Anti Social Networks

Let's be honest for a minute:  Social networks were created by the anti-social for the anti-social.

Just the term social network itself is an oxymoron.  If most of us were social, we wouldn't spend so much time on a social network. 

In fact, most of our behaviors online do not even mimic our behaviors offline.  Back in the days of Myspace, it was not uncommon for people to beg others to comment their pictures.  But in real life, no one would dare walk up to strangers and ask them to comment their face or tell them they are pretty,

Here on Facebook or even on Twitter, we share the most mundane aspects of our lives.  Who hasn't posted a picture of their dinner?  Who hasn't stopped what they are doing to let everyone know, via a status, that they have a headache? 

These are all things we don't do away from our computers.  I certainly have never called a friend and asked him to come over and look at my bowl of spaghetti I made for dinner.   And when I have a headache, the last thing I want to do, is talk about it. 

But here online, our lives are dictated by self-imposed narratives, photo ops and soundbites.

I am sure most women who have been online long enough have been subjected to the random penis picture from some unknown man.  Offline, if a man opens up his trench coat and flashes a woman, he is committing a crime.  Online, it's simply shrugged off as an expected occurrence.

Social networks are anything but social.

It's an oxymoron.

Social networks have just about replaced conversation with memes.   Rather than debate someone using intelligence on political matters, we use memes.  Often times, we don't even fact check the image we use to do our debating.

Now, we have a whole generation of self-described inspirational gurus who post incessant cliches, quotes and glitter infested adages.  It's as if kindness or acts of compassion have been reduced to the posting of other people's words on these anti-social networks.

People have found a lazy method of finding self-satisfaction without leaving their self-imposed bubbles. 

Imagine if Mother Theresa abandoned her good works and simply spent her time posting memes on Facebook.  She'd be as ordinary as the rest of us.

It seems to me that anti-social networks have caused us to lose the ability to rely on original thought.  They have bred a whole network of people who lack self-awareness and even delve into some shallow existence where an oxymoron is mistaken for wisdom.

A land where tiny women believe they are fierce and tough while large men believe they are soft with hearts of gold.

A place where insomnia is mistaken as an attribute of intelligence while bloggers believe they inherently deserve to be heard.

Anti social networks have caused the quiet reserved types to feel emboldened where voicing an opinion is incorrectly believed to be courageous. 

A place where being a humanitarian is as simple as posting an anti child abuse picture on your page which in reality is about as meaningful as drinking from a milk carton with a missing child on it.

Anti social networks have caused us to be calculated in our compassion all for the sake of a false perception by an audience filled with strangers.

These places manifest the self-serving needs of well intentioned people because ordinary people are given an opportunity to feel extraordinary in a virtual world not defined by cities, streets and pavement.


It seems to me that anti social networks are better suited for cynics like myself because in the real world, it is us who keep things real.

Trying too hard

If I was a car salesman with my own office, my desk would be cluttered with things you'd expect to find: a calculator, car brochures, pens and notepads.  I wouldn't stop there.  I'd have pictures of my girlfriend, maybe my mom and most importantly a coffee mug that read, "World's Greatest Dad."

I do have a beautiful girlfriend and a mom but the kids... well, they don't exist, yet.

I suppose creating this perception that I have kids and that I am the world's greatest dad could be considered a lie but, in sales, perception can be the difference between a mediocre paycheck and a large commission.

I am fascinated with the perceptions we create, the perceptions people have of us and the realities behind who each of us are.

Probably the most common thought that goes through my head when I judgmentally observe people around here is, "you're trying too hard".

When I first joined Facebook, admittedly, I felt out of place.  I felt unaccomplished, a disappointment and maybe,a little sorry for myself.  Everyone I knew from my past was happily married or had kids.  Each and every person I had ever considered close seemed to all be living the perfect life.

I suppose on a social network, painting a picture of our reality via sound bites and photo ops is going to lean more towards the positive aspects of our lives.   And if the positives are few, I suppose we may exaggerate those that do exist.

It's creating a perception.

In my head, I pretty much have everyone categorized around here.  One side of the spectrum are the freaks with their genital pictures and lame pick up lines.  Then, with the other extreme, we have the inspirational crowd; those who do nothing but regurgitate positivity and post unicorn pictures.  In between, we have the cat crowd, the always sick crowd, the TMI people, the angry political types, and then those I actually feel a sense of loyalty with.

Regardless of my opinion on individuals, I think most of us try too hard; including myself.

I do not believe the creepy people on here are necessarily creepy offline.  I, also, do not believe the angelic, saintly types with their sparkly unicorn pics and worn out Maya Angelou quotes are necessarily good people offline.


It's not to say that some aren't consistent in character in both existences.

I do believe that there is very little difference between the positivity people and the freaks.   Overkill is overkill.  Constantly talking about your fetishes and how horny you are is really no different than the endless postings of cats jumping on rainbows with some cliche about smiling more and loving everyone.

It's just a perception,  For some, it's living vicariously through the persona we have invented for ourselves online; to be who we wish we really were.  For others, it's a chance to be noticed and feel important or extraordinary..

I don't really know 90% of my friends list but I can give an adjective about each person on it.  Odds are, I will be wrong in my perception of each of them.

The internet has bred a whole generation of narcissists.  We saw it on myspace.   When our blogs ranked, we felt a sense of celebrity.  The positivity people and the poets believed they were healing the world with one cliche after another. Original thought was now defined by rephrasing someone else's original thought and then feeling proud of ourselves for being so clever and deep.

I don't really know if I have a point other than, I don't think any of us really know each other.  I think, most of us are so self-absorbed and worried about being perceived a certain way, we lose sight on the reality of who we are.  I think we lose a piece of our self every time we log in here.

One day, I will start every morning; drinking coffee from a mug that reads "worlds greatest dad" but the best part is it won't be sitting on my desk at work.

It will be left at home on my kitchen counter next to my kid's lunches.

Trickle Down

We were friends for 15 straight years. Then, there was seven years of nothing.  Complete silence.

I was certain he was fine.  In the back of my mind, I wondered if he was finally happy.  He has an infectious laugh.  A laugh I had truly missed.

One day.
Out of the blue.
He called.  He reentered my life.

Just like that, that conversation seemed like we were finishing a conversation we had minutes earlier.  But the truth is, it was a new conversation seven years later.

It's hard to explain.

Unless you've lost a friend that you truly never lost, you can't understand.

Some people are meant to be a part of your life for a moment.  Others, they remain with you forever.

He was that forever friend; regardless how often we spoke or speak.

I am glad I answered the phone that day.

He called because he was drunk.  The truth is, he was lonely.  He missed me.  He missed the good old days.  Actually, he missed his friends.  All of us.

We spoke for 6 hours that night.  Then, everyday from that day forward until he met his soon to be wife.  It was to be a relationship I helped form.  When he asked for her hand in marriage, my fingerprints were all over their vows. 

I take a lot of pride in that.

I know he was glad he picked up the phone that day.

The miracle of that one simple phone call was written in the Book of Life centuries ago.  I believe that.

Because of him and that phone call, it led me to the woman I now refer to as the love of my life.

It was a trickle down effect.  He knew someone who knew someone and that someone introduced me to someone.  Then that someone and I fell in love.

I could talk about all the hurdles we have jumped, the mountains we have climbed or I could talk about the sweet taste of her lips.  I could mention my moments of despair and the new gray that sprouted in between my dark Elvis like hair.  I could write how I learned the true meaning of anxiety and the real definition of being heartbroken.  I could toss out cliches that seem to never bring comfort when you are believing you are destined to always be alone. 

I could talk about how the last four years have been the best years of my life despite everything we have gone through.

I could talk for days about how that one simple phone call from a lost friend led me to the only woman I have ever loved.

I am glad I chose to be his friend in 1985.

He was a large kid for his age.  Hell, he was a large kid for any age.  But that laugh... it was so infectious.  How could I not make friends with a fat, awkward kid with a laugh like that?

I didn't know at the time that 25 years later he was going to be responsible for introducing me to her. 

Maybe, if I had, I would have been a better friend.  And maybe, we would still be talking today.

I miss him.

I am thankful to him for her.

I am glad I answered my phone that day....

Four years ago.

Larger than Life

"My donuts!  My donuts!"

Picture this:  A nearly 300 pound, 15 year old kid riding his bike with no hands while carrying a box filled with donuts.  Suddenly, he loses balance and crashes into a pile of rocks.  Bloodied and bruised, he emerges from the sea of boulders; limps to the twisted heap of metal once known as his bicycle and exclaims, "my donuts, my donuts!"

That is how I was introduced to the best friend I have ever known.  He was the fat kid more concerned with his donuts than the blood running down his arms and legs or his broken bicycle.

1985 was a great year.  It's the year, I met him.


I think about him all the time. 

We don't talk anymore.  I will take the blame.  I suppose, I say too much, express too many opinions, judge too often and sabotage too many good things.

Last night, his sister in law posted his picture online.  There he was; a little gray, overweight but still larger than life.

Larger than life.  That's him.

I suppose we all have that friend.  The indescribable, quirky friend whom we credit with so many of our own accomplishments and attributes. 

The last time we spoke was two years ago.  We spoke for hours.  Nothing changed.  Our bond is/was unbreakable.

He is the man responsible indirectly for me meeting the love of the life.  I am the man indirectly responsible for his marriage. 

In the annals of my life, it will be written that he was my best friend. 

I think sometimes we throw that term around carelessly.  We crown certain people our best friend when, in reality, they are merely our favorite friend.  In this case, he is/was the BEST friend I have ever had.

I could speak about him for days.  His laugh.  His kindness.  His compassion. 

His love.

We don't talk anymore.  It's a long and complicated story.

I saw him last night.  If pictures accurately tell a story, then he looks well.  Happy. Still in love.

I suppose that's all I really need to know.

20 Seconds

Sometimes, when we are talking, I don't hear a damn thing she says.  It's her voice.  It's the sweetest sound in the world. 

We've had some close calls.  A long break up.  Ridiculous fights.  Insane insecurities.  Health scares.

Her, coming to her senses.


I knew within 20 seconds of meeting her that she was the one.  I also knew that she was going to have to choose me.  Women like her, men like me, don't choose.  They choose us.

I'd like to say I deserve her.  I don't.

Things like this aren't stated in a moment of weakness or during some self-pitied epiphany.  It isn't said so others will bury me in praise or complimentary toasts. 

It's stated because it is a fact.  I don't deserve her.  I doubt anyone does.

My twenty seconds of making an eternal impression were clumsy. 

I don't remember one damn thing I said to her.  I hoped to avoid eye contact because I knew I would start feeling self-conscious like she was staring at some wayward nose hair or blemish on my skin.  I had hoped that she could overlook any imperfections and see something in me that I've never seen myself.

A woman like her shouldn't be talking to a man like me.

But she did.  She clung to every word.  She nodded.  She smiled.  She even touched my arm.

I remember those things.

I swear I am the luckiest man alive.  I don't deserve to be.

I suppose you'd have to know her to get it.


My whole life I've had a blue print of the perfect woman in my mind.  Sundresses, flip flops, pony tails, green eyes, a smile like no other...

If I am an architect, then her creator far exceeded my plans.  He took my vague dream and built a monument.

I suppose you'd have to see her to get it.


She had a root canal done today.  In the midst of her drug induced haze, she told me she loved me.  For some reason, I couldn't swallow.  It caught me off guard.  It's her voice.  It's the sweetest sound in the world.

I suppose you'd have to talk with her to get it.

In my alone time, I watch a lot of movies.  Last night, the movie I watched, made this declaration, "You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it."

It really resonated with me.  Unbeknownst to me at the time I met her, I had my twenty seconds of courage. 

These connections we make in life are miracles.  They aren't handed to us.  We don't even earn them, either.  They just happen.

God knows I don't deserve her.

In the final scene of the specific movie I watched last night, the main character meets her.

In his twenty seconds of courage, he asks, "Why would an amazing woman like you even talk to someone like me?"

Her response, "Why not?"

I suppose you'd have to be in love to get this. 

A Long Day

It's been a long day. 

Birds singing in the morning.  Coffee brewing in the kitchen. 

The lap top warming up as I did the same in the shower; ready to embark on an ordinary day.

Dried myself off, sat in my chair, preparing myself for my regular routine. 

And the long day began.

Heard some troubling news about someone I barely knew.  A stranger in my computer, hours before, had lost his life.  A friend of a friend of another friend is quite upset.  Humanity sinks in as I drink from my coffee cup.  Ho hum, it happens every day, I tell myself as I find myself a little despondent.

Something about those connections we make here online with people we've never met.  It's funny.  It's sad.  It's another long day.

It's been a long year.

New Years resolutions get longer each year.  Broken a lot sooner as I grow older.

I love you, my love, can't wait until we're married.  Maybe, we won't have babies but if you want another cat, I will not debate you.

Summer rolls in, I need a vacation from me.  I pack my bags and send them on a trip.  I never go anywhere without my ego.

She says she's not feeling too well, even worse than usual.  Worry sets it in, even more so than before.  Doctor says she'll be fine... God willing.

Christmas is coming.  She's everything I want.  It's funny.  It's sad.  It's another long year.

It's been a long decade.

Sat across from a friend in an ordinary booth at a rather tame restaurant.  His hands were shaking as his speech was slurred.  Three hours that night, doing what we do best.  Talking. 

The last three hours, I would ever see him again. 

I've seen a ghost, a shell of a man, walk away in the distance as my heart told me, I wouldn't see him again.   And my heart was right.

Ten years of yearning; wishing I had those hours back.  It's funny.  It's sad.  It's been a long decade.

It's been a long life.

So many friends.  So many faces.  So many memories. 

If I had grandparents, this would be the time, I'd ask for old war stories, to see their old wounds.  This would be the time, Id' drink lemonade on the porch, rock in a chair and marvel as they spoke.

But I'll settle for my neighbor who no longer remembers his name.  His face, specifically, his eyes; tell me everything I need to know.

It's embarrassing, my generation, as I think of his.  It's funny.  It's sad. 

And the long day comes to an end.  A day filled with reflection, some regrets and reminiscence.  Alone with some thoughts, my telephone rang.  An unfamiliar phone number from a familiar area code.

So, I answer my phone, curiosity at bay. 

It's an old friend from a decade ago.

As soon as I recognized his voice, I, immediately, with joy, said, "It's been a long time."

It's funny.  It's sad.

How time flies.

Nice guys finish last... my ass

I want to put to rest this misnomer that "nice guys finish last".  Once and for all.

So, a friend of mine breaks up with this dude.  Step by step, he follows the exact same trends all dudes do when broken up with:  He tells her he will change.  Then, he claims he read some self-help books and now understands what he did wrong.  Then, he starts texting her with some really ridiculous lyrics to lame love songs.  Then, he buys her flowers.  But like the douche he is, he hand delvers them to her work; giving off the impression that he is so sweet.  But we all know hand delivered flowers are a man's way to give off the perception he is sweet.  It's a man's way to put the spotlight on himself instead of the woman that he is "apologizing" to or trying to win over.  Hand delivered flowers are a transparent way to get a woman's co-workers pity and praise.  It's manipulation.

After the flowers, he began the non-stop emails and texts with WORDS of desperation.

"The pain is unbearable."
"I will die without you."

The emotional blackmailing begins.

I know this well because I've done it before.

So, this dude keeps texting, calling and emailing constantly.  He keeps begging for another chance.  He becomes even more clingy than when they were together.  He has become a borderline stalker.

So, this friend, starts to worry.  I decide to message him and explain to him why she broke up.  I explained that she broke up because she simply is not romantically interested in him.  After two months of dating, she realized he is not for her.  It was that simple.

I explained that no words or lame poetry or hand delivered flowers have the power to make her be in love with him.

Then, I warned him to back off and that he was in danger of losing her friendship.  I told him that he had become creepy and that she was beginning to resent him.

He then replied to me with the same things most guys say when they are dumped:  "I am tired of being a nice guy.  Women just hate nice guys.  We always finish last."

It's a myth.  Nice guys do not finish last.  Women do want nice guys.

The problem men who use this phrase have is they either do not know the definition of nice or they are giving themselves way too much credit.

Nice guys do not call themselves nice guys.  If you have to tell others you are a nice guy,  you are not a nice guy.  Note to single women:  If you are ever on a dating site or are talking to a man and he tells you that he is the guy next door type and is just a regular nice guy, RUN.

Run as fast as you can.

Genuine nice guys will be nice with their actions; they will not be trying to convince you through words they are nice.

Men who claim to be misunderstood are arrogantly belittling those who deemed them as "not their type" or decided they were not "datable".

"The woman doesn't want to be with me anymore?  Well, she obviously is retarded or she just doesn't get me", says the man with the highly misguided opinion of himself.

Women do want nice regular next door type guys.  They want genuine nice guys.  Just because a woman dumps us, it doesn't automatically mean we were too nice.  Clingy does not mean nice.  Needy does not mean nice.  Writing her ridiculous poetry does not equate to being nice.  Because you part your hair to the side or have pictures of yourself with your dog does not mean you are the guy next door type, either.  Just because you can recite a Michael Buble song does not mean you are a regular nice guy.

Being a nice guy, the type women want, means we listen to her.  We put their needs above our own.  It means we keep our egos in check.

Women are a lot simpler than we think.  Make them laugh.  Through action, show them you love them.  And listen to them... really listen to them.

Nice guys never finish last.

Douches do.

A Nation of Fools

"Do not blame Caesar, blame the people of Rome who have so enthusiastically acclaimed and adored him and rejoiced in their loss of freedom and danced in his path and given him triumphal processions.... Blame the people who hail him when he speaks in the Forum of the “new wonderful good society” which shall now be Rome’s--interpreted to mean 'more money, more ease, more security, and more living fatly at the expense of the industrious.'" - Cicero

Rome fell.  As do all empires.

A wise man once said....

Whenever a sentence begins with those 5 words, we are about to be subjected to something meaningful.  No one ever says, "A smart man once said" or "An educated man once said".  The reason is, wisdom trumps intelligence and education.




Intelligence is gained in a classroom behind books.
Wisdom comes from experience and learning from those experiences.

So, the election is over.

Jimmy Carter got his second term.  Yesterday is still today.  Nothing changed. 

As half of America believes the other half is stupid, the stupid half thinks the other half is more stupid.  Both sides are wrong.

We are a nation of fools.  A nation that doesn't learn from history.  A nation that is willing to elect a man with a messiah complex just because he makes us feel good.  We are swayed by words and rhetoric while ignoring actions.

A wise man would look at unemployment figures, food stamp recipients, gas prices, the deficit, scandals, broken promises, and inflation.  He would then elect someone whose fingerprints aren't stamped on those statistics.

We can blame Congress or blame the other party until we realize that Congress, both houses, were under democrat control from 2006 to January 2011.  We can forgive the president until we realize that he has signed 141 executive orders bypassing separation of powers and literally defying our constitution.

A wise man knows that any president, regardless of party, who ignores our constitution is a traitor to this country.

We are a nation of fools.  A nation willing to settle on the lesser of two evils.  A nation that believes evil has different degrees. 

Politicians are not the problem in America.  We are.

Politicians are merely a symptom of what ails this country.

We elect the same people over and over; then, we expect different results.  It is the definition of insanity.

We have become a country that loves our political parties more than our country herself.  We would rather be right then seeing the right things happen.

How do I know this?  Because half of America is calling the other half stupid while the stupid half is calling the other half more stupid.

We aren't a stupid country.  We are a foolish one.

Rome fell because the masses became lazy.  They idolized their leaders as if they were Gods.  They sacrificed their freedoms for a false sense of security.   The Roman emperors all knew that the Romans were only concerned about 2 things:  Bread and Circus. 

Rome was divided and conquered by her own leaders.  As the empire burned, Nero fiddled. 

We are a nation of fools that believes preemptive war prevents war.  A nation, so disillusioned, that words, no matter how untrue they are, would rather feel good by those words than the reality of the lies that exist within those words. 

We are a nation that will elect the same people in power every year then point our fingers at everyone else.


A wise man recently said, "'Blaming the prince of fools should not blind anyone to the vast confederacy of fools that made him their prince.'

That wise man was referring to us.

All of the problems in this country cannot be blamed on one political party or even one man. 

The blame lies on us.


The fools.

From a Park Bench

I was advised to watch a certain movie during a specific period in my life.  One of those art imitating life types of movies. 

It happened to be my favorite genre.  So, taking a break from my self-imposed pity party was an easy chore.

All the best scenes in movies always take place on a park bench.  I swear, its true. 

There's that scene where Daniel is sitting next to his son, Sam, while learning about his first crush which later culminates to Sam running through the airport to kiss her.  If you've seen Love Actually, then you know the park bench scene.

Even Forrest Gump is centered around a park bench.

When my head gets clouded with thoughts of uncertainty, I go for an aimless run.  One, on par of that famous scene with Forrest.

I suppose there are two types of runners:  Those with a plan, such as Sam, as he ensued his first love through the obstacles of an airport and those like Forrest who just run until they've had enough.

Tonight, I went for an aimless run and approached a lonely park bench and just sat down.  It was the perfect remedy for clarity. 

As I lazily sat there, that movie recommended to me during that challenging period of my life, flashed into my head.  More specifically, one scene did.

Summer is now married.  Tom is exasperated; completely unsure how this woman who always preached independence could settle down with a man that wasn't him.  So, Tom, delicately asked his former love... "How?  Why?"

"I just... I just woke up one day and knew."
"Knew what?" Tom replied.
"What I was never sure of with you", Summer exclaimed.

The scene was a park bench where clarity was exposed.

I empathized with Tom.  The first time I saw that movie, I was Tom.  Even to some degree, I still am today.

No man wants to be a question mark.  I suppose we all want to be exclamation points. 

I don't really know where I am headed these days.  I do know that sometimes being aimless in our journeys can lead us to a place of clarity.  I also know clarity is never revealed until we start asking the relevant questions.


I think about these unappreciated park bench scenes in movies and realize that they all have one thing in common:  no one is running.

It's always two people; talking and listening.


Communicating.

I'm certain there is something to be learned in that.

Rear View Mirror

What have I become, my sweetest friend.

Johnny Cash or Trent Reznor.  I can't even say I prefer one over the other.  I suppose, it's just the lyric.  Maybe, the images conjured up of those faces waving in my rear view mirror as I reflect on all the twisted and bending roads that led me to...

Now.

I hate those moments where I walk in reverse because I don't want to lose sight of her face.  One second, we are inches apart.  The next, she is just a shadowy figure in a crowd.  I hate making that 180 because... because, she is just so beautiful.  And I love her.  Mostly, its because it could be the last time.

I suppose I worry too much about proverbial rear view mirrors.

Everything runs full circle anyway.

If I were to list each person who has greatly impacted my life over the years, I would not be able to recall ever saying goodbye to any of them.  I think about that.  I never said goodbye to my 5th grade teacher or that one best friend or that first love.

There never were goodbyes because I knew...

We all know...

Because I knew, they would be as much a part of me now as they were then.

Formal goodbyes are reserved for those temporary crutches, for those who impact us minimally, for those who served their purpose for a specific moment in time.

But the rest, those who impact us greatly, never engage in goodbye rituals.

I think about that when they stumble back into my life, years later.  Be it, an old snapshot in a photo album or just a passing thought.

I remember them vividly because we never let go of those who helped us become who we are today.

I saw my old pastor tonight.  82 years old and he looks exactly how I remember him 30 years ago when I first met him.

Oddly, maybe ironically, I don't remember the last time I saw him.  And that's how it always is with those who impact us greatly.

The rear view mirror only exists for those we intentionally leave behind.

I would be surprised if he remembered me.  I was an awkward kid; no different than all the thousands of awkward kids he has mentored through the years.

I saw his face.   Here.  On my laptop.  I believe I found him for a reason.

So, I wanted to reintroduce myself to him.  More importantly, thank him.

A boy without a father tends to remember those men who positively influenced them.  Because those types of men are rare to those types of boys like us.

I wrote him a quick note.  I thanked him.  Then, I decided to share my favorite memory of him.   It went like this:

One evening after Wednesday night service, you and my mom were talking outside. I wanted to go home. I was hungry and simply tired. I was nagging my mom, pulling at her pants leg and trying to rush her so she'd stop talking to you.
With the kindness and patience of a great man, you leaned into me; handed me $5 and said, "on your way home, stop at Mcdonalds". Then you, gave the kindest smile I have ever been the recipient of.

Not a great story.  It's rather ordinary to anyone else who isn't me.  But it's funny.  I was 10 years old and this is what I remember about him.

I think about such people often.  Those who are responsible for my redeeming qualities.

I have no idea what my calling in life is; who I am supposed to be; what I am supposed to do and what stories others will tell of me when that day comes I stumble back into their lives or thoughts after a long absence.

But I hope, they can't recall any goodbyes or a proverbial wave.

I hope their rear view mirror is as blurry as mine.

MANhancement

I checked my email tonight and this was waiting for me:

Someone out there thinks I need enlargement pills.  I base this on the fact that there are over 12 Extenze ads in my email.

According to my email, I am being offered a 7 day FREE trial of this product.

My question is.... Say, I decide to try this product for 7 days, does my penis become bigger for a week and then return back to its' original size once I don't buy a full prescription?

Is this a lifetime pill I have to take? 

I am guessing this company is fairly confident after one week of having a new and improved penix, I will continue to buy the pills.  I suppose it's like owning a Honda your whole life and then you win the lottery and buy a Porsche.  You will never want to go back to your Honda.

One of the emails from Extenze has a picture of NASCAR in it.  

Ooh ooh, Nascar supports Extenze?  I must buy it then.  Seriously, Nascar sucks ass.  Taking left turns for 3 hours is not my idea of exciting.  

It seems logical that Nascar would be a big supporter of Enzyte.  Everyone knows that people who race cars have small penises.  Monster truck rallies, Nascar events, professional weight lifters.... they are all filled with the penile impaired.

It's called over compensating. 

Now, I am not in the market for enlargement pills.  Penis size is a man issue.  Size queens aside, most women don't measure a man by his penis size.  Men are more concerned about their size than women are.

It's called insecurity.

I always have to laugh when a man publicly states how big his junk is; as if it makes him a bigger man.  I would bet every cent I have that every bully walking this earth has a small penis.

I will even bet every president and politician we've ever had suffered from the same thing.  If you don't have self-perceived power between the legs, then run for office. 

Obama may be half-black but I am guessing his white part is what dangles between his presidential legs.  The same goes with Tiger Woods.  He may be half-black but his Asian half dangles between his lying cheating golf playing legs.

It's all about ego and power for men.  It's why men cheat.  It's why some men think penis size is directly correlated to their manhood.

But really if size is what made sex pleasurable for women, wouldn't childbirth lead to the biggest orgasm a woman can have? 

I would be lying if I said I didn't consider trying the 7 day FREE trial.  I like free stuff.  Hell, I am all for self-improvement.  I would get eye laser surgery if I wasn't afraid I would be the one the doctors fuck up on; leaving me permanently blind.

So, I decided to read a little more on this product.  I am curious if it works.

Here is part of a case study on Extenze:
The vast majority of product testers experienced outstanding results with Extenze. Over 80% of the Extenze product testers said they experienced a noticeable increase in length and girth, with over 20% claiming "huge" increases. 40% of our Extenze users reported better ejaculation control and increased sexual stamina after using Extenze. Unlike other products, our product testers experienced extremely fast results (a one-inch increase in length within the first month of use) with Extenze. Extenze users, on average, said they gained as much as 2.5 inches in length and a 30% increase in girth. With a success rate of over 90%, you can be confident that you will get excellent results with Extenze.  

But like anything, you have to take things with a grain of salt.  We know only people who are unhappy with their size are taking these pills so I am guessing that it would be hard to dissatisfy the dissatisfied.

I do wonder if Extenze would make a 12 year old bigger or if it would make someone who is already big even bigger.

I don't actually like the idea of everyone having a big penis.  The world would become a Catholic School where everyone is wearing the same damn Catholic school uniform.

There's beauty in diversity. 

I wouldn't want to see every woman on earth walking around with fake tits.  I don't want everyone woman to dye her hair blonde.

These things make us lazy. 

Give a man a huge penis and he will begin to think he doesn't have to do the other things women want and enjoy in the bedroom.
Well, not all of us, are like that.
   

My Speeding Ticket (Rant)

It took 19 years of driving to finally get my first speeding ticket.

It happened this morning.  But I am not taking this bullshit lightly.

The most important person in my life practices law for a living.  Yeah, she's practicing it.  While she is busy practicing, I am busy perfecting it.

Anyway, I am fighting this ticket all the way to the Supreme Court, if I have to.

Let's look at the facts in my case:

*I was going 57 mph.  The speed limit was 45. 

*But I was only 1/2 mile away from the freeway where the speed limit is 65 mph.

*If you do the math, 57 is the exact speed limit if you add 45 and 65 together and divide it by 2.

For those who practice math, I perfected it years ago.

*Going 57 mph is completely reasonable; considering I was the only one on the road and the freeway was really close.

*Second of all, I live in a retirement community.  Every old person in my city drives 30 mph.  Some even drive fucking golf carts on the streets.

Why aren't they getting tickets?  Who's more dangerous?  Someone like me driving 57 or one of those blind, barely seeing over the steering wheel, slow to react, blue haired, should be in a nursing home drooling over the daily menu of tapioca pudding old people going 30 mph?

The answer is obvious.  ME.  I am the safe one.

But let's just pretend that I am the felon this damn cop believed I was.  Let's pretend that going 12 mph over the speed limit is such a heinous crime.

Sometimes, some crimes are warranted.

For example, say a woman is on her period and has no money for tampons.  Would it be wrong for her to walk into her local grocery store and rob them at gun point?  Of course, not.

Or say, you have diarrhea really bad and you are nowhere near a bathroom.  Would it be so wrong to pull your pants down in aisle 13 at Walmart and take a shit right there if you couldn't hold it in any longer?  Of course, not.

Some laws are meant to be flexible.

And this hold true of my speeding ticket.

I overslept this morning.  Also, if I didn't have to work on New Years Eve Eve, like most people, I wouldn't have had to speed. 

Once the cop pulled me over, I rolled my window down.  I was completely polite.

"Good morning, Sir", I said.
"DO YOU KNOW WHY I PULLED YOU OVER, CRACKER?"  He angrily asked me."I was probably going just a tad too fast, Sir.  I am deeply sorry."  I kindly said.
"HOW FAST DO YOU THINK YOU WERE GOING, HONKY?"  He sternly asked.

"Sir, I was probably going 55 mph?"  I replied.
"YOU WERE GOING 57 MPH.  YOU COULD HAVE KILLED SOMEONE."  He said.

Then, he took my insurance, registration and license and went back to his vehicle.  He sat in his car for 30 minutes "writing my ticket".  I believe he was pleasuring himself to my driver's license because it shouldn't take 30 fucking minutes to write a 3 sentence ticket.

Once he was done pleasuring himself to my license and writing my ticket, he handed everything back to me and gave me a stern warning:
"I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU SPEEDING EVER AGAIN. MY STREETS NEED TO REMAIN SAFE FOR ALL OF GOD'S CHILDREN AND HIS ELDERLY FOLKS.  CRACKER ASS WHITE BOY."
Then, I headed to work.
 
Do I have a case?

Is 12 mph over the speed limit too fast?

Do all black cops hate white fine citizens like myself?

Happy Thanksgiving, Asshole

There’s an unfunny adage, “Opinions are like assholes.  Everyone has one.”

It’s one of those sayings that people like to throw around.

Adages, clichés, doublespeak, similes, proverbs, sayings, one-liners, platitudes, maxims, and idioms all annoy me.  They irritate me because a lot of them are just lazy expressions.  The authors of most adages and clichés rarely even consider what they are saying.

This holds true with the unfunny one about opinions and assholes.

Yes, everyone has an opinion.  Fact.

But not everyone has an asshole.

In college, a good friend of mine had a roommate named Dave.  Dave was one of these people born without an asshole.   Because I didn’t feel like spending all day on Google trying to figure out this medical anomaly, I went to two web sites.

One site claimed that when a baby is born without an asshole, the doctor pokes a hole where it should be and is given a colostomy bag to empty its wastes into for the rest of his or her life.  I am not sure if this correct.

I do know that Dave had a colostomy bag and he emptied it about 2 times a day. 

One night after a long night of drinking, I walked in on Dave changing his shit bag.  It was almost as funny as the time I walked in on a girl in a public bathroom  who was standing on a toilet trying to insert her tampon.  That’s another drinking story for another day.

All I remember is Dave was standing near the toilet with his pants down holding a bag.  He started screaming at me to GET OUT and that was that.

We never spoke of the incident nor did I care to relive it.

This thanksgiving, a lot of us will be reflecting on things we are thankful for.  There are certain to be countless blogs with the usual clichéd blessings…. I am thankful for family, friends, living in a free country, God, good health,  blah blah blah…

But I doubt many if anyone will actually consider being thankful for having an asshole.

This thanksgiving, I believe it’s time we thank our assholes (if you have one).

Speaking of assholes….

The economy doesn’t seem to be getting much better.  With government spending out of control and higher taxes coming to those who give jobs to the rest of us (aka The Rich), jobs will continue to be difficult to find for those who are unemployed.

As the assholes in Congress are debating this new health care bill (which will be funded by taxing the shit out of everyone), I wonder how long it will take for Americans to stand up to this wallet draining government and return to our ways of self-reliance.  The assholes in Congress love making promises of free hand outs while using class warfare (aka the rich vs. everyone else) as a means to get THEIR agenda passed.

And if you’re wondering what THEIR agenda is; it’s POWER.  The assholes in Congress simply want power.  As they villianize the rich, they seem to forget that they themselves are rich.  Being rich is THE AMERICAN DREAM.  Now, the assholes in Congress make it sound evil.

This thanksgiving, I will be thankful I have a good job.  I am thankful I live in a free country where the American Dream is still possible. 

I am thankful for my mom and my friends.

I am thankful for that special person in my life.

I am thankful my basic needs are met daily; food, shelter and clothes.

I am even thankful for the little things I take for granted; like my asshole.

I am not thankful for the assholes in my life or the assholes in Congress.

But like some unfunny people say, “Opinions are like assholes.  We all have one.”

And on that note, I am thankful that I am given the right to share my opinions without fear of death or being arrested.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone  (including Dave who will be eating a lot and having to shit in a bag afterwards).

Passion of the Fish‏

I received this text this morning:

Remembering when you were 4 years old.  I took you fishing; stick, string and no bait.  You were certain you would catch a fish.  You didn't want to leave the good day.

Mom sent this to me.

To understand why this text really affected me today, you would have to understand the relationship I have with her or lack thereof...

Mom is not the sentimental type.  Mom contacts me a few times a month; always on pay day.  Our relationship is more of the bank teller/customer variety.

Today, I felt like a son.  For the first time in years.

Maybe, mom has been bitten by the mortality bug.  Her health is getting worse.  Her bills are getting higher.  Her friends can be counted on one friend.  The love of her life is her dog and the slot machines.

Maybe, mom took a stroll down memory lane because she is simply getting tired of this journey called life.  It's written on her face.  Her eyes are dull.  Her smile is about as real as a painted on smile on a clown.

She's tired.  Her passion for life is merely a droplet of water that evaporates more and more each day.

I am her son.  I can read her like a book.  Despite our lack of positive communication, I know what she is thinking and feeling at all times.

When you have a bond with someone, be it blood or be it the love of your life, you always know when the other person is breaking or overflowing with joy.  Their peaks and their valleys become yours.

I look at mom and often wonder, "What were her passions in life?"

As a kid, all I remember is her being focused on paying bills.  That's it.  She did not entertain thoughts of remarrying.  She did not have a career in mind.  She did not have a particular hobby. 

Mom simply wanted to make sure I had a roof over my head, food on the table and a good education.

I suppose her passion was me.

When I was 4 years old, my passion was catching a fish... catching a fish without bait.  In my simple underdeveloped mind, I believed throwing a line and hook into the water was enough to lure a fish.

"No bait?  No problem."  That was how my mind worked.

I was also the same kind whom, on occasion, would put bread on the end of the hook as bait.  The bread would float off and, once again, I'd simply fish without bait.

I was stubborn and passionate about proving the experts wrong.  Fish like hooks, not the bait attached to them.... that was my theory.

I never caught a fish without bait but according to my mom in her text message, I considered the effort; the futile effort, a good day.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

I have two passions in life.  I still define a good day by the effort I put into these two passions.

Futility doesn't play a role in the two things I am passionate about.

Mom has lost her passion for life.

What she doesn't realize is that she hasn't lost me.

Not today.

Where is our fear of God?‏

After a couple weeks of overplayed Rapture jokes,we have finally entered the early hours of May 21st... the day of judgment according to a small church.

 At first, the jokes were contained to this misguided church.  Then as the days became closer to today, the jokes became an all out assault on Christians.  Ridiculing Christians became the new funny.  We believers in an all-mighty God and his Word became a punch line.

I've sat here quietly and read the statuses of those here on Facebook.
I've listened to the people on CNN's website.

People everywhere turning a false prediction by a misguided church into the bashing of Christianity.

I have two choices:  Speak up and leave myself open to ridicule or remain silent and allow others to mock the faith I hold close to me.

I have decided to speak my mind.  Carefully.

Most people sense that something is on the horizon.  Believers, non believers, most people sense that this world is not getting better.  Optimism is an all-time low.

Extreme weather is being seen everywhere.  Radiation from the meltdown of Japan's nuclear plants is in our air.  FEMA is in the middle of preparing various states for mass evacuations due to the trembling of the earth along the San Madrid fault line.

Wars are everywhere.  We are helping Al-Queda fight against Kadafi in Libya.  Our supposed mortal enemies are our friends.  We are threatening war against Pakistan, Syria and Iran as I speak while China is selling military hardware to those countries.  One wrong move by one country and war will be inevitable.

Gas prices continue to rise.  Food prices are getting insane.  With the flooding being seen in the Midwest, food shortages are a real possibility this fall.

This world is on the verge of something.

These aren't even my opinions. These are facts.

I suppose being an atheist now would be easy.  Ignorance is bliss.  Denial is a defense mechanism.  It's also lazy and arrogant.  But I won't go there.... yet.

A good friend and I were discussing world events the other night.  We began to talk about how this once greatly blessed nation became an economic mess, a cultural cesspool and quite frankly, an immoral body.  We were trying to determine how our moral compass is spinning out of control.

We've become a nation of "if it feels good, do it" while cleverly calling it 'progressive'.

We've become a nation that expects others to fix our problems.

Self-reliancy has been conformed into expectations.

Technology has replaced the thirst for knowledge.

We are a shell of who we once were.

Personally, I believe the reason is because we have lost our fear of God.  And when I say 'fear', I am speaking about respect.

We once were a nation filled with believers.  No, not everyone was a Christian but most people sustained a belief in a higher power.  Now, being an atheist or even agnostic is the new cool.

It is now considered the new intellectual enlightenment to say there is no God.  Christians are the ones with low IQ's and everyone else is their intellectual superior.

The fear of God is gone and has been replaced with some arrogant humanistic philosophy.

Look, the Rapture is not happening today.  Most likely.  It does not mean it is not coming someday.  Soon.

No matter what our belief systems, our minds are not capable of understanding the truth.

I spoke to someone on here just last week who told me that she believes mankind was created by aliens.  She was serious.  I could not mock her belief system.  I simply asked her, "who created the aliens?"  She had no answer.

Our minds cannot understand certain things.  We, in our infinite arrogance, can try.  We can dismiss things we don't see and claim they don't exist.  It's lazy but it is a natural human response.

Me, I believe in God.  I believe He sent His son to die for us.  I believe in His Word.

And I believe in the Rapture.

These aren't funny times.  I'm not laughing as people choose to mock anyone that believe in something.

These are comforting times for those of us who believe in God.  As prophecies unfold, it only reinforces what we believe to be true.  And if we Christians are wrong and have been wrong for centuries, what have we lost?

The better question is...

If the atheists and non believers are wrong, what will they lose?

Think about it.

Whats your hurry?‏

Back in January, I received my first speeding ticket ever.  It was 6:30 a.m.; 90 minutes before I had to be at work.

I followed the general rules of being pulled over:  I pulled into a parking lot, turned my car off, and frantically started looking for my registration and insurance card.

Now, I have been pulled over and received many tickets throughout my life but never for speeding.  My tickets were always for driving with expired tags or running red lights or making illegal U-Turns.  Nonetheless, when I get pulled over, I get nervous.

I always begin formulating the excuses in my head prior to that intimidating tap on the window that soon will occur with the cop.

When I was pulled over for speeding, it was no different.  I was fumbling through all the papers in my car while trying to think of something believable to say to avoid getting a ticket.  I was preparing to manipulate the cop believing with such arrogance that my reason for speeding would be an excuse this cop has never heard before.

It's one thing to formulate such a great excuse and it's another thing to actually execute it while a shadowy, dark figure hovers over your car dressed in a uniform befitted with a gun, a taser, a baton and handcuffs.

Once the cop reached my car window, I was prepared to talk myself out of the speeding ticket.

I failed.

I didn't fail because I didn't have a clever excuse ready for him.  I didn't fail because I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown or pissed that this cop singled me out.

I failed because he asked me a rather brilliant question:

"WHAT'S YOUR HURRY?"

I could have easily stated I was running late for work despite the fact I still had close to 2 hours before I needed to be there.  I could have stated I didn't realize I was speeding because sports radio had distracted me.  I could have said anything.

But the truth is.... there was no reason for me to hurry.


Tonight, I was reading an article about baseball in my local newspaper.  The sportswriter used this form of media to explain that baseball needs to come up with some innovative ideas to make the game more interesting.

His reasoning is because today's generation of kids find baseball to be too slow.

And it got me thinking....

When I was a kid, all I did was play baseball.  In fact, I entered high school with plans on playing professional baseball.

The idea that today's kids find baseball boring baffles me.

It baffles me until I think about my speeding ticket back in January and that question the evil cop dared to ask me....

WHAT'S YOUR HURRY?

Here we are in the information age and everyone is too busy, too impatient and frankly, too demanding.

There is a reason this is called the Information Age and not the Knowledge Age.  We are inundated with information and technology yet we don't apply that information and slow down.  We don't allow that information to actually become knowledge.

We live in a society of fast food, fast computers, fast cars, minute rice, texting, cell phones, faxing, IPODS, microwaved foods, TV ads telling us to JUST DO IT, get rich quick schemes and all information is one click away just by visiting Google. 

Stop and smell the roses?  Hell, we don't even notice the roses.


It's funny because just the other day, I made some homemade cheese crisps.  I grated cheese onto a tortilla and stuck it in the microwave for one minute.

By the time, 20 seconds had gone by, I was already tapping my fingers impatiently because apparently, waiting one minute was ruining my day.

WHAT'S MY HURRY?

I actually stood there wondering why the hell waiting one minute for my cheese crisp felt like I was stuck in a traffic jam for hours.

We are a sick people.  We are spoiled brats.

We have all this technology and information and we still want more.

Hell, when I was a kid, popcorn was made on the stove.  If I needed to make a phone call while driving, I had to find a pay phone at 7/11.  The freeways had 2, maybe 3 lanes.  Now they have 4 lanes and a special lane for those who carpool. I had 5 channels to choose from on TV.  Now, I have over 250 and I still can't stick to one channel.

Life was slower and I don't recall complaining about it.

It's like the more information and technology we are fed, our appetite for more increases.

We don't retain knowledge.  We are in constant motion.... Motion without memory or better defined as insanity.

We are insane.

My first 22 years of driving included ZERO speeding tickets.  It doesn't mean I wasn't speeding in that period.  It means I was never caught.

I was never caught because I would pay attention and make certain cops were nowhere in my vicinity.

I realized the morning I was pulled over for speeding that I simply was too busy and too distracted to even consider that a cop might pull me over.

WHAT'S MY HURRY?

As I told the cop, I have no idea.

What if the internet did not exist‏

So, I'm doing a little thinking about the internet and the new breed of tough guys, flashers, sexually gifted men, sexually frustrated women, porn obsessed people, lazy consumer shoppers, video game junkies and the rest of the population that depends on their computers to get through their mundane.

First of all, I will not claim to be completely innocent.  Sure, I've done the tough guy thing on here.  No, I have never shown any body parts to any unsuspecting women.  I do not claim to have figured out the vagina and all its' gadgets.  Obviously, I am not a sexually frustrated woman.  Certainly, I've watched my share of porn.  Sometimes, I shop online.  I know nothing about video games.  So, I suppose I am guilty of just a couple things I have listed.


Twenty years ago, this thing did not really exist.   A Friday night either included a lonely night of Texas Walker Ranger or a night out with friends.  There was no facebooking or playing some moronic video game or an instant messenger where you have pretend dates with faceless people.  Meeting men or women did not involve a profile picture and a self-written biography embellishing impressive stats hoping to meet the love of your life.  There was no place to post a status letting the world know that you are drunk or just got laid.

You either went out or stayed home and watched TV.

But I'm thinking, why did something so technological in nature cause us to revert back to our evolutionary roots.   As technology moves forward, we as people move backwards.  It's almost like once we turn our computers on, we are a bunch of Fred Flintstones spending the weekend with the Jetsons.

Let's start with the tough guys:  Most of them are short.  Remember the days when fighting involved some overly emotional dude who would rip off his shirt right before he was ready to throw a punch?  Those are the same people that are internet tough guys.   Short men with a short fuse.  Because they never feel too secure in themselves, they now use the internet as a means to prove they are bigger than what their measurements say.

It's almost like the internet has given these men an opportunity to enact revenge for all of those years they were bullied growing up.

Next, we have the flashers:  On a rare occasion, as a kid, I would hear on the news about a flasher exposing himself to women in mall parking lots.  It always involved a trenchcoat.  Like I said, "on a rare occasion".  Flashing was not on the top 100 crimes committed list.

Now with the internet, most women expect some asshole to show his penis for no reason at all if they dare just say "hello" to a man online.  Actually, in most cases, a "hello" isn't necessary.

For some reason, men now think it's super cute to show women their dicks.  I may have missed the memo but I almost feel unusual for having never aimed a camera at my own.

The reason men show their penises to women online is for two reasons:  Some men have this flawed belief that women think exactly like men do.  Because men like tits and ass and all things visual, they assume women must too.  It's called being egocentric.

The other reason men do the online flashing thing is simply for the shock factor.  It's the same reason men will hold you down while they fart in your face.  It's funny to us.

What men don't understand is that it is equally as creepy to send dick pictures to a woman as it is to stand in the mall parking lot flashing high school girls with your trench coat on.

Next, we have the sexually gifted men.  Notice how almost every man on the internet claims to love eating pussy?  Let's be honest here.  Look, I want my girlfriend happy and I will do what it takes to keep her that way.  But let's not pretend that the vagina tastes like pizza and beer.  There are things happening in there that sex ed. classes don't even talk about.  So, stop saying you love it and stop saying your good at it.

That's the other problem with the internet.... every fucking guy claims to have mastered sex.  They all last an hour and they can please a woman like no other.  Either all of these women who claim about having bad sex with their boyfriends and husbands are lying or all of their men don't use the internet.   

Let's be honest again... About one out of every ten men are good in bed.  Two out of ten are trying really hard.  And the other seven THINK they are good and while they are busy bragging online about it, their women are off with those one out of ten men.

Next, we have the sexually frustrated women.  These are women that love their online erotica.  Some of them write erotica themselves.  They will use some profile picture of a hot chick but most of them fall into the overweight category.  And that's not a joke.  Most erotica writers are big women.

Sexually frustrated women usually are cock hungry.  They will flirt with any man that shows them attention.  They will claim to love everything men do:  blowjobs, beer, farting, Fight Club and so on.  Ironically, sexually frustrated women are usually dating or married to the reality challenged men that believe they are sexually gifted men.

The biggest group of people that the internet has created are the porn obsessed crowd.  Before the internet was born, most of us could get off by seeing a breast on some documentary about the lost tribes in Africa.

Now, porn is so easily accessible, many people have become so bored with normal sex, they have turned to animal porn, scat porn, group sex porn, and so on.  We have become so desensitized to the human anatomy, a lot of us are now needing to see more unnatural things.

The internet has turned the normal fantasies of people into circus acts.

The internet has caused most of us to become lazy and quite frankly, we get bored even more. 

It's like television.  Thirty years ago, we only had 4 channels to choose from.  But no one complained.  Once cable became popular, we began to complain that we had "100 channels and nothing is on".

The internet is now the new television.  We get bored with our social networks and complain how stupid they are.  We get bored with our man on woman porn and look for man on amputee midget riding a horse porn. 

It has turned us into people that went out on friday nights looking for dates or hanging out with friends to staying home and browsing picture of anonymous faces or talking to someone that lives 2000 miles away.

Like it or not, our technology has not improved us as a people.

Love of Money

I was watching an interview with an older fisherman who has been affected by the oil spill in the Gulf.  The angry man stared intently into the reporter's eyes and said, "money is the root of all evil."

Losing sight at what this man meant to say, I immediately became annoyed.  It has always irritated me when people misspeak or incorrectly recite some expression or cliche or quote.

Money is not the root of all evil; the LOVE OF money is....

Greed is the root of all evil.

Take the BP oil spill, the spill itself was caused by an "accident" but after millions of gallons of oil later, greed has turned this tragedy into a catastrophe. 

Oil drenched birds, oil soaked beaches, the livelihoods of men and women forever eradicated, the long term effects of our ecosystem, all of the negative consequences of this "accident" are a result of greed.

But...

it isn't because of the greed of one man or one company or one industry or even one culture.  What we are seeing now is a result of the greed of everyone.

Greed is as american as apple pie.

More so, greed is as universal as let's say, Soccer.

The love of money is not a rich man's disease.  We see the evils caused by greed everywhere:  looting in third world countries such as Haiti after an earthquake, the farming of poppy in Afghanistan which eventually is made into opium and heroin and sold, the overfishing in our oceans, the illegal whale hunts; the evils caused by the love of money is global.

The BP oil spill is simply a microcosm of the greed that inhabitants the souls of this world.  BP is no less or more evil than the rest of us.

BP employs 80,000 people; that is 80,000 people with families with bills to pay.  To claim BP is greedy is simply one speaking without thinking.  I am certain that the majority of those 80,000 employees are sickened by the devastation in the Gulf. 

BP is simply a fictitious name given to the 80,000 people employed.  It's the collective name for those employees.  To claim BP is greedy is a false statement, in my opinion.

Profits keep everyone employed.  Cutting corners to acheive profits is when greed replaces responsible profit earning.  That is where BP went wrong.  However, like I said, greed is as universal as soccer. 

Back in 1992, we had the Rodney King trial.  It was a case of a black man being chased by cops and eventually being beaten by a group of white cops.

The trial resulted in those white cops being exonerated for that videotaped beating.

The verdict in this trial resulted in riots.     

At the time, news outlets reported that the black community was so outraged at this verdict, they resorted to looting, killing, pulling a white truck driver out of his truck and smashing his head with a brick.

 The crimes of the rioters were being excused.  The truth is that the aftermath of that questionable verdict was caused by greed. 

I am so angry at white America, I am going to steal a TV.  That isn't anger, that is being opportunistic or allowing our innate need to cut corners to achieve things, take over.

It happened after Hurricane Katrina.  People stealing TV's from unoccupied stores.  Greed can blind someone so much they forget that their home is underwater and a new TV will be useless to them.

The love of money is not a black or white issue or a rich man/poor man issue.  It's a human problem.  BP is as greedy as the poverty stricken looter after a questionably unfair verdict.

After the L.A. riots, Rodney King asked the infamous question:  Can't we all just get along?

The answer is We Can't.

When one war ends, another one begins.  We can't get along with each other, other nations; other cultures.  We can't all get along on a little place called MySpace.  We don't all get along with other kids when we are at the age of innocence in grade school.

Hell, we can't even get along with our own oceans. 

There is one continent on this planet where greed is in short supply and everyone gets along.  That place is called Anarctica.

There is no government or permanent population there.  In fact, Anaractica is the last place on earth not owned by anyone.

But I do suppose if the climate there allowed it, we would have a world war fighting over its' resources and the right to own it.

The love of money IS the root of all evil.