It’s a bit pixilated, but you get the idea…
My husband’s Mom:
What is a Happiness Consultant? Makes me go hmmmm
Yesterday at 12:29am
What’s the speed limit on that road?
Free will is the right to choose! So says most every religion and government. We have tons of laws on this planet all designed to do one thing: To protect us from others.
How much free will we are supposed to have is not a subject for debate. You get to live your life and face whatever comes after death for you regardless of what influence others had in your choices. They were your choices and the consequences belong only to you.
Now, I am not religious, but have studied Eastern and Western religion in an attempt to find something to believe in. As is my right to here in the United States. I also have one AS, but working on my BS in Mechanical Engineering with a minor in psychology. I even had the chance to play my role in the U.S. Army for 6 years too. Now that I have furthered my education a little and been out running around in the world, it is terrifying to see the various implications of these so called “Personhood” laws and the freedoms they remove from not just people, but women specifically. It gives me chills and promotes a healthy use of my free time, newly dedicated, to finding a different country to call home. Looking around this country for a new place to live has proven futile. I do not want my children brought up in a place like this. It is worse now than when our forefather’s declared their independence from England and for that I am saddened.
If a law is passed taking away my free will because of another person’s personal beliefs, well then this country is not really about freedom at all. In fact I would call that tyrannical and oppressive.
I would like to thank the religious groups for clarifying that they do not believe in freedom, liberty, or free will. I am sure your god would be proud.
BOTTOM LINE: I can go on about my life happily if my “God given” right of free will were protected. After all, I did my share in protecting your rights. How about you do the same for me and every other American?
Jason has trouble concentrating:
I forgot what I was doing.
My concentration left me, and I tried to coax it back, and it said, “Fuck you!”
So I was like, “Come on. Come on.”
And he screamed, “No!”
Today’s useless piece of information:
It’s not animal abuse; if you’re having sex with the animal, and it has you bent over and is smiling at the camera. It’s still bestiality and celebrated in some countries, but no longer constituted as abuse because it is consensual, clearly. The hard on was a clear indication he was up to the challenge. So who was really abusing whom?
Check out this link about a Columbian town, San Antero, celebrates a festival called, ‘Festival del Burro’ (Donkey Festival), where they celebrate young men losing their virginity to a female donkey. No, we’re not making this up.
Jason’s clarification on the difference between caught and got:
Here’s a gooder explanation for got and caught. So, what we have here is a pencil, which you wanted to use for an example. Now, if I do this. <throws it.> You got a pencil, but you did not caught a pencil. However, if I throw three or four at you and you caught one, you still got’em all, but you only caught one. So you understood everything; however, you did not grasp everything I told you. Now, that is a reasonable explanation.
Today’s useless piece of information:
It’s not cheating if it’s your dog.
Cy had a little Mercury Lynx hatchback that all of us piled into one time when we had eaten too many pills. We were lost and needed to get back, so we went to Marshall ‘cause that was our base. It grounded us. Anytime that we ate too many drugs, we’d go to Marshall. And the whole town supported anything we did as long as we didn’t steal shit and break too much shit. We played paintball through the town—just don’t put out the dog.
‘Cause the dog was barking up a storm, got popped and ran off whining. And I call out, “Sorry. He tried to bite me. I promise.” And giggle my ass near off. I shot him in the butt with a paintball, and not one of the frozen ones either. It’s a two-hundred-pound dog, quit feeding him so much.
But yeah, we all piled into Cy’s Mercury Lynx. He could not drive. Bad Cy. No. Get out of the median. We made Cy pull over, and he pulled into the median of a divided highway so that I could drive. Oh yeah, that was a better idea. Let the other fucked up person drive. Is there a sober person among us? Nope.
So I had to close one eye to see the road, but I drove between the lines and could actually do it, which is why they made me drive instead of Cy ‘cause Cy couldn’t manage. Cy was gone.
We removed everything before we got to Marshall—everything out of the pockets, shoes, socks, shirts, leave on pants and ran around. It was an adventure. God only knew where we ended up.
We wound up on the water tower once.
“How the fuck did we end up here?”
“I dunno. Did you paint that?”
“God damn it, we need to go get more paint, this can’t be seen.”
“What is it?”
“Ah, they’re gonna get pissed. Town is going to make us paint something bigger.”
They made us roof the church once. After doing donuts in the superintendent’s of Covington’s lawn. So, as punishment, the rest of the town made us re-roof the church. We didn’t have to buy the materials. They just didn’t want to do it, so we did. We were the fucking kids that tore shit up. But the superintendent was too pussy to say anything about it, but we got all our friends together, got a cooler of beer and got after it.
The little old ladies realized that we liked beer. Well, not that I liked beer. I didn’t like beer, but Nick liked beer. Nick would roof the church and keep working as the rest of us goofed off. As long as you supplied him beer, he’d keep working. He was a hard worker when he was stoned and drunk. Give him too much beer though and he quits working. He just sits there and giggles. It’s funny.
Give him more beer, he gets up and does back flips off of stuff. He was the one who taught me how to do back flips. Fuck he was good at it. He did it first when he back flipped off the balcony onto the trailer house, onto the bed of the pickup and then onto the ground. And then I had to try it. It worked, but it wasn’t so pretty—it hurt, and I damn near killed myself doing it, so I decided not to do that shit anymore.
So I went and got the motorcycle out, was ramping the median on the road right in front of his house. If I successfully jumped it, I would go get myself a drink. About the time that I missed the five-foot wide median, I was done riding the motorcycle ‘cause I was apparently too drunk to do that.
Everyone was staying out of the road. No one was coming down it. We were in Marshall for god’s sake. Don’t drive down that side of town. Why? Because we drive down that side of town.
Random Jason Moment:
When my husband sees that I am cooking penne for baked ziti, he says, “It’s like a whole lot of Ninja chopped penises.”
“Yeah, like the Jewish people do, only sideways…”
Jason useless fact of the day:
Did you know that the same math that is used to prove the Earth is round can also be used to prove the Earth is flat?
Check out these links about the phenomenon:
It’s a bit pixilated, but you get the idea…
The security guard at my apartment building was always over, hanging with us and stuff. Winchester West got a security guard because some of the people got nervous about there being a large quantity of kids my age living in the apartments. We were seventeen, eighteen, nineteen years old, and there was a shit load of us. And some of them did drugs, and some of them sold drugs, and some of them smoked pot, which really isn’t a drug but it still makes some people nervous. But once the neighbors figured out we were protecting our own buildings and stuff—you don’t screw with our neighbors. Regardless of whether you smoke or not, you’re still our neighbors. We’re not stealing from you. We have jobs. We’ll buy our own pot. Thank you.
If you put cool stuff outside, we’ll try not to break it. But we are kind of fucked up. We’ll apologize if we do and replace it. Just tell us, “Hey, you need to fix that.”
So the manager hired a mid-twenty-something-year-old security guard, and the security guard came to meet all of us, ended up liking us and hanging out, drinking and partying too. So whenever he got a call that there was a problem anywhere in the apartments, he’d call us if he thought, this is that big fucking Russian dude that lives over in the corner, or whatever, or there was always domestic disputes at this one place—the cops didn’t show up for a half hour while the dude beat the shit out of her.
No, he’d call us, so there was a hell of a lot less going on at those apartment buildings since he worked there and was our friend. ‘Cause there would be like twenty of us heading over to somebody’s apartment real quick to fix a domestic dispute. You don’t fight with that many people going, “Dude you hit her again, and we’re going to beat your ass.”
Yeah. He goes, “Uh, fuck you.”
About the time he gets his ass whooped, the rest of the building goes, “Don’t hit your wife. Those kids over there will come over, stoned and drunk, and beat you up. And the security guard is going to let them. Then when the cops show up, the security guard is gonna tell them not to worry, it’s been taken care of.”