parent’s fault, not the puppy’s.
     *cough*
     Riiiiiiiiiiiight…

     Clearly both were at fault.

     So let’s sit back and think for a minute…
     What if the baby had been killed?  Would the dog be saved, or would it be put down as a “dangerous dog?”
     And if the puppy had been a opossum instead?  There would certainly be no saving it.