Since we already communicate faster than the speed of light using electronics and light impulses, for our voice(s), typed messages and collected information, why can't we convert our own beings into these pulses-of-information?
To put it simply: Since we can convert our sound and sight into recorded (and sent) messages and images, why not our bodies?
Beam me up Scotty?
Since I'm (somewhat) back, I've decided to change my posting format. Having contemplated just about everything in life, I want to explore everything outside of life. Expand my thinking. Remove all inabilities. Become an 'engineer of improbabilities'.
For example: Is a straight line straight once it reaches the end of the universe,--or even the end of our solar system? Can it be warped or just seize to exist?
Anyway, it's time be an uninterrupted being full of intelligence, but without any time limitations.
Things my wife should (or should not) know:
Next time I decide to be the one who 'wears the pants in this relationship', I'm not telling my wife.
Just because I spend money on golf equipment, does not mean I won't spend any on my wife.
I golf to enjoy my time with my friends, not to get away from my family.
Reading is necessary for my peace-of-mind and not meant to ignore my responsibilities of the day.
Looking at hot girls, (that you've pointed-out to me), is very hot in itself and is an invitation to one day...
I learned at a very young age, (from my grandmother), the perfect cure for hiccups and it has worked every single time. And by 'every single time', I not only mean my hiccups always disappeared after this miracle concoction was applied, but everyone else I've had try it has had 100% success.
Here you go: 1. Consume one, (1), tablespoon of granulated sugar. 2. Immediately follow-up the sugar by drinking an entire 8oz. glass of water (in one continuous gulp).
That's it! Works every single time. You're welcome.
I seriously kicked-ass! After $110 in bets I actually made $24!!!
I'm thinking of taking-up being a thoroughbred handicapper, but I doubt I will get very far...
I have a weekend planned that will be just delightful. It involves betting on the Breeders Cup Races and drinking the attached fluid vigorously. This is a win-win. If I lose my precious-fortune-to-be, I will drown my disappointment. If I win... you guessed it!
I love horse racing. My uncle introduced me to the fine activity when I was 12 and I was hooked. I was allowed $12 in bets at the track, and for some then-blind-luck reason I had very good success,--which made it a lot easier to continue to love the sport and for my uncle to keep taking me.
Once I grew old enough, (18), to bet on my own, I went to Santa Anita Wednesday - Friday all through the meet. (I usually skipped Saturday and Sunday because I found out that winning over an entire meet was nary impossible, no matter how good a player you are. -And don't believe anyone who says they 'win all the time', because they're full of shit. Kinda like there are men that admit they masturbate and there are liars.) I continued to play the ponies in this fashion, (every Santa Anita Race Meeting and then Oak Tree @ Santa Anita), for seven years up to my wedding day, after which I settled into betting on whether my wife would allow me to go to the track that few and far between weekday off, and/or see if I would be able to afford my children's college tuition.
Today I settle for the occasional trip to Vegas where I'm allowed to play all I want for five hours a day at the casino race & sports book, and the Breeders Cup each year at my local OTB. However, I do miss the good ol' days and the smell of horses, turf and horse shit.
I know the obvious reasons like: 'Out of respect'; Mom insisted because he was a good guy who once took you to the park and fed you cotton candy even though you didn't ask; "She's your aunt and you should be there whether you liked her or not!"; Black is your favorite color to wear.
However, none of those reasons make any sense to me because I believe that once you're dead, you really don't care who the hell is there to see your pasty-ugly ass before they cover you with 6' of dirt. I always say: "See me before I'm dead, but not right before because I probably will look like shit,--or not give a damn about you being there." One would think this runs true for most, unless you're Catholic and don't want the Virgin Mary to be too upset at the fact that most people really didn't like you anyway.... (Besides, the Blessed Mom probably would know that before they stuck you in that wood box.)
Now, if being there meant a better inheritance, I'm all over that, but I'm pretty sure you can't adjust your will after you're dead. So suck-up well before that poor fellow loses his ability to put his signature on your future houseboat. REMEMBER, time is of the essence here!
I've told my wife, (who, I am sure, is more than ready to follow-through with my dying wishes), to 'just cremate my ass and spread me over some nice golf course where I didn't like the greenskeeper just to piss him off by killing the grass. Otherwise, make sure I'm really far out at sea before you push me overboard so I don't wash-up somewhere and Tom Hanks steals my shoes.'
So what I'm trying to relay to you: Don't expect me there and I won't expect you here.
Of course, if you're a big fan of Harold and Maude, then my point is moot...
Title: I Need Your Brain For My Stew
1. Deep Inside My Colon Walls
2. Post-Mortem Excretions
3. Living Just To Die
4. Craniums for Dessert
5. White House Medley
George Bush's Fantasy Boyfriend
I'd Still Do Nancy Reagan
Hillary Scares Me (but Not Monica)
(I Would) Push the Red Button
6. Deep Inside Osama's Underwear Drawer
7. F*ck Me - F*uck You
8. I Wrote a Love Song For Jenny (but She's Dead)
9. Help Me Feed My Boa
10. No Priests Allowed (In My Bedroom Anymore)
I am fortunate enough to work in a back office of a somewhat slow moving business. I really enjoy getting to take my time through the day which allows me to surf a little and have my two-to-six cups of coffee while working-up another over-priced estimate for those that accept our work for what it is and not how long it takes to finish.
However, today I decided to start-up my iTunes and listen to Dragonforce. Bad move. I was done with my huge workload in two hours. I have a tendency to work as fast as my ears will take me and maybe I should have listened to some Cat Stevens or The Carpenters, but then I'd fear of becoming a suicide bomber or starving to death.
It's a good thing I know how to fake it...
From Einstein:
Few people are capable of expressing with equanimity opinions which differ from the prejudices of their social environment. Most people are even incapable of forming such opinions.
Let me see...
Just because I'm pissed about someone or something, you mean to tell me I can't express my usually unbiased opinion(s)? You're full of shit!
Sincerely,
T
Thank goodness there is a limitless supply of people, places and things to bitch and moan about in this world.
I was trying to think of one blog-erator that had written only about happy things. No luck. And, might I add, nothing even close to an infinite blissful mess.
My first thought was there were probably thousands of church-going knuckleheads that dictate gleefully through their rapture-awaiting lives, but even those that do have to mention Armageddon, the devil and the rest of society today. (Hey, don't say, "yeah T, that would include you!"... -Hmmm, maybe you're right.)
My second (and last thought because I was to lazy to think of others), was cooking and crafts blogs. Even though those are probably full of all kinds of happy shit, the writers themselves are sure to be at home with screaming brats, rotten and ungrateful husbands, and too obese to be anything but happy about their own bed-ridden, TV-glued-eyes, and laptop-embedded-thighs-and-asses.
However, I am sure there's some sickeningly cheerful post out there that I haven't yet found, but do I want to (find it)? After serious consideration, -absolutely not! WHAT THEN WOULD I HAVE TO WRITE ABOUT?!
After reading across the Great World Wide Web I have come to a conclusion about Canadians, and they, ('they' meaning all you hosers and whacky moose-landers), are either going to deny it vehemently or agree with it whole-heartedly, but I doubt both.
People live in Canada because they don't want any responsibility and/or they hate Mexicans.
1) Responsibility: Who else wouldn't mind paying those kinda taxes unless they wanted the government to take care of them.
2) Mexicans: I'm still waiting for the first Pierre Martinez or Juan Bouvier to surface anywhere on this planet.
Now, you Great White Northerners, if you say 'no' to both, then I dare you to venture south into sunny SoCal, Arizona or Texas and enjoy the true meaning of living free in Northern Mexico where grape-picking, lettuce pulling, cherry shaking, lawn-cutting, table-clearing, mop-swinging, and bag-of-orange-selling are seldom taxed.
(and isn't she lovely?)
Oxymoron(s):
Problem-less Women
Men with Brains (who talk about women)
*Thank you to Pistols!
Answer me this Batman:
With Mr. B. O. saying we need change from the bottom up in government, then why did he choose someone who's been in the senate for four hundred years as his running mate? (OK, maybe just forty years.)
Let's see his 'change' credentials: Mr. Obama would be the first black president; first president with only 143 days of work experience in Washington as a senator; first Muslim president, -oh, wait a minute, I guess he's not Muslim after all; and he would be the first presidential nominee to run against a Vice-Presidential nominee moreso than his true Presidential counterpart.
Now, his not-so-new ideas: Make the so-called 'rich' pay more taxes. Yes, the same 'rich' that pay 90% of the tax-load as it is and hire (and pay) all of us over-burdened, honest, tax-paying bloaks known as 'middle-class'; Create a national health care system so the government can tell us who our doctors should be and will be; and More programs for the poor (who incidently don't pay any of their fair-share of taxes), that we can't afford as it is, that have already done diddly-squat in the past and present. (I dare anyone to go hang-out at a Midnight Basketball neighborhood in the middle of the night.)
Just thought you would like to be informed...
Hard to believe, but there is a very special reason why I go golfing every week:
Have you ever seen nicer irons?
However long it takes I'm gonna...
1. Get one million dollars.
2. Play one million rounds of golf.
3. Convince my wife that having a hot in-home stripper (that cooks) can be very beneficial.
4. Watch every episode of Two and a Half Men, again.
5. Try and understand why a man would ever want to call a physician if his erection lasts more than four hours.
6. Get my two kids' college tuition paid off (and quit being pissed-off for being white... -like that's ever going to happen!).
7. Eat way too many crab legs with way too much melted butter even though my cholesterol level exceeds 300.
8. Figure out why people need to give money to a church so they can be in good-standing with God.
9. Understand why a person who does not believe in God is supposedly possessed by the devil.
10. Build the perfect... something.
Stolen from my chat with Mr. Bananas' yesterday:
Me: I wander if Ms. Palin believes in, (and the state of Alaska allows), reverse-polygamy, because I could be part of that!
Bert: (After informing me that it's called polyandry.) If she had five husbands, four of them could go out golfing everyday and the fifth one could stay home and cook.
Me: I'd be the cook most of those days just to have more nookies-access.
Bert: She could take care of us all 15-minutes at a time after returning from the course.
Me: It would take me only 10.
To all of you Charger fans: Now you know what is like to be a Raider fan.
...And not finish what you began? 'Of course!', you say. Well, me too.
Last week, I was totally committed to writing in this blog only to be distracted into...
The Guv'ner asked Mr. Bananas '...where the hell is T?' and I really don't have an answer other than reading books, doing honey-do's, golfing, going back and forth to Vegas, and not working much. -And man, is all that a load of fun!
I am a streaky person. When I get on a kick, I go with it for several weeks. I never leave things undone once I start,--unless I hate doing it. Reading, chores, golfing (which is never a 'streaky' thing), Vegas and 'not working much' are all enjoyable to me and I don't see an end in sight. The opposite goes for me too. If it's not on my itinerary, I don't do it. Right now, I don't like writing much, so I don't blog.
So, once I get back on the blog-boat, I'll return with both sides of my mouth a-blazin'.
I do miss all my fellow bloggers though...
As I noted in an earlier blog, I got a new baby.
I'm somewhat old, (let's just say over forty), and so is my wife, who, incidentally, is holding-up a lot better than I, thank goodness. So, we are not the having babies type anymore. We are the animal loving type though and here's our latest addition to the T family.
OK, this is not the actual "Phoebe", 'our baby', but she does look just like her!
Oh, and she runs my life.
