And you're too selfish to wonder why government loves leaning on our constitutional rights.
At least some mass murderers had the balls to confront their victims.
Eat my fuck money grubbing, devoid of soul undigested corn kernel in feces. They don't have ice cream socials and yachts in prison.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090211/ap_on_bi_ge/salmonella_outbreak

This one is For Derek Crank and Tommy Lucas

Let's Suspend The All-Stars So The Fans Can See The All-Stars

Tons of my friends, for absolutely obvious reasons, are writing heartfelt tributes to Ron Asheton. He's in a long line of passings of people who were either out of the limelight (though no less revered) or on their way out. It doesn't seem farfetched or corny to me that if a musician, actor, comedian, artist, photographer, or fucking birthday clown who influenced you might love to hear that before they're gone. As we well know, some people check out of the hotel as their own bellboy, if ya know what I'm saying, and a letter might make a big difference.And you cynical bastards, on the off chance they write back, ya got something to frame for the grandkids.
It ain't hard to track people down. Shit, most of 'em are probably on Facebook right now.
Gotta go. Gotta dry the cologne on my letter to Ann B. Davis.

This is one of those social commentaries that is going to offend some people, including, possibly, those that I admire for facing their addictions and dependencies head on.
Here goes:
I understand that to make one's recovery from drug and/or alcohol addiction easier, one must not lurk about in the same evil social circles that enabled the addiction in the first place. Kinda like 'He's not a bad kid, he just fell in with the wrong crowd".
I understand that the cult of recovery is based on admitting powerlessness, but isn't it over a substance and not other human beings?????
Is it necessary to completely sever ties?????? As in-No phone calls, no texts (arguably the most sterile,nonchalant form of human communication ever), nothing.
I happen to have a little background here. A member of my band was a recovering alcoholic. He lived with drunks, he played music about being drunk in front of drunks and he didn't drink. Because he realized it was HIS problem, not the rest of the world's.HE dealt with it, and played music for his love of music, in a chaotic sea of beer, whiskey, pot smoke and more. Because he realized that by abstaining, he was in charge of his own destiny.
The cult of 12 Steps, which is arguably the best way to recover from an addiction- a process that lasts a lifetime if you are a believer-not only does'nt have a great success rate,it holds as a tenet that relapse is almost inevitable. Not only are you powerless, now that you have taken that brave step, you're gonna fuckin' fail any higherpowerdamned way.
I cared for,cooked for,cleaned for,fixed for,read for-yep, read her to sleep on numerous occasions- this troubled person and then,on only my second out of town weekend of the summer, she decides to drink herself bloody, taken by ambulance to Beaumont and who doesn't merit a phone call from motherfucking Maplegrove ??, ME.
"I can't talk to you anymore, you drink". I'm to blame. It's like Robin Williams slamming Matt Damon's head against the wall and saying "It's ALL your fault".
I was thinking of changing my profile image, drawn by the incomparable Chopper, (in case any of you would like your likeness preserved in infamy), but now I think I'll keep it. Cheers to those who recognize their OWN problems. Cheers to those who beat the fuck out of people that cause them problems. Cheers to people who are accountable for their behavior, and a giant fuck you to the largely unsuccessful "recovery cult" that encourages people to abandon their loved ones in search of a sober pasture in which they've already been told they're gonna step in cowshit.

My lazy ass said in my last blog I'd post a new blog about going to the Pine River. That was so long ago, Marek "the Half Moon" Chudy is now better than me at horseballs-Google it-, a kid named Michael Phelps you never heard of threw on a Jack La Lanne suit and made swimming more popular with teenage girls than pregnancy, I'm in the middle of two movies-no ya can't meet, Drew or Clint or Sigourney, because I wasn't in any of those movies, though if I was in Sigourney's and ya called her "Clint", you'd be my hero until I needed a new one.
The Pine River was once again a parfait of hilarity and madness. My friend Bernie and I were informed by the Forest Service that no one was going on the Pine that weekend because of the heavy flooding and logjams due to downed trees. "Not even our officers are permitted on the river". Well, then, good luck catching us, Deputy Dawg.
People were running around our campground exchanging theories--"I heard a 45 minute supervised run from Dobson to The Turkey Jerky Hut",--- "I heard we can paddle from Silver Creek to My Mother -in-Laws house as long as Estelle Getty pulls through"- about that time, JR arrived. He walked up into our campsite so confidently, I'm surprised he didn't have a stack of Watchtowers under each arm. Late 50's maybe younger, knew a shitload about canoeing and kayaking (but didn't know enough to NOT keep reminding us) Nice enough guy, but he lingered like cigar smoke at a Legionairres Convention, then told us he'd be meeting us when the livery van came to take us wherever the authorities deemed safe.
Here were the 3 original theories on JR : Our buddy Pierre, who is from France, sells Champagne and is good looking says "GAY".
A couple other guys who saw The Midnight Express"  NARC
A guy with wayyy too much camping gear said "THIEF"
I said "COL. MUSTARD in THE PATAGONIA TENT WITH THE SALAD TONGS.
Actually, I didn't say much, because Fiddleheads Cuisine Lord God Tim Voss was with us cooking crazy good meals and I was in a food coma.
When we did get on the river, after JR jammed his kayak into the rack of the livery truck uninvited, we paddled one of the craziest runs--The kid from the livery took us about six hours canoe time away from camp because his boss said he knew us---parts of the Pine looked like the US fucked up and bombed Jellystone instead of Hiroshima because they thought Mr. Ranger was Hirohito and between frequent stops to drink Champagne Montaudon sabred-Google Sabreing Champagne- we were dodging wood like Portia De Rossi. Until Bernard and I didn't dodge a jam and I went about 8 feet under, surfaced, and then the water displacement invited a log to tap me a little more than gently in the back of the head.
Because of the storms and flooding it was impossible for me to pull myself on shore. Huge chunks of mud came off in my hands, and after a few minutes of struggling, JR pulls up in his kayak with his Springer Spaniel riding shotgun.
He held his kayak eerily fucking steady to allow me to go from a jammed piece of driftwood, to his kayak, to the shore.
When we were at camp that night, and he kept letting little facts about himself slip , I think I figured out what his gig was: John Candy's character in Planes, Trains and Automobiles; He had run these rivers all his life with a loved one, wife, dad best friend, whoever, and that person was gone now,and he couldn't stand to paddle alone.I for one, was happy to have him, though our companion who thought he was a narc wished that JR's pot had been better.

Priorities are those intangible things ya try to make tangible, and then you wind up being your great grandma rearranging the Hummels (tm) while the house burns down. I've got a ton of shit staring me in the face (yeah, that's a reference ALD fans), but I'm gonna ramble about the chainsaws I'm not forced to juggle in front of Hasselhoff while Springer huffs nasal spray from the side of the stage .
The Detroit Red Wings won the Stanley Cup for the 4th time in my lifetime.Musicians I know have a particular affinity for the Cup, because many of them who record music feel that even if they get hit by a train (or join Train) tomorrow, someone will still be able to listen to their 3 chord symphonies 500 years from now. That's what makes the chalice endowed by Lord Stanley of Preston great; Hockey is the only major team sport that mandates that all participants names are etched onto plaques affixed to the base of the championship trophy. A sense of permanance. An accomplishment that will be documented for endless generations, provided the Chinese don't take over and melt it down to make 15 Tonka trucks.
In the middle of the Cup run, I got unceremoniously shitcanned by "a significant other" or in layman's terms, someone who didn't appreciate the lake trout and the cunnilingus, among other things.But I'll still celebrate the Cup, because playing that many victorious hockey games is a bitch, and getting dumped just means ya met one.
My first ever blog on this myspace thing, this thing that's bigger than Courtney Love's rehab bill, was a short little missive about the Pine River. I'm not leaving a good job in the city, working for the man every night and day-- because I don't have a job working for the man or even a Lesbian support group hotline--I'm leaving for the weekend instead of prioritizing and trying to find a job/concubine/misplaced Brinks bag because I'm lucky enough to know a bunch of chuckleheads who want me to baja down this river with them, singing "Oh Canada" and stealing firewood to cook woodchuck souffle. I wouldn't be able to do it without the support of great friends, and hopefully my next blog will be a Pine River anecdote, or at least a plausible embellishment.
Cheers,
JD

So, lemmy get this straight: A family can no longer afford their home. The bank takes it back. I'm no finance major, but I'm pretty sure that's what "foreclosure" means. It's a fancy, economic way to say: "Buh, bye". You are no longer allowed in this dwelling". Now, according to the convoluted, silver lining feces being spewed by our pals at Habitat for Humanity, they're gonna rush in and save the day (and the neighborhood and community and the fucking Tooth Fairy) by buying the devalued home and giving it to someone else for an "estimated" 400 hours of work. You name me one friend or enemy you have that has been given the deed to a house after 10 forty hour work weeks. Can't do it? Shame on you. Me either. That's less than a quarter of the calendar year. Show that to the mortgage guys at Bank of America..."but I've been working for 10 whole weeks" you could go white water rafting on the laughter spittle.What these assholes at this bullshit, treasonous wrong minded dump of an excuse-for-being-wealthy charity forget is: The bank didn't foreclose on some Tolkien-conjured ring wraith-they foreclosed on a real family, who fell on hard times because the economy  in America is sucking gas, both literally and figuratively, like a John Irving character; and somehow the ether haze has found it's "home"-pun intended- in the cerebral cortex of these bleeding hearts who can say to an Associated Press reporter with a presumably straight face how wonderful it has been for their little pet bungalow transferral project. The people who lose these homes are men and women who have been toiling in dishwasher factories and cubicles and Charlie Harper knows what other kinds of mind-numbing employment just to have a little pink house (and hopefully never listen to John Mellencamp ) but now, Habitat for Hypocrisy is happy to see them go because they got a good deal and everyone can pat themselves on the back at the Yacht Club. Eat my fuck twice. Tossing around terms like "slumlord" is a mild form of terrorism. If developers can afford to build subdivisions, they aren't gonna bail out on their investment, they're gonna wait out the market. And trust me "Gage and "Sharon" (see article below) once the copper piping is ripped out of a vacant home, the "criminal" element ain't real interested anymore.You assholes are patting yourself on the back for the good you are doing for one family, while ignoring those families who put countless hours of "sweat equity" into a home only to see the key passed on, by your self-absorbed short-sighted whim. "Acquire" my ass. Give it back to the people who earned it in the first fucking place.Earning things is the true "American Dream". I got 4000 hours of "sweat equity" that says you wind up with a slum anyway, and that sure ain't...

Charity says putting families into affordable homes is better than leaving properties vacant or ripe for slumlords.

By Steve Karnowski
ASSOCIATED PRESS
Tuesday, May 20, 2008

MINNEAPOLIS — The foreclosure crisis that has forced thousands of families from their homes has given something good to the nation's best-known housing charity: cheap properties for sale in communities across the country.

Some Habitat for Humanity chapters have seized buying opportunities in neighborhoods affected by the mortgage meltdown, snapping up scores of empty lots and unoccupied homes — some for as little as half price.

"The down real estate market is a wonderful opportunity for all Habitats," said Gage Yager, executive director of Trinity Habitat for Humanity in Fort Worth. "As prices drop, we have the opportunity to acquire at prices that just weren't available a few years ago."

The charity that offers affordable housing to low-income families is buying foreclosed homes and using volunteers to renovate them. If that's not practical, the houses are torn down to make way for new dwellings. In some cities, Habitat is even buying parts of subdivisions that developers couldn't afford to finish.

Habitat officials don't see themselves as capitalizing on the misfortune of others. They say putting families into affordable Habitat homes is much better than allowing properties to remain vacant or letting slumlords grab them.

"We're stepping up to the plate to provide some viable solutions to the housing crisis," said Sharon Rolenc, a spokeswoman for Twin Cities Habitat for Humanity in Minnesota. She said vacant homes can drive up crime and reduce the value of neighboring property.

An official with Americus, Ga.-based Habitat for Humanity International said the extent to which local affiliates take advantage of foreclosures depends on how much money they have.

In Fort Worth, for instance, the local chapter is negotiating to buy part of a 160-lot subdivision that a developer left unfinished. Yager said the plan is to purchase 50 of the remaining 100 vacant lots and put single-family homes on them.

Yager declined to say how much he expects to save because his group is still negotiating. But he said the Fort Worth market for such lots has dropped 30 percent to 40 percent since the height of the real estate boom.

In nearby Dallas, another Habitat affiliate has picked up about 150 lots at a roughly 50 percent discount as developers dump inexpensive lots in the city's southern neighborhoods to focus on more profitable areas to the north.

Legislation working its way through Congress might help Habitat and nonprofit housing agencies take even greater advantage of bargains. One bill would send $15 billion to the hardest-hit states for the purchase and improvement of foreclosed property. States could then make those properties available to nonprofits such as Habitat. However, the Bush administration has threatened a veto.

Habitat's work makes a difference in the lives of people like Yenenes Tezgera and her family, who will move into a new home in St. Paul, Minn., soon after putting in an estimated 400 hours of work on Habitat projects in the area. She and her husband have a 17-month-old son and another child on the way.

"This is a big deal for us," Tezgera said. "This is our dream come true in America.

Eddie Olcyk and Mike Emrick from NBC/Versus/Gary Bettmann's Ongoing EtherFest are about as qualified to call a playoff hockey game as I am to be a showgirl at the Mirage. Hockey is an amazing sport; loaded with speed, agility and violence like Ike Turner was married to Ashley Force. But Bozo the Comissioner allows a third rate sports network to take over playoff broadcasts and lets them hire two guys that are still pissed that they were barely too young to choreograph Laurel and Hardy slapstick.Yeah, Olcyk played in the league, but I play with myself, that doesn't mean I get to compose shitty keyboard tracks for otherwise entertaining porno films.And whoever is calling the shots (literally) gives us a dermatological exam of Brenden Morrow for an eternity, while the eminently entertaining pre-rumble West Side Story dance is going on prior to the opening face-off. And so it begins...
Of the many aggravating and infuriating transgressions during the Wings/Stars broadcast, I'll just name a few while NBC sorts out the on air talent for their Hemophiliac Fencing coverage.
A.
If I wanted to hear about Olcyk's heroic days with the Winnipeg Jets, I'd tune in to the Manitoba History Channel.While you're yammering, asshole, there's a hockey game being played today. NOW.
B. When Nik Kronwall turns some pass-admiring dildo's head into silly putty on a clean check, we don't want to hear about the intensity of said silly putty boy's teammates. "Nice check" is not only appropriate, it's an understatement.
C. Hey, "Doc" Emrick: I'm the biggest sucker in the world for the "human interest" side of sports. But when the kid from Peace River kicks aside 7 point blank wristers in the span of 30 seconds, I don't wanna hear about the opposing team's coach's nephew who has chronic hangnail.
The Wings have let this series get a bit too tight. The broadcast has made this series an endorsement for the mute button.

Senator Jay Rockefeller of West Virginia (Great-grandson of John D., an oil tycoon and one of the wealthiest men ever) pulled the silver spoon out of his mouth long enough to treat us to this little tidbit on John McCain: "McCain was a fighter pilot who dropped laser guided missiles from 35,000 feet.He was long gone when they hit.What happened when they hit? He doesn’t know."
The purpose of this comment was to illustrate that his main man for prez, Barack Obama, is a caring soul and not an unfeeling ogre like McCain. Now I don’t give two Algerian hookers with pierced tongues and an extra nipple who Jay Rockefeller has for president in the Senate office pool. But I do know this. That uninformed cocksucker sits on the Senate Veterans Affairs committee, and he’s the fucking Chairman of the Senate subcommittee on health care. Hey Jay, turn down the Ipod playing a constant loop of the sound of you squirting out of mom’s pussy and landing in a sea of wealth and privilege with a gleeful splash to listen to this: Your Senate adversary, John McCain does know what happened when the bombs and missiles hit, because he got shot down and was a prisoner of war for 6 years.What the fuck are you doing on the Veterans Affairs committee if you’re not up on that widely publicized bit of anti-trivia. Prisoner, Jay, while you were in the Peace Corps. I got nothing against the Peace Corps, and I’m sure it’s an admirable pursuit doling out porridge to starving orphans.But guess what? If you get tired of starving orphans, you get to leave. Prisoner, Mr.Treasurypants, means you can’t leave.And if you’ll recall, back in those days, before 40 years of dissection and dissertation on the reasons for being at war, bombing communist insurgents was seen as an admirable pursuit because most Americans were scared shitless that a Russian missile silo was gonna go up on any acre of land controlled by communists. So, in service to his country. John McCain wound up being treated to unspeakable abuse for six years, before coming home (making him a veteran, whose affairs you are entrusted with) and ummmm,getting elected to serve his country.And you’re the Chairman of the Subcommittee on Health Care? I would think that in that capacity you might have run across one or two mental health practitioners that would be happy to tell you that Senator McCain is incredibly well adjusted for having been imprisoned as long as he was, and only an insensitive got-nothing-to-lose-but-a-title prick like yourself would actually say something that infers he was some unthinking cowboy bombing villages because he didn’t give a fuck. I’m sure the Viet Cong had plenty of time to remind him what they thought of him; it’s patently ridiculous that you would make comments like you did for what you perceive to be the greater good of partisan politics.You might wanna rethink inserting John F. Kennedy references into your bio, (even though it makes you sound like a hip liberal), because he was the President when the Vietnam War started in the first place.Allow me to channel Johnny Cochran-"If Jack don’t attack, McCain ain’t in that plane" Was your pal Jack an uncaring cowboy when he was destroying lives as the commander of his P.T. boat prior to his presidency? I didn’t think so. Endorse Obama all you want. You’ll never be a hip urban democrat that minority kids in your adopted home state want to emulate. They’ve still got Randy Moss to look up to. All you’ll ever be is an incredibly spoiled old white guy with a loud mouth. Oh, and if ya object to the title of this blog I don’t blame ya.Kind of ironic that a guy whose fortune came from a natural resource is getting his salary paid by the tax dollars of guys who risk their lives in mines week after week so some other rich prick can buy his moron offspring a political career one day.I just hope that when they don’t know what they’re talking about, they shut the fuck up.

A friend of mine asked me to post a blog with 15 weird, random facts, habits and goals. The I have to tag 10 people who will do the same thing. It's not a chain letter, you're not going to hell or meeting Bill Gates if you do or don't copy it and tag 10 of your friends. You can't tag me (I don't know why, I didn't invent the game, and if I had I would have taken the two line pass infraction out the day Gretzky retired) but if I'm not subscribed to your blog give me a heads up if ya do waste your valuable corporate time letting people know embarrassing shit about you.

1.I hate shitting with my socks and shoes on. I musta been barefoot alot when I was being potty trained in my teens.

2. I hate following schedules but I do like symmetry.

3.I like Bull Durham better than I like The Godfather. Blow me, Gene Siskel.

4.I liked ketchup on my hot dogs when I was a kid. I'm glad I grew outta that.

5.I have a mole on my left nutsack.The birthmark kind, not the blind, burrowing kind. Smartass.

6.Within reason, I really don't care how my steak is prepared. Really. I order 'em medium rare, but I don't send 'em back if they're too pink or too black. Kinda like vaginas and Haitian refugees.

7.At the risk of being sappy, I have not done enough to thank all the people who have taken me to sporting events over the years.

8. Ditto that to all the bartenders who have made my life a happier place since I was 15. Ya shoulda seen the look on Steve from Steve's Place when I actually did turn 21.

9.The next girl that tells me she thinks Victoria Beckham is hideous will probably not get their nipples massaged by me.I don't get all snippy when you're breaking out the purple two header with the D batteries and fantasizing about Matthew McConaughey, so quit the bitching.

10.I don't looove NASCAR, but I don't hate it, either. There is a happy medium, and all you people with the outdated redneck jokes can pipe down. Some of those "rednecks" are billionaires.

11.I'm lactose intolerant. First person to spike my beer with heavy whipping cream gets sprayed.

12.My biological father doesn't know if I'm a boy or a girl, he just knows my ma had a kid.

13.I like armpits. Female armpits. Sorry, Chuck Norris.

14.If insomnia was an Olympic sport, I'd have 10 gold medals and a Wheaties endorsement "BREAKFAST OF GUYS WHO NEVER WENT TO BED IN THE FIRST FUCKING PLACE"

15.I've never had sex with an Asian chick.I've never even come close and gotten turned down by one.I guess "having sex with an Asian chick" qualifies as a "goal".

Now I gotta tag 10 people:

1.Good

2.Phil Laduke

3.Toasty

4.Melissa Kaye

5.Chopper

6.RB Suave

7.The Rev CTH

8.Petey Roughneck

9.Terry

10.Ann