In response to 50 Sure Signs That Texas Is Actually Utopia, 15 Signs That Texas is Actually Dystopia

February 8, 2013

1. Horse fuckers

Screen Shot 2013-02-07 at 6.01.54 PMScreen Shot 2013-02-07 at 6.02.30 PM2. This guy


3. This guy


4. These


5. Rednecks


6. Don’t forget this


7. And obesity


8. People like this


9. Things like this

Screen Shot 2013-02-07 at 6.24.16 PM


10. The weather seems more like hell

screenshot 7-day

11. Most of these people


12. Texans idea of science


13. There are still a few of these people


14. It’s also one of the poorer states (as is most of the south)


15. Trailers, they even have a park in Plano

images (1)

And for good measure, all these people

Creationist_Bible_Thumper_by_BlackRaptor holy-words



Growing Old

October 13, 2011

I can tell you the day that I started growing up. I can’t give a specific date, but I know the event that led to my realization that I wouldn’t always be able to claim ignorance for doing something wrong, knowing that I wouldn’t  always be carefree and that soon I would deal with worldly things like responsibility, money and love.

I had to add one sappy photo.

Growing up in the early 90’s I was a big into comics and of course my favorite comic character was Wolverine. The comics I kept from that time still have a lure to them. I just have to look at the cover and I can feel like I am 10 again. One of the best parts of being into comics, was that my older brother and a few friends all had their favorite characters and comics too. It was more than just a nerd thing.  There were several comic shops within walking distance and often this meant we would spend an hour or two going around and checking out the shops.

The times we spent walking to these shops we did other normal kid things: checking out irrigation tunnels, talking about things they don’t teach in school and generally getting into trouble. Normally I was with my older brother, Scott.

Scott is 2 years older than me. The prime age gap to hang out with his younger brother and be able to teach him and tell him all the things he isn’t ready to hear. One great example was the time he pointed to a cartoon woman’s breast and said “there is milk in there.” Of course I didn’t believe him so I had to ask my mom. I had awkward down at a young age.

One day in fall I waited for it to stop raining so I could walk to Lone Star Comics and spend my allowance on some new comics and toys. When it finally had stopped raining, I asked Scott if he wanted to go with me. I was shocked when he said no. He not only didn’t want to go with me, but he told me that he didn’t really care about comics anymore. He had other things he was now interested in and didn’t have time to care about comics. It was even more shocking when he offered to give me the comics he had collected.

I was confused and couldn’t comprehend how or why he wouldn’t care for comics anymore. It took a while for me to understand, but a while later I did. I understood that there would be things I would grow out of, things I would love, but wouldn’t love forever. This one moment opened my eyes.

Part of being a kid is not planning or overly thinking of your future, just enjoying the present. When that is taken away, you have lost a big part of being a child. You know that things won’t be the same, you realize that the things you love and think most about will be inconsequential to you. That was my loss of innocence the fact that I knew I wouldn’t always love comics, I knew one day I wouldn’t care about them, I would have other things that mattered. That’s the day my eyes were opened to a more adult world, an imperfect world.

Ramble On

September 18, 2011

This isn’t so much a post as it is random musings and rambling about life, work and the pursuit of enjoyment. This is going to be scattershot. I bit about this and a bit about that.

A. Work has been fairly crazy lately. Lots of new biz stuff in the hopper and lots of research. This research is fun/interesting when it’s about motorcycles and cars. Not so much when it’s about baby formula or items called the hot and juicy. BUT new biz is always good to be a part of and something I enjoy working on. So bring it on, but I do need a vacation soon.

B. Dating and things like that. A friend at work was joking with me (I think) and sent me an email that contained the “filters” that I should follow for dating. Here they are, to the best of my memory, and with my thoughts on them:

1.Unmarried- This kind of goes without saying. I get the whole they are more attractive cause they are unavailable thing, but I am not about to get shot cause I think some guys wife has a pretty smile and a great sense of humor.

2. Not in a relationship- Define relationship.

3. Under 35 and 25 or older – I agree with this one partially, at 30 I think it would be reasonable to date a lady who is 23-24. Am I wrong on this?

4. Not interested in men who drive import cars, BMW’s or Mercedes (not really sure why this is in here…..and I technically do drive a import…..a Toyota) – No clue on this one, so I will ignore it.

5. Able to process and enjoy my “humor”- This one I get. I don’t just get it, but I agree with her 100% on.

Other than that, no interesting dates have been had by me in the past few weeks. All is quiet on the dating front.

C. Life in general has been good lately. Except for the fact that I am missing 2 things right now: a bike (yes a bike, not a motorcycle) and travel. I sold my bike a while back and have been itching to hit the trails and bike to work for a while now. Think this itch will be scratched soon. As for traveling, I haven’t been on a good trip in a while, maybe even years now. I have made a few trips to a cabin in the woods and to see a friend in Victoria, TX, but I haven’t been out of state or somewhere I have been wanting to visit for a while now. It’s wearing on me. This itch might take longer to scratch or I might hobo it.

On another note Movember is coming up and I will be trying to put a team together at work, so keep your eyes peeled and your wallets open.

My new look

Life Inventory

August 30, 2011

Every 6 months or so I like to do what I call my life inventory. This involves nearly every aspect of my life. I like to think that it gives me a chance to reevaluate where I have gotten, where I am going and what I consider important. I think a lot of people do this as well, but maybe just don’t have a name for their process.

It usually starts with clothes, dvds and books. I will go through my dresser and my closet and find clothes that I don’t wear much anymore. I will try them on and if I don’t like the fit, look or color then I bag it up for a donation. I do the same with my dvds. If I don’t watch it, don’t think I will watch it within the next couple weeks. I set it aside to trade in at Recycled Books and Record in Denton. Books get the same treatment, but I usually reread most of my books and don’t get rid of many of them.

This guy needs a life coach or adult diapers.

Next I go through my computer. I get rid of old files, random photos and then move on to my social sites. I like to evaluate the people I follow and have as friends. It’s not a hard process. Do you enjoy the content and things they post? Do you interact with them? Or were they added just cause they followed me or sent me a friend request? A few other factors go into this process, but nothing deep or overly complicated. Cleaning up helps maintain meaningful relationships with the people you keep.

Now to the hardest part. Believe it or not I have a list of goals I keep written down and in a safe place. It’s important for me to look over what I have written down and then spend a few days thinking over what I had set as my goals. Some change and evolve, a few are completed (hopefully) and occasionally new ones are added. I won’t lie some of my goals are a little odd and out there, but I still go after them as best I can. Most of my goals focus on experiences and career goals, there are also a few random ones in there. A few experiences I have completed are: trying out surfing, running with the bulls, following Hemingway’s footsteps in Paris and seeing a thunder snow in Wyoming. Most of my experience related goals involve travel. I dig it, it’s one of the few things I can spend money on and not feel buyers remorse afterwards.

The goal is to not end up like this.

So do you do anything similar, or am I just weird?

A Redneck’s Wet Dream

July 26, 2011

It was a trip to explore everything that’s exciting, entertaining and wrong with the state of Texas. A trip fueled by Johnny Walker black, Sailor Jerry Rum and an assortment of Mexican beer. Aside from alcohol we were armed to the teeth: a .44 magnum, .40 Sig, .40 Walther, .22 Rifle, SKS, 30/30 lever-action Marlin, .410 snake gun and various knives. This not only meant we needed over $175 worth of ammo, but it also meant that we would easily blend in with the locals. The folks out here fit every stereotype of suburban dwellers turned country folk. They hate the government, liberals, immigrants, taxes, trespassers and poachers.  They buy up land to come out on the weekends and “live a simple life”. For us, they were not to be trusted.

We arrived Friday around 5. It was hot and the ac hadn’t been turned on in a month, it was cooler outside for the first couple hours than it was inside. The perfect time to take a Xbox plagued by fail and shoot it into oblivion, unfortunately we had forgotten the gunpowder that we had planned to pour into it. There would be no explosion, but that was alright. We put 60 rounds of .40 into it before we decided it had enough.

It was time for a beer break, we sat around drinking for a few hours. After we had polished off a 12 pack and two sizable steaks we took the roof off of his Jeep, grabbed some spotlights, loaded the .22 and SKS into the jeep along with our 3rd member of the party, Johnny Walker, and took off down the road. We were under the guise of hog hunting and not the kind that goes on at Applebee’s on a Tuesday night. I say guise, cause the truth is we were out to drink, shoot guns and maybe get something to cook tomorrow. There was no game plan, you simply stood in the passenger seat bracing one arm against the roll cage and the other holding a rifle. Whoever is driving spots and hands off the light if need be, this isn’t legal hunting. This actually is all highly illegal. Combing the dangers of drinking and driving with loaded weapons and two loose cannons.

Tiny, right-side drive truck that was at the cabin.

We rolled down what might be considered a road shooting at mostly raccoons. We both missed the first couple of shots, but soon we were less focused on hunting and more focused on our frequent whiskey breaks. We would stop, open the Johnny Walker, pass it back and forth and then proceed on down the road. Before long we had Rage Against the Machine playing while chasing down the yellow orbs of any eyes we saw off the road. It wasn’t long before we spotted a pair of eyes down the road and I, surprisingly steady, raised the single shot .22 and put a round through a decent sized raccoon. He crawled awkwardly off the road and into the brush, so we parked the Jeep and followed with a spotlight. It didn’t take long till we saw him hiding under some brush about 5 yards off the road. I shined the spotlight on  him and the large yellow eyes blinked, I felt the fear, desperation and sadness that he was feeling. I was experiencing drunken empathy for a wild animal, I had to have my accomplice finish him and he did with one clean shot from his pistol.

Walther P99 & SIG P226

Shooting that raccoon bothered me the rest of the night, so I drank more and let my friend do the rest of  the hunting. There wasn’t much more hunting that took place, whiskey breaks became more frequent and the music got louder. We decided to call it a night and headed back to the cabin. It was near 3 in the morning and I honestly don’t remember crawling in bed. I was drunk, I never took my contacts out and woke up the next day with the cloudy vision from extremely dry eyes and a headache that made me think my head contained dry sawdust and a tiny person slowly beating loud drum with a dull thud.

That day we slept till 10, and drank lots of water. When we finally ate something and got moving around my friend/accomplice suggested we set some traps. I agreed, thinking we would be using the metal cage traps that fully enclose the animals they trap, but it wasn’t. He showed me how he planned to make a snare by using a sapling and some string. This is the classic trap you see in cartoons, a loop of rope on the ground that grabs whatever walks over it. No way this was going to work, but I entertained his delusions and even brought him a beer while he carefully whittled sticks down to the proper size and angles that he wanted.

After he had his pieces we assembled the trap and he set it off to show me how it worked, and it did work on my hand. But I am not a wild animal and I couldn’t help but laugh about us spending an hour setting two of these. We went back to the cabin and got some stale food out that we used to bait the trap, mostly old marshmallows. Then we called it a day. It was too hot to stay outside and we both had brought some books to read, other than hunting, cooking or shooting guns there is absolutely nothing to do out here. That’s part of the beauty of being out here.

SKS and single shot .22

Around 8 we started drinking on the rum that I brought. We didn’t start with beer and thought that if we just drank rum we would be better tonight and mostly we were. This time we saw hogs, fortunately for them we still had the rifles in the back seat and weren’t prepared. They scampered off in the woods and we just shook our heads, but we continued our hunting exploits and I made one of the best shots I ever have that night.

We spotted a raccoon down by a creek, I was holding a spotlight in one hand and the .22 in the other. I managed to hold the light on him and steady the rifle against my shoulder with my other hand. I fired and hit him between the shoulder blades, once again we grabbed our spotlight and a flashlight and walked carefully down the bank. My accomplice was in the lead and as soon as he started on the raccoon’s trail he stopped. Shined his light down and I saw what looked like 3 sticks slide across the ground. It was water moccasins, 3 of them. Their presence deterred us from continuing on in the wast high brush and we both agreed we were better off heading back to the road.

We continued driving and taking whiskey breaks, substituting the whiskey for rum, and drove around till almost 1. We both decided it was time to head back and check out traps. I thought it would be a quick look and we would head to the cabin and drink some more before crashing, but I was wrong. The first trap had been sprung and in a small tree next to it was a small male raccoon.

Dean Koontz, upside down.

I don’t know what had happened to us, maybe the drinks had soften our attitudes or had corrupted our flawed view of sport hunting, either way we both decided that we needed to let this one go. Logically this makes no sense, it would make much more sense to shoot and kill a raccoon that’s 5 feet away than one that’s 20 yards down the road. Emotionally it made sense. So we cut the line that held him to the sapling and watched as he continued to struggle. We saw that he was tangled up in the other tree and had looped the line around multiple limbs.

The only thing to do was finish cutting his leg out of the rope, to do this we grabbed a branch around 3 foot long and tied a knife to the end of it. The raccoon, who we now called Dean Coontz, wasn’t having any of it. He growled, clawed and even ripped the knife off the stick a few times. We tried this technique for 20 mins before we decided to reevaluate our irrational act of “kindness”. Even though we were sweating out the rum and having to actually work, we silently had made a pact that we weren’t killing this guy.

Dean Coontz had clawed out a small piece of our hearts and we were determined to set him free. So I grabbed a hatched while my accomplice continued fighting with Dean to set him free. Finally I got close enough to let him grab and bite at the hatchet, at this point the knife was cutting through the cord. When Dean let go and hung upside down, I began chopping the cord where it was wrapped around the tree. Eventually Dean Coontz fell to the ground and scampered off, without so much as a thanks for the stal marshmallows we had provided him with, but he did give us something else. A feeling of accomplishment, some sort of pride in the fact that we had caught him and managed to release him relatively unharmed. He left us feeling human.

We cleaned up the knife and hatchet and then went to the other trap, nothing had been through, so we set it off in case Dean had the munchies later in the night. We walked in the dark back to the cabin and made a few rum and cokes. After talking we decided to sleep in tomorrow, wake up and shoot our pistols, then clean up and clear out. So we did. I woke up to the sound of a .44 magnum blasting bottles into oblivion out back. We ate, shot guns and headed home. Back to Dallas, back to a city where anonymity can allow you some freedom, but not the freedom to you need to say Fuck the law and do whatever you please whenever you please. Maybe that’s one thing those rednecks got right. Maybe the country life isn’t about wide pastures and narrow minds, maybe it’s more about self-restraint.

Any resemblance to Walter Sobchak is purely coincidental.

The Final Date or Shit Sushi

June 26, 2011

I won’t lie. I thought she was going to be a prostitute. A part-time sort of prostitute, the kind that advertises “massages”. I imagined this to be the best possible way to bring my awkward dating to an end. When I was younger I dated a couple massage therapists and heard stories of these women that would “disgrace” the career that they had chosen. I thought I would easily be able to go out, have her rub my back for a second and then blow the lid off the date. I will always be the first to admit, I made a huge mistake.

Not a real pic of her, but what I imagine a massage hooker to look like.

We decided on sushi. She actually picked it and said she had wanted some, no problem. There are lots of sushi places between here and where she lives. The time, place and plan was set. I arrived right on time and received a text: “Running a little late be there in 15 min”. Nothing too bad about that, except that gives me time to think. As I think about my strategy and plan I realize I am missing an extremely crucial part to this date, her name. No matter I can wing this right? I am at least ready to try.

When she finally pulls out, I get out and walk over to meet her near the entrance. She comes up and looks completely normal, except for her tiny, little shorts. I am a casual kind of guy, but these were unheard of short. Then the first words out of her mouth were: “I don’t normally wear booty shorts on a date, but it’s FUCKIN hot out.” She sounded extremely…….country. There was an accent there, I never expected from her photos, texts or anything. It was a little strange, but I said hi, gave her a hug and we went in.

We sat down and she started talking, immediately. One of her first comments was directed at a piece of sushi on the table next to us. “Is that shit? It looks like a piece of shit on some rice. Ha shit sushi!” My mouth dropped and she laughed, loudly. This was too much. At this point between the shorts and complete lack of social skills, I am thinking…bingo. She has to be a craigslist massage hooker.

I quickly started asking questions about where she was from, what she did and all the other usual date talk to distract her, and the people next to us from any more food comments. I asked her about where she grew up and what she liked about living in ________.  She started telling me about her aunt and uncle who lived west of Ft. Worth and raised cattle. What the difference between a bull and a steer is, how they manually ejaculate horses and other equally inappropriate dinner conversations. I now was thinking it was time to strategize my plan to find out the truth about her occupation.

So we went to a bar, a local standby that usually guarantees a good time and plenty of drinks. I thought this would be the perfect place to put her to the test. We had a few rounds and once I felt I could get away with it, I told her about a muscle that was aching in my back. She rolled her eyes and had obviously heard this before, but she stood up, walked around behind me and proceeded to give me a back rub…at the bar. I was fully prepared and expecting to inform you that it was terrible. That it was completely obvious that she had never given a professional massage. I was completely wrong. Not only did she have some hidden power behind her slim forearms, but she had the punishing thumbs that accompany most professional body touchers (body touchers is just a funnier description for masseuse).

I have had the displeasure of dating several professional massage therapists and know some of the techniques and signs of a good one and she had them down pat. At this point I feel like a real asshole. I enjoyed the back rub while reflecting on what exactly I had been doing for the past 6 months.

I had been on date after date of strange experiences with a complete lack of any connection, chemistry or real attraction between me and 44 different women. At the point that this crosses my mind, I can’t help but feel more alone than anyone else at the bar. I paid for our drinks, walked her to her car and told her I had an ok time, but that I don’t think I am the right type guy for her. She gave me a half smirk and said, “I kind of figured that too, when you didn’t think my joke about the turd on the sushi was that funny.”

The New Online Dating

June 1, 2011

It’s time for some positivity and proof of people making connections through online interactions. To point this out I have to go away from the conventional idea that you meet people through online dating. Some people meet and have success through other online channels. But before I get too far into that, let me show some examples of why I am nearing my end with online dating. These are, against my better judgement, real pics from some messages I recently received.

Technically nothing wrong with this one, other than the phrase in her message to me "chocolate lovin".

So back to my point. I know a good handful of people that have met others through Twitter. Odd sounding at first, but what better way to decipher someone’s personality than through 140 characters or less? Carefully measured words when tirading about bad customer service, posting links to things you find humorous, or random tweets can reveal a lot about people. So naturally people can find themselves drawn to other people through it.

The beauty of this is that people aren’t trying to be someone else or someone they think the opposite sex will want. They usually are completely themselves, even, in my case, to a fault. Not to mention the chances that you will meet these tweeters in real life at some point. So just because online dating sites match you up with weirdos, nymphos, psychos and plain ho’s, don’t think you can’t meet “normal” online.

Also: my very first guest blog post was from someone who was on twitter and then saw me on a site.

And just for kicks:

Do you like jousting?