Tis Naught But Folly

[Editor's note: I recently approached a friend of mine, who happens to be a writer, about posting on Copious Vitriol. He agreed immediately. We are, in my opinion, lucky to have him. Join me in welcoming none other than William Shakespeare! --Kurt]

The tyme is nigh for the assencion of President O'Bama. Verily, as an Englishman from 'cross the pond, I looke forward to the day when the Irishman O'Bama assendeth to the throne in the Whyte House.

(Author's note: It hath come to my attencion that Barrack O'Bama is not Irish. Zounds! Prithee, how canst a name like O'Bama not be Irish? Fie!)

(Second note: It hath also come to my attention that the United States doth not have a throne, other than the one in the privy, which I daresay seems to be the throne 'pon which the outgoing President sat most oft. I have been assured that whyle the Oval Office have not a throne, the chairs are indeed most comfy.)

Before going furthr, pray indulge me. I come to this blog, Copious Vitriol, at the requeste of one of the editors, Sifu Kurt. Kurt and I go back many a year, and since writyng plays is not as profitable as once it was (wherefore on the Internet does one look for patrons?), I have decided to ply my unworthy quill for this purpose. Kurt, I thank thee mightily for this opportunity. Indeed, thou dost keep thy pimp hand stronge.

This being my first poste 'pon this blog, I'll thus write about a few items that doth prick me like a thorn. Item the first, Ben Jonson. Think thou art a playwright, Ben Jonson? Thou art a saucy spur-galled varlet! A sheep-biting hedge-pig! Forsooth, since our 1598 production of your play "Every Man in His Humour" have I wanted to say this to thee. Thou hast the manners of a goat and the writing skill of a churlish mole. Thou hast been served, biahtch. Do not cross me again, lest I be forced to decant a flagon of whoop ass.

What else vexeth me, thou might ask? O, but be softe; there is but one thing that doth gall me beyond all measure. Pray thee, William, do tell, do tell. Very well; tell I shall. Methought I had seen times most harsh, but the current economic tempest leaves me feeling like storm-tossed flotsam. I, considered by learned scholars to be the best writer in the English language (John Milton may bite my bulbous bits as well), am forced to scratch out what meager existence I may writing on blogs. It maketh my heart weep. Oft have I scoured Craigslist for employ as playwright, but both my hands and my purse remain empty.

Hope doth glimmer, tho. Yesternight, 'pon my return walk for evening victuals (I supped at an eatery most royal, called "Burger King"), I set my eyes 'pon a playbill promoting a raucous event called a "Poetry Slam," during open mic night at a local pub. I know naught of this "open mic" of which they speak, but the playbill proclaimeth that any and all may read their poetry to the poetry aficionadi in attendance. Verily, have I much poetry that I could read! Methinks a selection of bawdy sonnets wouldst please the attending ears. Mayhap even a patron may be in attendance, hanging 'pon my every word. Though I am no braggart, I shall leave the throng in stunned silence at the skill of my pen.

The Poetry Slam doth take place this Saturday night. I, as your faithful correspondent, shall report here on the success of my performance.

W. Shakespeare

Fuck my life

So here I am on a normal Saturday night... aw fuck, it's Friday. Anyway, I'm home, reading Technical manuals so that I may better educate myself. Education is important. Why I had sex with your mother is not.

Anyway, I decide to take a break and watch a movie. Potluck. Put out by High Times, I figured despite the bad reviews, I would buy it because A) It was only like $3 and B) It has Jason Mewes in it. The reviews were correct. This movie sucks donkey balls.

After a brief phone conversation with my mother, I've decided it's time to have a beer. Now before you all condemn me for having a problem with liquor, keep in mind, fuck yourselves. That said, I can honestly say I would do a commercial endorsing Dogfish Head for free.

Where was I?? Oh yeah, so I'm home alone on a Friday, and why? Cause women are out of their gawdamn minds. Well, that and it's balls cold out. I hate winter. I have no idea why I still live where it's cold. No clue. None. Perhaps I'm stupid. It could just be the Midwest, but let me see if I can predict the personality of EVERY 18 - 35 year old woman you will meet in the Heartland of America.

Believes in god and "should go to church more"

Has a lower back tatoo - usually something lame like a butterfly, fairy, or flowers of some sort.

Never speaks of meeting the right person as a goal always wants to get married "someday"

Taste in music and movies is dictated by MTV/ Pop Radio

Has either a cat or dog that's smaller than a cat

Doesn't exercise and borderline has an eating disorder

Likes reality TV

Went to college for Elementary Education, Speech Pathology, Psychology or Communication, just because they didn't want to take any Math. Because, you know, it's hard!

Has a bullshit job, likely due to the worthless degree

Has a bullshit job, and can't understand why they aren't advancing.

Won't take any training or further their education because they got their degree - they're done learning!

Family is very important to them - BONUS: Never married with kid(s) - the kid(s) "are their world"

I can go on and on, but I think you get the point.

I totally forgot where I was going with this. I think I'm going to have another beer and listen to Pink Floyd.

Fuck my life.

Hints, Allegations and Things I should have left Unsaid

I ran across this "41 ways to melt a woman`s heart" on some men's magazine online thing. Seriously, who writes this crap?

I've decided to point out the obvious flaws below:

1. Ask her to dance.

So she can do the lame, no rhythm white girl dance? Uh, no.

2. On windy days, brush wayward strands of hair from her eyes and mouth.

Ever tried that? Sometimes it's cool, sometimes not. Best not to risk it.

3. When she's coming down the street, across the room, or up the stairs to meet you, walk towards her as soon as you see her.

So she'll think something is wrong?

4. Kiss her between her shoulder blades when she turns her back to you to go to
sleep.

Right where I just 'unloaded'? Uh… pass.

5. Put your arm around her when you introduce her to your friends and family.

Like in a headlock? Sweet!!

6. Grasp her hand when a scantily dressed, beautiful woman walks by.

So she can infer that the woman triggered some involuntary reflex and you'll get reamed for looking

7. Call her when you're feeling sad.

Great idea, girls always love it when you drunk dial them!!

8. Kiss her eyelids.

I think 10/10 girls who DON'T have mental problems would find this creepy.

9. Ask to see a picture of her when she was a child.

Unless she was a 300lb land monster as a child, then you'll get killed for dredging up childhood drama!!

10. Wash her from head to toe in the shower.

Isn't that more of a tub activity?

11. If she's crying on the phone, go over to her place. Immediately.

Cause everyone lives no more than 10 minutes away.

12. Stand her naked on a sturdy chair and lick between her legs.

For a second, I thought that said KICK her between her legs….

13. Occasionally call her by her first and middle names.

I'll pass on that one. Most people only get called by first AND middle by their parents, and then only when in trouble. The mind would take some time to break the association.

14. Buy her your favorite rock album of all time on vinyl.

My favorite rock album on vinyl. Assuming I like rock and said album is available on vinyl. And she would think it's cool as a keepsake, OR actually owns a record player. Is Slipknot's Volume 3 available on vinyl? And MY favorite? What if she HATES my favorite band? Course if she doesn't like Slipknot, I should obviously dump her… oh I see where they're going with this. Genius!!

15. Order coffee for her, remembering exactly how she likes it.

Assuming she drinks coffee and isn't offended by you ordering for her.

16. Undress her and put her to bed when she falls asleep in the car.

Again, I know more than a few girls who would find that creepy.

17. Mention your upcoming anniversary before she does.

I assume this means I'd have to remember it. And which anniversary anyway? One month? 6 months? A year? Girls keep track of trivial dates.

18. Send her something in the mail. Anything.

I think if I sent her porn, I'd be in trouble. Should have some guidelines here.

19. When she's feeling insecure, stare into her eyes and tell her there is no-one in the world who could be as right for you as she is.

I think that one just might work, if you can pull it off with a straight face.

20. Call her just before you get on the plane.

Uh… ok, and say what? Can't really talk I have to get on the plane?

21. Pick her clothes up off the floor.

Why are her clothes on the floor? I don't date slobs. She's a big girl, she can do it herself. Uh… and by big girl, I mean she's grown up, not that she's a cow.

22. Try desperately to make her laugh when she's feeling down.

I try not to get into 'desperate' mode. What if I'm just hilarious with no effort?

23. Take her to see your favorite sport live. Pay more attention to her than to the game.

Have you been to a sporting event lately? At $60+ a ticket, she can like it or stay home.

24. Touch her arm when you leave the table to go to the bathroom. Touch her again when you come back.

Cause she definitely won't be creeped out by realizing that you want to touch here when you get the urge to take a dump – Wait, is she East German??

25. Shave just before you see her. She'll notice.

Better be a serious relationship. Shaving sucks.

26. Hug her when she gets jealous. Hug her hard.

Try to break a few ribs. She'll be putty in your hands. Literally, with no bones, pretty much just putty.

27. Worship her breasts.

DONE!!!

28. Give her jewelry.

Only if it's cheap shit. If I'm shelling out of diamonds, there should be some sort of relationship contract in place.

29. Hand her two towels when she gets out of the shower. (The second one is for her hair.)

Assuming she doesn't scream and ask WTF you're doing in there.

30. Ask her specific questions about her work.

So she can bitch about her job? No thanks.

31. Keep her favorite cereal on hand.

Are there still women out there who eat breakfast?? Or eat at all??? What about eggs and toast? YEAH TOAST!!!

32. In the middle of a conversation, tell her you love her.

And get bitched at for interrupting? I don't think so.

33. Send her very expensive flowers when you screw up.

Well that would be saying I'm wrong, which, since I'm never wrong, would be a lie. I try not to ever lie.

34. Take her to a cabin with a fireplace. Build her a fire.

Tell her how romantic the night will be, but leave out the part about how bad the morning will be without running water.

35. Moan her name when she goes down on you.

Assuming A) she would go down on you – if she 'doesn't do that' dump her. And B) she's actually good at it – shocking how many girls can't master the up and down motion

36. Read her a story when it's her turn to drive during a long road trip.

Provided she likes being read to, and it doesn't distract her. And assuming she'll shut up long enough to allow you to speak.

37. Offer to fix something at her place that you realize is broken.

And hope she doesn't interpret that as you calling her place a dump.

38. Notice when she's wearing something new.

Don't forget, for this to work, you'll need a complete mental inventory of everything she already has.

39. Make love to her standing up, against a wall.

As long as she's under 150lbs – otherwise this one could backfire.

40. Kiss her hand in front of your most die-hard bachelor buddies.

This should be ok, at my age, most people are either married or dating, so 'die-hard' bachelor buddies should be pretty much non-existent.

41. If she's too stressed to want sex...

a. Run a bath for her.

b. Give her a full-body massage.

c. Ask if she wants to wrestle.

Few bottles of cheap wine should work much better with zero effort!!!

Douchebag of the Week

Just when I thought there wasn't a quality candidate for the DotW Award this week, along comes Sarah Palin. Politico.com posted an article today on Sarah Palin where she claims that the media is handling Caroline Kennedy with "kid gloves," as opposed to the harsh scrutiny that she received. The possibilites here are almost endless. I hardly know where to begin.

Let's start with the obvious question: is the media treating Kennedy more gently than they treated Palin? Of course. Is it because, as Palin suggests, she's a Kennedy? We can't completely rule that out, of course. She's the daughter of a popular President who was assassinated while in office. Naturally, that creates a soft spot for a lot of people. That being said, the real reason that Palin was treated with greater scrutiny than Kennedy is that Palin was on the ticket to be elected to the office of Vice President of the United States. Kennedy is among the people who could be appointed to be the junior Senator from the State of New York. Big difference, Sarah. Big difference.

The current presidential line of succession, as spelled out in the Presidential Succession Act of 1947 (and in amenedments thereto) spells out the next 18 people who would succeed the President, starting with the VP and concluding with the Secretary of Homeland Security. No where on the list does "Junior Senator from the State of New York" appear. Does that mean that a Senate seat is unimportant? Absolutely not. The men and women who comprise the United States Senate are the real meat and potatos of the Legislative branch, so to speak. Every seat is of vital importance, as can be seen by the vigor with which the Minnesota seat held by Norm Coleman was contested. So does this mean that Kennedy should get the seat simply because she's JFK's daughter? Again, of course not. Anyone who suggests such a thing is either a fool or simply doesn't understand the importance of the seat. Should Kennedy be scrutinized? Yes. Should she be subjected to the same rigor as a person seeking to hold the office of Vice President of the United States? Certainly not, and as I said previously, anyone who would ask such a question is either a fool or doesn't understand the question.

So let's move on to the next point. Another major reason that Sarah Palin was treated with greater scrutiny is that she brought it on herself with her behavior and, more importantly, her speech. Much of what she said during the campaign was breathtakingly uninformed or, let's be honest, stupid. When asked what magainzes or newspapers she reads to keep up on world events, you reply "Oh, all of 'em," and you don't expect people to take you to task for it? Here is a woman who seemed to be more concerned with a quality sound byte (how about "I sold it on eBay," as an example) than with actually contributing anything substantial to the discussion. McCain, at least, brought some serious tools to the table. Palin, by contrast, brought a pair of plastic safety scissors and a piece of string. And now she's talking about how Katie Couric and Tina Fey have been "exploiting" and "capitalizing on" her? Wow. As I see it, if you're going to pitch nice and slow, right across the plate, you better expect the other person to swing. If she hadn't so flagrantly made a buffoon out of herself, then Tina Fey wouldn't have had anything to work with on SNL. As far as CBS splicing the Couric interview together in such a way as to make her look foolish, I don't know. I'm no video expert, so I can't attest one way or the other. What I can say, though, is that based on the sheer volume of the cataclysmically ignorant things she said in many of her speeches, the odds are that no such splicing was necessary. Was Katie Couric trying to make her look foolish. No. She didn't need Katie's help to do that.

Congratulations Sarah Palin! You are the first female recipient of the coveted Douchebag of the Week Award!

My Conversation with God (Part 3)

So there I am, toweling off after a nice, relaxing shower, when out of no where it happens again.

"Nigel?"

What it is with this guy? Not only does he always want to talk to me at the most inopportune times, but he also seems to have some strange fascination with talking to me while I'm in the jakes. I thought I'd try ignoring him.

"You can't ignore me, Nigel."

"Sure I can. I don't believe in you. To my way of thinking, that takes ignoring to an entirely new level."

"Nigel, I want to talk to you."

"Fine," I said with a long sigh. "What do you want?"

"First get dressed. I don't want to have to look at your doodle while I'm talking to you."

This seemed to beg the question of why he was looking at my doodle in the first place, but let that go. When I was dressed, I reluctantly returned to the conversation.

"There. I'm dressed. Better?" I asked.

"Much. Thank you."

"No problem. What can I do for you?"

"I have something I'd like for you to discuss on this blog-thing you've been contributing to."

"To which I've been contributing."

"Beg pardon?"

"You ended a sentence with a preposition. It should have been 'this blog-thing to which you've been contributing.'"

"Damn. Never could get that one right. When I was creating the Universe, why did I have to make grammar rules so bloody arbitrary?"

"I would argue that you didn't actually make anything."

"Which is actually what I want you to write about. I'd like you to tackle the issue of the general idiocy of religion in general. I see this as a multi-part series. Cover everything from the ridiculous to the sublime. Really dig into it."

Well, there it is. Having been handed the task by none other than Alan himself, please join me in what is sure to be an entertaining journey.

One of the things that I have always found most irksome when it comes to religion is the degree to which it is laden with internal contradictions to the point that even as a loose school of philosophy, it is useless. Consider God's supposed omniscience/omnipotence.

All of the three major religions (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) come to us supposedly handed down to an unlettered, rustic bumpkin, either directly from the mouth of God, or through an intermediary, such as the angel Gabriel. This, of course, first rasises the question of why God would choose to send this message to a single person and task them with disseminating the information. Looking at it from the practical perspective, it would have been much more thorough and effective to either a.) send out a broadcast message to all of the denizens of planet Earch; or b.) build in the knowledge of these celestial edicts from the very beginning. Or one could even argue for a third option, c.) make no options or modes of behavior available other than those prescribed by the celestial edicts, thus obviating the need for the edicts in the first place. It would seem that the Deity either intentially built a flaw into the system (thereby propitiating a yet greater deity?), or simply overlooked it. In either case, this seems to call into question the issue of omnisience and omnipotence. One is reminded of the oft quoted bit from Epicurus, "Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil? Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?"

Consider also the violent reaction one frequently illicits with even the most vague questioning of God's omnisience/omnipotence, to say nothing of questioning his existence entirely. Over the years, both here in the U.S. and when I'm visiting friends and family in the UK, I have, at first hand, seen or been the subject of verbally violent (fortunately not physically violent...not yet, anyway) response, even when they are the ones having initiated the conversation. Once, some years ago, I was sitting in a local pub. I liked this particular pub because it was close to my flat and because it was never overcrowded. I was sitting at the bar, enjoying a pint of a non-descript lager, when the man on the stool to my left struck up a conversation with me. We chatted off and on about the weather, the economy, and the like, when he asked me "So what church do you go to?"

My heart sank.

"I don't attend a church," I said, suddenly wishing I was somewhere else. I'd seen this sort of thing enough times to know where it was going. Not being a fan of unnecessary confrontation, I opted to tread lightly.

He took on a mildly confused expression.

"You mean you don't go regularly? I'm not sure I...."

"I mean I don't go to church. Haven't since I was a young child. Don't really have much use for it."

His eyes widened.

"You mean you're..." He leaned toward me and whispered. "...an athiest?"

He said this with the same hushed emphasis that one would expect if he had said "You mean you're a cannibal?"

"I don't really like that term," I said. "But yes, I am."

The change was instant and dramatic. He straightened his back and turned back to the bar.

"I don't know where you people get off," he said. "You people make me sick."

He then finished the last swallow of his beer, slammed the pint glass down on the bar, and stood up. He turned to face me and for a moment reared back with his hand. He was either preparing to slap me or attempting to hail a cab. Given the fact we were inside, I have to assume it was the former. Then, with an actual harumph, he stomped out.

One would think that if the Deity were in fact both omnicient and omnipotent, that he wouldn't require such angry, hostile defense. Logic would dictate that an omnicient and omnipotent deity would be sufficiently capable to handle the whole issue of defense on his own quite admirably.

This sort of reaction seems to say so much more than these people think. There must be some underlying germ of skepticism, otherwise there would be no need to be so aggressive in their response. If you were chatting with someone who told you "I don't believe the sky is blue," your response would likely be something like "Ummmm....have you looked at the sky recently?" And if they still insisted that they didn't believe the sky was blue, you'd shrug your shoulders, think that the person is clearly a screwball, and go on about your business. You wouldn't get angry, make as though to strike the person, and then stomp off in a huff. So is God omnicient/omnipotent? If he was, he wouldn't need that sort of response. Did he, in his omnicience/omnipotence, choose to make me so that I am constitutionally incapable of belief in him? If so, to question my unbelief is to question his divine decision. Or is it possible that, in the quiet hours of the early morning, these people question their own belief? They lack the courage of their convictions. Had they truly possessed the courge of their convictions, secure in their own belief, they simply wouldn't care what I believe. Nor should they.

Douchebag of the Week

This week was a difficult one in terms of selecting the winner of our
coveted DotW award. The members of the DotW Selection Committee thanks
everyone for the many nominations we received. We were able to thin the
herd to two contenders: Chip Saltsman and Rod Blagojevich (who is the
winner of our very first DotW award). After lengthy and heated debate
(resulting in 6 stitches, 3 broken windows, approximately $400 in dry
cleaning bills, and being permanently banned from the local zoo), we
arrived at a winner. Without further ado, the recipient of the DotW
Award for the week of December 29:

Chip Saltsman

This was a tough decision. Chip Saltsman, as well all now know,
displayed the depth of his subtle humor as well as his razor-sharp
satiric wit by providing a CD, containing the musical gem, "Barack the
Magic Negro." Blago certainly made it a tight race, though. Just when it
looked like Saltsman would pull away, Blago comes back with a
superlative move by appointing long-time Illinois political fixture
Roland Burris to the U.S. Senate seat vacated by President-elect Barack
Obama. This one carefully orchestrated move, both shrewd and savvy,
brought the competition to a virtual tie. At this point, the DotW
Selection Committee went into a closed door session to determine who
would be chosen. We on the committee take our solemn duty very
seriously, and we agreed that we would not adjourn until a just verdict
had been rendered, or until we ran out of pizza, whichever came first.

Blago has worn the mantle of DotW well and has lived up to all of the
honors, rights, and privileges thereto pertaining. However, the deciding
factor in choosing Saltsman over Blago came down to "what do you expect
from a pig, but a grunt?" We have already established Blago has attained
DotW status. In baseball, tie goes to the runner. In the running for
DotW, tie goes to the person who has earned the title fewer times.
Therefore, Saltsman by default. (What will we do if DotW ever comes down
to two people who have earned the title an equal number of times? We,
the DotW Selection Committee, have decided that the only way this
situation could ever be decided would be on a beach on the Gulf side of
Florida with an unlimited supply of gin and tonic. Heaven help us should
it ever come to that.)

The distinguished and well-spoken Chip Saltsman (who some might say is
really going places), recently served as the campaign manager for Mike
Huckabee's failed Presidential campaign. This clean and articulate
gentleman (Saltsman, not Huckabee, though he too seems to be both clean
and articulate) presented this well crafted CD to members of the RNC as
a Christmas gift. Doing his part against the War on Christmas, one
supposes.

Without even delving into the other musical masterpieces on this CD
("The Star Spanglish Banner" is particularly lovely), let's take just a
moment to look at the idea of "Barack the Magic Negro." The well
respected and very accomplished Mr. Saltsman, who no doubt is a good
family man, suggests that this is a simple case of political satire. Let
us consider this.

"Satire" comes from the Latin *satira*, meaning full dish, or a dish
filled with various types of fruits, nuts, and the like. Perhaps Mr.
Saltsman is more astute than I gave him credit for. While for the most
part, the original meaning of the word is lost (now referring to a type
of humor known for sarcasm, lampoon, and irony), Mr. Saltsman's
contribution to this rich literary tradition is, indeed, a dish filled
with fruits and nuts. In this case, however, it is the well spoken Mr.
Saltsman who is the nut.

Political satire? Only if you happen to be an ultra-conservative,
racist, xenophobe who is so egregiously out of touch with the zeitgeist
as to actually find this sort of puerile piffle funny. Mr. Saltsman, let
me help you out with a few things. I'll stick the three points, simply
because I don't have the time, space, or energy to make an exhaustive
list. First, the fact that this little ditty was first aired on the Rush
Limbaugh show in April 2007 and in the intervening 20 months you haven't
been able to find, write, or otherwise come into possession of something
better is indeed laughable, but not in the way you were expecting.
Second, I might recommend fostering a skill commonly referred to as
self-editing or reflective self-talk. It seems that at some point along
the process of making and distributing this CD, a little voice in the
back of your mind should have chimed in and said something along the
lines of "gosh, is this really a good idea?" The fact that it
didn't....well.....doesn't speak very highly for you, I'm afraid. Third,
for future reference, the word "Negro" is generally considered to be
offensive. This word went out of favor in, what, 1966? Cripes, man, read
a book.

Congratulations, Chip Saltsman. You managed to successfully edge out
Blago for the prestigious title of Douchebag of the Week!