http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=geOqH-RuX2s

Loves it.

Stupid Pat Robertson is trying to ruin my favorite holiday, Halloween. Well he can just go die of autoerotic ashphyxiation.

Posted for a short time on his Web site - before he drew the wrath of the candy company cartels - was an abridged version of this article by some bitch who I think smoked a lot of crystal meth before writing this abomination. The only thing its missing is bugs crawling in her skin.

During Halloween, time-released curses are always loosed. A time-released curse is a period that has been set aside to release demonic activity and to ensnare souls in great measure...

During this period demons are assigned against those who participate in the rituals and festivities. These demons are automatically drawn to the fetishes that open doors for them to come into the lives of human beings. For example, most of the candy sold during this season has been dedicated and prayed over by witches.

The Japanese have better TV shows than us, too.



via videosift.com

Japan is so far ahead of America in their toilet technology that many Americans traveling abroad find themselves stranded in a stall unable to flush. It's embarrasing for some, but I find Japanese toilets awesome.

Lately I've been thinking about professional drivers. Especially race car drivers. I've been wondering if I've got the balls to do what they do.

I should explain that there really isn't a great deal of skill involved in race car driving. Well, there is, but it's not skill that can't be learned or that average people don't have as well. If you have ever played Gran Turismo and posted a good time, then yes, you do have the same skills as Michael Schumacher. But you do not have same size balls.

There is a fear factor involved that most people can't really fathom. Everyone at one time or another has driven their ordinary little car a bit too fast and gotten a rush. A lot of people have actually gone a bit faster and gotten a bigger rush. Very few people have gotten in a capable car and gone really fast. There is a surge of adrenaline and fear, but I wouldn't necessarily call it a rush when you do that.

Years ago, when I was a teenager I would drive my car really fast and it would be fun. I'm older and more responsible now. I don't speed very often. I try and drive the speed limit and obey all traffic laws.

Unless I'm racing. Then I do really stupid things at stupid speeds. And since I became a cripple, I've felt like I have sort of lost the fear. And I do things I really should fear.

I'm not talking about street racing where you go in a straight line for a quarter mile. I'm not talking about doing 100 mph in your car. I did that the weekend I got my first car in high school. I'm talking about hitting 142 mph on a winding country road with patches of loose gravel and no crash helmet or roll cage to keep your skull intact if you crash. And I just couldn't feel the fear when I did it.

I don't know what it is about me now. Whether it's that I'm already crippled, that I'm in unbelievable constant pain or what, but I haven't reached a threshold where the fear catches up and will make you stop. Where sheer survival instinct moves your leg on its own to the brake pedal.

Maybe it's because I almost view death as a release from my pain now.

Anyhow, I'm determined to go faster and find that threshold that makes me feel that fear behind the wheel. Or to realize that it is gone and that I then have what it takes to race and that I should focus myself to that goal.

There may be a way to find out. I mentioned GT earlier, and on it you can practice at Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca, one of the most demanding courses in the world. I don't want to race there because it is technically demanding, but because of one corner on the track. The Corkscrew.

It is a steep, blind, scary combo corner. The grade is so steep that most obese people couldn't walk up it, but you drive downhill. There is a crest that keeps you from seeing the corner before you are in it. And it is scary tight. Jeremy Clarkson found that you cannot brake as late in real life as you can in a video game with shitting yourself in the corkscrew.

I want to see if I really have the balls to break as late as possible there or if I'm still one of the regular people who cannot help but go slow for fear of death.

Anyone who knows cars, and I mean is a real gearhead, watched Top Gear and reveres the Stig as the greatest driver ever. The man, if he is one, is a maestro when it comes to making a car do what it was meant to do.

So when I found out that The Stig, the man I always hoped to meet one day, had finally revealed himself, I was shocked.

For months people have been claiming that a not very clear picture showed that The Stig was actually Ben Cross, an American stunt car driver. That seemed a little ridiculous to me. How would Ben Cross still be at the top of the Formula One leaderboard after Jensen Button and Lewis Hamilton had both been on the track?

And Jeremy made this crack about Stig being a better driver than Michael Schumacher once that made me think he meant that Stig was Michael Schumacher.

Since then, I've been convinced that Michael Schumacher had to be The Stig because no one else could be that good that consistently without having beat Michael SWchumacher very publicly. Which has never really happened, that's why Michael is the best.

So, the very first episode of the 13th Season, The Stig removed his helmet to reveal...

But now that we know, for certain, who the Stig is, some of the fun is gone. Trying to figure it all out was a gearhead pastime. Now they'll either have to find a new Stig or just have Michael Schumacher himself drive the cars without the suit.

Unless they just pretend like it never happened next week. Of course, I have to wait several months before BBC America will play this episode over here.

I had just spent the last hour writing a really long post about not needing to see Transformers 2 in theaters because I've already seen Megan Fox's ass in the movie trailer.



Then I went on to explain that I now have a Triumvirate of Hotness. Three women who are the hottest, sexiest, funniest, most talented, most intelligent, most awesome assiest (I'm a blogger, I can make up a word if I want to), most brunettiest (see?) in the entire universe. They are, in no particular order: Megan Fox, Olivia Munn and Danica Patrick.

Danica Patrick, well that should be obvious. I love cars. I love racing. And I most certainly love gorgeous women in leather doing unrated internet commercials for GoDaddy.com.

Olivia Munn might be a wild card to you. She's the co-host on Attack of the Show, a show I DVR every weekday. Oh yeah, she's also on the latest cover of Playboy for their first-ever two-month summer edition.



She didn't do any nude photos for Playboy, which is okay. I respect her for it. And this issue has 14 pages of twins (one of my fetishes), so my need for smut is appeased.

Olivia has said that she would date a geek, plays video games, has been on Ninja Warrior twice and loves pie. Why we don't already have a long-distance relationship on Twitter I don't know. Might have something to do with the fact I'm not on Twitter.

And there you have it. The Triumvirate reigns supreme, even though I'm usually attracted to girls with twin sisters or girls who are ridiculously short and naked, like ex-porn star and still stripper Gauge.

Why I felt the need to go on and on about hot chicks instead of Transformers 2, we'll never know.

Finally, after 2 years of waiting, I get my disability hearing from Social Security.

You wanna know how I know that the Republican argument that we're relying too much on the government is crap? Because I'm a 26-year-old cripple who gets nothing from the government because I don't qualify.

How do I not qualify? I haven't had a job since January '08 because of my leg and I'm not even eligible for food stamps anymore. I can't get Medicaid because I don't have a kid and I never got unemployment or welfare because I wasn't looking for new work. I had a job, I just couldn't do it anymore.

But maybe that will all change. I might just get enough assistance that I can be somewhat independent. As it is, I am totally reliant on my mom because I have no money and no income and lots of bills. Half her paycheck goes to doctor visits and prescription drugs for me, along with cars, gas, tv, phone, internet, food. I can't even get a haircut without asking her for money.

By the way, she was supposed to be saving for her retirement next year, but that's not likely anymore.

I've managed to do something very few people could accomplish: I got kicked out of my doctor's office this week simply because I told her she was "acting very, very, very, very stupid."

She very promptly declared "No one calls me stupid," which I didn't, which kind of puts things - and her intelligence - into perspective.

For many months, we've been battling over my Vicodin prescription. For a year now, I've been taking 5 pills a day. If you do the math, a 30 day supply is 150 pills. After I lost my health insurance and started seeing Dr. Jessica Cook at the McGregor clinic, I took all of my prescriptions to show her how much I was taking of what. She wrote a script for 100 pills. After one rowe where I again showed her my prescription bottles, she bumped it to 120 and told me to "make it last." I don't know of any ethical doctor who writes scripts for less than what is needed for a medication and tells their patient to make it last.

After the all the phone hang ups and the run around she got with the nurse the last time I tried to get my Vicodin refilled, my mom wanted to meet Dr. Cook and see what is going on with her. She's of the same opinion I am concerning Dr. Cook now.

And Dr. Cook wasn't too happy about me getting pain meds from an ER doctor. She stated, matter-of-factly, that she did refill my prescription on the day in question at precisely 5 p.m., she all but accused me of conning the doctor to get more drugs so I could get high. Seeing as how the pharmacy I have to use with her closes at 5 p.m., her logic falls flat on its face. She told I had violated our agreement that she and she alone would write my hydrocodone prescriptions. The way I see it, she violated it first by not writing the proper prescription and then not even giving timely refills on those prescriptions.

That means she is either a) lazy, b) incompetent or c) negligent. I was doing her a favor by saying her actions were incompetent because the other two have severe legal ramifications. But since she refutes that, and then threw me out of her office knowing full well that I was out of two much-needed medications for a chronic condition, that just leaves us with a doctor begging for my lawyers to sue her.

The hypocratic oath says "do no harm" but she has persisted in causing harm. Psychologically, I'm just at an end with dealing with negligent doctors. One crippled me for life then blamed me for getting a chronic pain condition even though he damaged my nervous system and I have a neurologist to prove it. My blood pressure has gotten dangerously high in dealing with Dr. Cook as well. High enough I did actually worry about tachycardia. High blood pressure and stress cause me to experience more pain, just like depression does. She was just reading up on that before coming into the exam room, which is probably why it took her 45 minutes to come in. That or a nurse told her I had back up in the form of a very angry mother.

She began lecturing me on my condition, as though I hadn't bothered to at least Google it over the last two years. She conveniently forgot about when I told her that I diagnosed myself a full two months before any doctor. The last time I saw her, she was surprised that I had a cane. Something that has literally been at my side every day for two years. And I don't know why we bother going in an exam room. I've been going to her since February and she has not once examined me or my leg.

I think Dr. Cook will be hearing from my lawyers in the near future and I'm taking the ER doc's advice. I'm getting a new doctor.

It's not all bad news, though. My mom has been trying to get rid of her gas-guzzling Chevy Avalanche for a while now. She finally made the decision that she was just going to have to let it go back, even though it would be a major blow to her credit score. The way the car market is, she was just never going to get over the negative equity between what she could get on trade in and what is left on the note.

So we stopped off at the Honda dealership and she was sold on the Honda Element, which I have to say I like as well. A recent episode of Top Gear confirmed that it is indeed a cool car. After picking it out and talking some price numbers, I happened to mention that I wanted a new car, too. I paid for my Chevy Cavalier all on my own, but it had zero impact on my credit score because it was never in my name. We remedied that by having me co-sign the loan on a 2005 BMW 325i that we got at quite a good price. A lot of people apparently looked at it, but I said yes before I even saw the interior.

So now I drive a German sports sedan and women have responded. I don't even have to say anything, they can just sense the German engineering and leather interior and become very interested in everything I say. It's enough of an impact that I think I could swing the election by taking a road trip and stopping at every bar and strip club I see. I'm getting girls in groups surrounding me and I'm not exaggerating. Barack Obama could win Texas simply because I drive a Beamer and have tremendous oral skills... and I'm not talking about public speaking.

Things are as they always are. A miserable, banal levelness in the good and the bad in my life. Hopefully I can overcome that with some action on my part to make things better. I have some plans that should bring more money and independence and much better medical care into my life while I await the results of my malpractice lawsuits, which I hope leave me substantially better off than I am now. Not only am I a cripple; I'm a broke cripple that lives with my mom. That needs to change soon.

After suffering for 2 years, I've had it with the modern medical profession. Out of a dozen or so doctors, I've only dealt with one really competent one: My longtime personal physician Dr. Speckmiear.

The straw that broke the camel's back came Tuesday when it was time to refill my hydrocodone prescription. Well, that's actually misleading since it was actually a week after I needed it refilled. My current doctor, Dr. Jessica Cook, has been continuously writing scripts that don't meet my needs for a one month supply. She was writing them for 100 pills and I managed to get her up to 120, but that still doesn't meet the needs of someone who takes 5 pills a day. I've been taking 5 pills a day for a year now and I reached that number after consulting my physician and after a botched sympathetic nerve block.

When I called the pharmacy to see if my pills were finally ready, they weren't. My mom called the clinic to see what was going on and they hung up on her 3 fucking times! So she went up there demanding to see Dr. Cook. They would only let her see her nurse who had no answers and couldn't tell her why Dr. Cook wouldn't write the correct prescription or why she hadn't bothered to take 5 minutes to sign a damn refill order and fax it back to the pharmacy.

All the stress was making my leg hurt even more. So I finally just snapped. I've sort of just taken the crap I've had to deal with from doctors thinking I didn't really have a choice. I've always looked up to doctors and could never imagine being one of those people who sued them.

The only thing we could do was take me to the emergency room at Providence Hospital. Even though there was a strict rule against giving narcotics to people off the street, the doctor risked his license and his job to get me Vicodin so I didn't walk out of there suffering. He gave me enough to get me to the next day so that I could sort out my refill.

Considering I don't have health insurance or a job, just a gold Good Health Card from County Welfare, they wanted to know how I was paying for my visit. The lady couldn't understand why I didn't have the blue card, which basically pays for everything everywhere. I'm living off my mom's spare change and whatever and she can give me. That and my credit cards, both of which are now maxed out. Neither could the person at the pharmacy the next day. There's no reason why I don't have the blue card except that the people in the welfare office were adding in my mom's income, which they aren't supposed to do.

In the ER, they took my basic vitals. I had just taken my last two Vicodin because my leg hurt so much. With 20mgs of hydrocodone, my blood pressure was 143/110 and my heart rate was 91 bpm, way above normal for me. I'm usually 110/80 and around 67 bpm, but I was so stressed from dealing with my own doctor's negligence that even a drug that is supposed to lower heart rates and breathing wasn't doing much of either.

So, in the span of 2 years I've had a surgeon ruin my knee so that I can't use it anymore, blamed me for not getting better, called me pathetic to my face and disregarded me when I told him I though I had complex regional pain syndrome which another diagnosed after 2 seconds of looking at my leg 2 months later. Great job Dr. Ellis.

I've had a pain specialist, Dr. Hurley, that everyone who has ever met him regards as a total dick promise me a "one shot cure" to my chronic condition which made me worse than I was before. And while I was laying on his exam table in agony, he decided it was the perfect time to test if I was double jointed. I was in so much pain from him twisting my knee around that I was biting my hand to keep from screaming and he told my mom that was okay as long as I didn't break the skin. I spent the next two days in bed barely able to move and my mom had to keep sharp objects away from me because I convinced myself that if I cut off a pinky finger it would take my mind off how much my leg hurt.

And now there is Dr. Cook, who is roughly my age, has absolutely no medical knowledge of my condition and won't write the correct prescriptions or even talk to my mom when she screws up. If she thinks I'm abusing narcotics, then don't give me any. But she can't do that because my doctor, a three-phase bone scan, a pain specialist and a neurologist have all confirmed I do indeed have a chronic pain condition and I need pain meds. So she should prescribe the correct amount. You don't write half a month's script for blood pressure medication and tell them to make it last. That's negligence.

So I spent Tuesday night going through the yellow pages with my mom looking at every malpractice attorney in Waco because I've decided to sue all three of these assholes. And sue them big. It's not even about getting money, even though being crippled for life and not being able to work at the age of 25 kind of necessitates getting a lot of money from somewhere. I want to take it as far as I can and take so much money from their insurance companies that there is no way that they could possibly get malpractice insurance in the future and thus never do what they've done to me to anyone else. I want to ruin their names, their practices and let them get a little taste of the hopelessness that comes from not knowing what is going to happen to you for the rest of your life.

I want retribution.