Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Yum
Take a bar of Trader Joe's Belgium milk chocolate. You could use some lame Hershey bar or some snotty four dollar bar depending on who you are or how you feel. I like the Trader Joe bar cause it doesn't cost too much but it has that creamy European taste that makes me feel like I'm something other than a silly housewife in Cleveland, Ohio.
If you really want to rock your face off, you'll need a pretty crispy and salty pretzel. My local Giant Eagle brand has these extra salty rings. Now that's what I'm talking about. Your Rold Golds are sort of pussy when it comes to the salt, so I don't use that shit. But far be it from me to judge a man by what he houses in his pretzel jar.
You like your Rold Golds? Have your Rold Golds.
I think the photo pretty well explains how to build one of these mothers--one smallish pretzel, one square of chocolate. Don't eat it in two sissy-ass bites or anything like that. And if you use a proper-size mini pretzel, you won't have any worries about the effer being too much all at once. Only have a big pretzel? Sometimes you've just got to finesse it, people. Break your bigger pretzel into pieces if you have to for chrissake. Now pop it in your mouth.
Is that down or what?
About the only way to improve on this is to add one hickory roasted almond. you could add a roasted peanut, but come on already. You don't want to dumb down your Trader Joe's Belgium with a shitty nut.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
The people have spoken
I rarely comply to memes, but when Ken Houghton asked me for "Eight Random Things," I thought listing eight sentences from my novel would be short, fun and entertaining. So I did it.
Someone named "Brent" read that entry and left this comment:
There is no way that in a _readable_ novel of any length that this is a random sampling.
Brent baby? Your sentence structure sucks. Okay, that's enough about you. Let's talk about me.
Despite encouragement from my writer's group (Maureen McHugh was certain it would be a bestseller), pitching my book was really effing tough. But very early on, I received an unusual letter from a slush reader at a New York agency I had queried.
"I really just want you to know that your piece is unbelievably worthwhile, no matter what those elitist agencies tell you. From writer to writer, I think that you will affect my own style, my own way of presenting characters. Thank you for such a great reading experience."
As you can see, she wrote quite a bit more.
That letter, with all its heart and honesty, kept me going down Rejection Road. If this reader (who was not my mom or friend or even an acquaintance) loved my book so much, surely it had a larger audience that was entitled to read it as well. I plowed forward and eventually got an agent. She came very close to placing the book with one of the big houses time and time again. When she ran out of energy, I was on my own. I queried small publishers. One artsy indie house (MacAdam Cage) also got my hopes way up, only to shoot them down. Here's that story (have Kleenex ready):
(More sad writing chronicles available here.)
But I did eventually place my book. Since it was not with a big house, there were no glittering reviews in glossy magazines, no New York raves, no Oprah nods. But we live in democratic times. Anyone can publish anything online. And quite a few people posted about "Harvey & Eck." Here is an incomplete list of them and what they said:
Phil Plait, who also wrote me and said that he thought "it was *really* good" and never had I been so thrilled by a couple of asterisks.
Doug Hoffman.
A smart man in a fool's hat.
Dean Cochrane.
A cute chick.
A man named Garrett, who wrote more posts about the book than I could count.
A mama.
Josh Williams.
A psychic.
Hal Perry.
A flamingo.
And some comments Vince Parker left in the comment section of this silly post.
"I hope this is an appropriate enough place to intrude upon you my personal thoughts, but I am compelled to disclose to you that I read "Harvey & Eck" from beginning to end with the same eagerness and enthusiasm as your characters must have. And I saw within my self, both Eck and the Hub--and Harvey too. I must admit, that as I read, I remained skeptical that the next pages would not satisfy me. And even as I approached the conclusion, I told myself I would have to mentally re-write the ending to meet my needs. I dare say, I even found myself fearing the neglect of a certain significant object. One I won’t give away out of courtesy for others who have not read your novel yet. But I was wrong on all accounts--and gleefully so.
After I finished the novel, I noticed the words “Women’s Fiction” on the back cover for the first time. But to me, this was a brilliant work of “Men’s Fiction” in more ways than one. A smashing read. A novel that I would feel dignified to have accompany me into any coffee shop despite it’s—how shall I say this?—less conventional cover. Smashing, indeed!"
Other people called and emailed me. They loved the book. They were moved by the book. They read it again and again. They passed it around to friends. They bought copies as gifts. They asked me questions.
Now to get you started on your way to an actual review, Brent baby, here's a sample of "Harvey & Eck:"
Here's a longer one.
You can order it at any major bookstore, or it's available on Amazon for about $12.
In the unlikely event you'd like a signed copy, send me $20 and I'll send you one, I might even include a surprise or two*.
Erin O'Brien
P. O. Box 470167
Broadview Heights, OH 44147
*to anyone else who wants a signed copy, you can pretty much count on the surprises.
Someone named "Brent" read that entry and left this comment:
There is no way that in a _readable_ novel of any length that this is a random sampling.
Brent baby? Your sentence structure sucks. Okay, that's enough about you. Let's talk about me.
Despite encouragement from my writer's group (Maureen McHugh was certain it would be a bestseller), pitching my book was really effing tough. But very early on, I received an unusual letter from a slush reader at a New York agency I had queried.
"I really just want you to know that your piece is unbelievably worthwhile, no matter what those elitist agencies tell you. From writer to writer, I think that you will affect my own style, my own way of presenting characters. Thank you for such a great reading experience."
As you can see, she wrote quite a bit more.
That letter, with all its heart and honesty, kept me going down Rejection Road. If this reader (who was not my mom or friend or even an acquaintance) loved my book so much, surely it had a larger audience that was entitled to read it as well. I plowed forward and eventually got an agent. She came very close to placing the book with one of the big houses time and time again. When she ran out of energy, I was on my own. I queried small publishers. One artsy indie house (MacAdam Cage) also got my hopes way up, only to shoot them down. Here's that story (have Kleenex ready):
(More sad writing chronicles available here.)
But I did eventually place my book. Since it was not with a big house, there were no glittering reviews in glossy magazines, no New York raves, no Oprah nods. But we live in democratic times. Anyone can publish anything online. And quite a few people posted about "Harvey & Eck." Here is an incomplete list of them and what they said:
Phil Plait, who also wrote me and said that he thought "it was *really* good" and never had I been so thrilled by a couple of asterisks.
Doug Hoffman.
A smart man in a fool's hat.
Dean Cochrane.
A cute chick.
A man named Garrett, who wrote more posts about the book than I could count.
A mama.
Josh Williams.
A psychic.
Hal Perry.
A flamingo.
And some comments Vince Parker left in the comment section of this silly post.
"I hope this is an appropriate enough place to intrude upon you my personal thoughts, but I am compelled to disclose to you that I read "Harvey & Eck" from beginning to end with the same eagerness and enthusiasm as your characters must have. And I saw within my self, both Eck and the Hub--and Harvey too. I must admit, that as I read, I remained skeptical that the next pages would not satisfy me. And even as I approached the conclusion, I told myself I would have to mentally re-write the ending to meet my needs. I dare say, I even found myself fearing the neglect of a certain significant object. One I won’t give away out of courtesy for others who have not read your novel yet. But I was wrong on all accounts--and gleefully so.
After I finished the novel, I noticed the words “Women’s Fiction” on the back cover for the first time. But to me, this was a brilliant work of “Men’s Fiction” in more ways than one. A smashing read. A novel that I would feel dignified to have accompany me into any coffee shop despite it’s—how shall I say this?—less conventional cover. Smashing, indeed!"
Other people called and emailed me. They loved the book. They were moved by the book. They read it again and again. They passed it around to friends. They bought copies as gifts. They asked me questions.
Now to get you started on your way to an actual review, Brent baby, here's a sample of "Harvey & Eck:"
Here's a longer one.
You can order it at any major bookstore, or it's available on Amazon for about $12.
In the unlikely event you'd like a signed copy, send me $20 and I'll send you one, I might even include a surprise or two*.
P. O. Box 470167
Broadview Heights, OH 44147
*to anyone else who wants a signed copy, you can pretty much count on the surprises.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Dick will make you slap somebody and homage
Alexyss K. Tylor and her mother discuss how dick will make you slap somebody:
An homage to Tylor based on another one of her efforts:
An homage to Tylor based on another one of her efforts:
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
A Rainy Day Woman and the Ohio Canal
My great grandfather was a potato and sweetcorn farmer in Independence, Ohio until the 1960's, when operation began to dwindle as Gramp and Gram aged. Over the course of the 70's, they both died and my family was forced to sell the farm to the Federal Government via eminent domain in order for it to become part of the National Park system. I was just a kid and didn't understand, but all the adults were furious.
Today, the Cuyahoga Valley National Park--the only National Park in Ohio--houses some of the best preserved sections of the Ohio and Erie Canal. The National Park Service worked closely with the Cleveland Metroparks in order to seamlessly join the two parks where they abut in Brecksville, Ohio.
Although parts of the Metropark wind through commercial and industrial areas, the National Park is completely pristine. My family's farmland is free from parking lots and residential development. It is preserved, although all of the farm buildings were razed except the original farm house (built in 1850, shown with my great great grandmother Mary Vaughn Doubler in the mid-1800's above and as it looks today on the right). The ramp to the barn that my great grandfather Fred Doubler built along with his brother Dan some 70 years later is also still there. They carved "F DOUBLER" into one of the stones.
There are very, very few descendants left, but I'm still standing. And believe it or not, sometimes the government does something right. I am profoundly thankful that I lived long enough to see and understand this rare gift of preservation. When I walk over this land, I tell my kid what I remember of my great grandparents. I tell her about sweetcorn. I tell her about the arrowheads my father found here. And all my dead kin, they walk right along with us.
"Every once in a while," I say as we step through the lush forest next to the riverbed, "the good guys win." My dad his dad and my great grandfather nod.
These two parks are so brilliant in their execution, they bring me to my knees. I tried to capture some of what I love about this little strip of earth in my column* this week. So come with me, and walk along the towpath of the Ohio and Erie Canal.
*For my new readers, I am a regular print columnist in the Cleveland Free Times. "Rainy Day Woman" publishes (for the most part) every other week. I always link the column here in the Owner's Manual, although my introductions aren't always this elaborate.
Some companion photos to the column:
Brecksville Road Bridge and wooden CSX railroad spur traverse the Cuyahoga River.
What lies between Interstate 77 and the Ohio and Erie Canal.
CSX Shortline Bridge and the Southwest Interceptor traverse the Hidden Valley overhead. The smaller blue pipe is a gasoline pipeline on it's way to the BP Bradley Road terminal, where guys with shirts with name patches swing valves and keep the petro in the pipes. One of those guys is my very own Goat!
A backhoe moves through the scene overlooking the Cuyahoga River.
The Goat takes a break under the massive Interstate-480 Bridge, although no picture does this structure justice.
Today, the Cuyahoga Valley National Park--the only National Park in Ohio--houses some of the best preserved sections of the Ohio and Erie Canal. The National Park Service worked closely with the Cleveland Metroparks in order to seamlessly join the two parks where they abut in Brecksville, Ohio.
Although parts of the Metropark wind through commercial and industrial areas, the National Park is completely pristine. My family's farmland is free from parking lots and residential development. It is preserved, although all of the farm buildings were razed except the original farm house (built in 1850, shown with my great great grandmother Mary Vaughn Doubler in the mid-1800's above and as it looks today on the right). The ramp to the barn that my great grandfather Fred Doubler built along with his brother Dan some 70 years later is also still there. They carved "F DOUBLER" into one of the stones.
There are very, very few descendants left, but I'm still standing. And believe it or not, sometimes the government does something right. I am profoundly thankful that I lived long enough to see and understand this rare gift of preservation. When I walk over this land, I tell my kid what I remember of my great grandparents. I tell her about sweetcorn. I tell her about the arrowheads my father found here. And all my dead kin, they walk right along with us."Every once in a while," I say as we step through the lush forest next to the riverbed, "the good guys win." My dad his dad and my great grandfather nod.
These two parks are so brilliant in their execution, they bring me to my knees. I tried to capture some of what I love about this little strip of earth in my column* this week. So come with me, and walk along the towpath of the Ohio and Erie Canal.
*For my new readers, I am a regular print columnist in the Cleveland Free Times. "Rainy Day Woman" publishes (for the most part) every other week. I always link the column here in the Owner's Manual, although my introductions aren't always this elaborate.
Some companion photos to the column:
Brecksville Road Bridge and wooden CSX railroad spur traverse the Cuyahoga River.
What lies between Interstate 77 and the Ohio and Erie Canal.
CSX Shortline Bridge and the Southwest Interceptor traverse the Hidden Valley overhead. The smaller blue pipe is a gasoline pipeline on it's way to the BP Bradley Road terminal, where guys with shirts with name patches swing valves and keep the petro in the pipes. One of those guys is my very own Goat!
A backhoe moves through the scene overlooking the Cuyahoga River.
The Goat takes a break under the massive Interstate-480 Bridge, although no picture does this structure justice.
Made in the USA
If, like me*, you purchase all of your underwear at the Bad Astronomy Store, you will appreciate the fact that the classic** thong is one of the five items that has the "MADE IN THE USA" stamp.Some things make me damn proud to be an American. Thank you Phil Plait. You represent all that is glorious about the Red, White and Blue.
*Okay, not all of my underwear.
**This isn't some fly-by-night flash-in-the-pan thong, you mothers. This baby is a classic!
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Silly
I drive a Mini Cooper.I think it's super duper.
When I step on the gas
it goes real fast.
Until I go by a State Trooper.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Told you so and Faith really is beautiful
I won't repeat myself. I already told you people that Photoshop turns women into mannequins.
Caution! Boobs and dildos abound in the preceding link!
Here's the story about Faith's photoshopping that ran on Jezebel.com. Hop over there to see a larger animated graphic that reveals the contrast in stunning detail.
And Faith? If you're out there? You are beautiful babygirl, just the way you are.
Oh yeah, I've been photoshopped as well.
And if you haven't seen this, it's worth the minute and 17 seconds:
Fun with Mr. Bubble and a dancing devil
1. There's nothing wrong with tearing off one another's clothes and having raw, animal sex.
2. For a longer, more involved sexual encounter however, a preliminary shower is a good idea.
3. When you shower in anticipation of an elaborate session and then execute it with such vigor that a second shower is required, now that's an accomplishment.
4. What makes you think I have any experience with this topic?
5. Who came up with the idea that a dancing alien would be an effective lure for refinancing my mortgage? Or a scary clown? When I see an animated Pennywise or green Close Encounter thingie doing the Bojangles, I want to run screaming from the computer.
7. They should use this dancing Satan. This guy makes me want to remove my pants every time (although to be fair, they're not interested in the removal of my pants).
8. Why am I numbering these sentences?
9. Eek!
10. There's a devil in my drawers.
11. Off to the shower.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Ghost story
My dad used to call the conical salt bins you pass on the highway "road tits." If there were two, he called it a double road tit.
"There's a double road tit."
While driving, sometimes Dad would reach behind the seat and tickle my ankle. That meant hi i love you. Sometimes he'd form a letter C with his fingers and thumb and make a back and forth shaking gesture. That meant get me a beer.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Camp Erin
What could be more wholesome than a fun-filled week of activities, games and playtime? So load up your sleeping bags, Boppers, and come on down to Camp Erin!
Upon arrival
First thing's first and what does that mean campers? That's right! Safety is #1 at Camp Erin. So all campers are to report to my cabin upon arrival for a thorough physical inspection. Now don't be embarrassed. Inspections are 100% private and Councilor Erin has seen it all.
A typical day
11 a.m. Reveille. Actually, let's make that noon. And now that I think of it, eff that bugle guy. Let's ease into the day. I'll pipe some Nina Simone over the loudspeakers.
12:15 p.m. Mimosa wake-ups.
1:30 p.m. I suppose we ought to eat something.
2:15 p.m. Body painting
3 p.m. Topless yoga (view or participate)
3:15 p.m. Beer
4:30 p.m. Special friend time followed by nap
6:30 p.m. Campfire cocktails and Dark Practice (Tarot, Witchcraft, Levitation, etc.)
7:30 p.m. Food fun. Be creative! Use another camper as a plate. Lick someone else's fingers. Find a special friend and see how well they eat with their hands tied behind their back.
8:30 p.m. Candy bar break (Twix, Reese's, Butterfinger, Nestle Crunch, KitKat, Milky Way, York Peppermint Patty, Mallow Cup, etc.)
8:45 p.m. Skinnydipping
9:30 p.m. Let's watch a movie!
11:30 p.m. Martinis and midnight snacks. Yum!
12:30 a.m. Make your own Movie!
2 a.m. Nightcap
3 a.m. Tuck someone in.
Don't forget
Aspirin
Rubbing alcohol
Regular alcohol
Marital aids
Adult literature and accessories
Condoms
Personal lubricant
Mouthwash
Optional items
Underwear
Bible
Upon arrival
First thing's first and what does that mean campers? That's right! Safety is #1 at Camp Erin. So all campers are to report to my cabin upon arrival for a thorough physical inspection. Now don't be embarrassed. Inspections are 100% private and Councilor Erin has seen it all.
A typical day
11 a.m. Reveille. Actually, let's make that noon. And now that I think of it, eff that bugle guy. Let's ease into the day. I'll pipe some Nina Simone over the loudspeakers.
12:15 p.m. Mimosa wake-ups.
1:30 p.m. I suppose we ought to eat something.
2:15 p.m. Body painting
3 p.m. Topless yoga (view or participate)
3:15 p.m. Beer
4:30 p.m. Special friend time followed by nap
6:30 p.m. Campfire cocktails and Dark Practice (Tarot, Witchcraft, Levitation, etc.)
7:30 p.m. Food fun. Be creative! Use another camper as a plate. Lick someone else's fingers. Find a special friend and see how well they eat with their hands tied behind their back.
8:30 p.m. Candy bar break (Twix, Reese's, Butterfinger, Nestle Crunch, KitKat, Milky Way, York Peppermint Patty, Mallow Cup, etc.)
8:45 p.m. Skinnydipping
9:30 p.m. Let's watch a movie!
11:30 p.m. Martinis and midnight snacks. Yum!
12:30 a.m. Make your own Movie!
2 a.m. Nightcap
3 a.m. Tuck someone in.
Don't forget
Aspirin
Rubbing alcohol
Regular alcohol
Marital aids
Adult literature and accessories
Condoms
Personal lubricant
Mouthwash
Optional items
Underwear
Bible
Monday, July 16, 2007
Torn and frayed
Geneva On The Lake is a little lake resort village about 40 miles east of Cleveland. It is an odd place, a teenage girl that is at once past her prime and still attractive. The thrill rides are gone, but the strip still thrums, mostly with bikers. Click on any image to enlarge.
Cartoon chicken and piggy in the fire and umbrellas.
People and bikes and the lake in the background.
Got beer?
Cool people and I love it.
Buy me a corndog.
Pink panther on the loose.
Waiting on a friend.
Take a whiz.
Buy a bra.
Go home and take a nap.
Flip my flops and the chocolate candy that doesn't melt in your hand.
Let's sit for a spell.
Tiny Santa and the God of the Lake.
"Erin O'Brien will one day rule the world!"
Gotta drive and can only have one.
Three green chairs, no people.
You're not south, you're north.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Eight
Eight random sentences from my novel Harvey & Eck:
Did you ever notice that Fun-Size Musketeers look like little uniform turds?
It was no help when the unabashed and semi-nude woman approached me and retrieved her lingerie, but not before embracing me in a grandiose fashion and leaving a lipstick imprint upon my already reddened cranium.
The moonlight is coming through the trees and making its own lace on the ground--delicate patterns.
I looked down to see what had got her attention and noticed that the chocolate vagina sucker was protruding from my breast pocket.
Can you see how you put dimension and texture and kaleidoscope color into a life that was little more than a droning monorail ride?
And then it was kissing and hands and clothes coming off.
So in light of this, I bought a round, then Scud bought a round and after about four or five (or six?) I figured I'd better get home.
Hold on, Harvey, and wait for a zephyr.
Courtesy of this guy.
Did you ever notice that Fun-Size Musketeers look like little uniform turds?
It was no help when the unabashed and semi-nude woman approached me and retrieved her lingerie, but not before embracing me in a grandiose fashion and leaving a lipstick imprint upon my already reddened cranium.
The moonlight is coming through the trees and making its own lace on the ground--delicate patterns.
I looked down to see what had got her attention and noticed that the chocolate vagina sucker was protruding from my breast pocket.
Can you see how you put dimension and texture and kaleidoscope color into a life that was little more than a droning monorail ride?
And then it was kissing and hands and clothes coming off.
So in light of this, I bought a round, then Scud bought a round and after about four or five (or six?) I figured I'd better get home.
Hold on, Harvey, and wait for a zephyr.
Courtesy of this guy.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Frog and toe
I am not entirely sure it was not a toad, but to title this post "Toad and toe" just didn't get it.
The creature was as enthusiastic about escaping the photo shoot as I was about completing it. This made our interaction both kinetic and antagonistic. The drama played out on my driveway. I am unsure what the photo says about me, but it says something.
I have not seen the creature since this event.
Hello. My name is Erin O'Brien.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Rainy Day Vampire **Updated**
In my column this week, I talk about my weekend with a group of vampires.Honest.
Here's the link. If you have something to say about it, email the Free Times. Frank Lewis is the editor. Be sure to include your full name and city.
As is so often the case, there is much more to write about on this topic and I hope to do so soon. In the meantime, know that the actual language my husband used was a bit more graphic.
erf!
**UPDATE**
Earlier today, I ran across this post, which has an embedded podcast wherein House Kheperu members discuss the event I attended. My article had already been published by the time I listened.
I experienced virtually everything Belanger describes in that podcast. The loss of appetite, the poor sleep, the weird aftermath of the weekend. All of that was on top of the things I felt during the energy work that I talked about in the column. I dismissed my other reactions as just ... well ... I just dismissed them.
Strange. Very, very strange.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Mini squirter, buffer, bird, stacked and a no-phone guy
A squirter on my Mini Cooper wasn't squirting, so I had to take it in to the BMW dealership. I waited while they fixed it.
I saw this there. I wonder if the people who own that car parked on the right are really rascals or if they just put it on the license to freak me out. Sorry about my finger at the bottom of the image.
A bird flew into a large plate glass window and hung out on the ground for a while. Then he sputtered away, sort of dizzy and disoriented. I know how he felt.
I think the bottom buffers are to buff shoes. But what do you buff with the top buffer?
They had a rack of cookies and muffins. I didn't take a picture of that, but I ate a cookie (white chocolate chip macadamia nut). It was in a cellophane package and was sort of chewy, but okay. I turned the TV from a soap to "Miami Ink" and then I acted like I wasn't watching it when a guy with a back pack came in. He used the house phone to call someone and I thought: guy doesn't even have his own phone and I'm worried about what he thinks of me for watching "Miami Ink?" Sheesh.
Then the BMW man came and told me my squirter was right as rain and I went home.
I saw this there. I wonder if the people who own that car parked on the right are really rascals or if they just put it on the license to freak me out. Sorry about my finger at the bottom of the image.
A bird flew into a large plate glass window and hung out on the ground for a while. Then he sputtered away, sort of dizzy and disoriented. I know how he felt.
I think the bottom buffers are to buff shoes. But what do you buff with the top buffer?
They had a rack of cookies and muffins. I didn't take a picture of that, but I ate a cookie (white chocolate chip macadamia nut). It was in a cellophane package and was sort of chewy, but okay. I turned the TV from a soap to "Miami Ink" and then I acted like I wasn't watching it when a guy with a back pack came in. He used the house phone to call someone and I thought: guy doesn't even have his own phone and I'm worried about what he thinks of me for watching "Miami Ink?" Sheesh.
Then the BMW man came and told me my squirter was right as rain and I went home.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Erin's skull
I am so enamored of my meteor fragment that I have removed the tri-metal amulet and arrowhead I have been wearing* and tied the fragment around my neck.
So this is what my kid said: "After you die and the earth blows up, your pieces are going to fly out into space and land on a planet and some alien is going to pick up your skull and tie it around his neck."
I hope she's right.
*when I wear something around my neck, I tie it on with cording and never remove it until it's time to change the cording.
So this is what my kid said: "After you die and the earth blows up, your pieces are going to fly out into space and land on a planet and some alien is going to pick up your skull and tie it around his neck."
I hope she's right.
*when I wear something around my neck, I tie it on with cording and never remove it until it's time to change the cording.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Latest comment on YouTube **UPDATED**
"Omh you are a very nasty person. and you are a sinner, talking about such vile filth on youtube. children could be watching. you are a follower of the antichrist. stay away from this woman she worships the devil" in response to this vid, which has now garnered over 570,000 views.The same user has commented on my "Playmate Data Sheet" vid. He can't get enough, can he? Here is his comment:
"wow first she talks about playing with her genitals and having female ejaculations now shes reading playboys on her vids. This woman is the anti-christ as ive said before she is the devil woman"
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Go America!
You will remember this horrific thing from this post and this post.
Having waited the appropriate ritualistic time, I have (ahem) donated it to a neighbor. May it never return!
And in case you missed it, I did have some serious commentary on the state of the Red, White and Blue.
Have a good Fourth everyone.
Monday, July 02, 2007
A few words from Bill O'Reilly
Today, I offer you a verbatim excerpt from "The O'Reilly Factor for Kids: A Survival Guide for America's Families" by Bill O'Reilly and Charles Flowers:
I didn't have sex until I was twenty years old! Can you believe it? I was kind of a shy guy around girls, and I had absolutely no "moves."
At the time, I thought I was some kind of loser. But then I started to see the consequences of other people's choices. Some of my more aggressive friends got girls pregnant. Some married those girls. Most of those marriages were disasters, and the children suffered. More than one of the guys I grew up with ruined his life, and the lives of others, because he had irresponsible sex.
That still happens today even though abortion is more common. And abortion has its consequences too--many girls who have abortions suffer terrible guilt their whole lives. The bottom line is that this sex thing is big-time serious.
Looking back, I was darn lucky I had no moves. I had to wait for sex, and I'm glad.
I have typed and deleted a half dozen comments about that piece of text in this space. None of them worked. It is not common for me to have nothing to add. Hence, that is all I shall note.
I have nothing to add.
Mr. O'Reilly has spoken for himself very adeptly.
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