Cogito Ergo

I figured it out.   I did.   I know why the tea party and rich white people hate the government.   Once again, it all goes back to Star Trek. You see, one particularly strange episode of Star Trek, the Enterprise was above a planet that was all fashioned like a 1920’s mob run city.   I mean, everybody was a gangster.   They even rocked the fedoras and suits.   To make a long story short, the crew didn’t want to interfere with a developing planet (prime directive), so they got dressed as gangsters and infiltrated the planet to keep the whole world from going into gang war turmoil.   When all was said and done they all returned to the Enterprise but somebody (Bones I think) dropped his communicator, which meant that the gangster planet might reverse engineer it and develop much faster as a people.   Captain Kirk wasn’t too upset because they just kinda violated the prime directive; he was worried because eventually the mob planet might try to...

I wasn't so cynical when I was young.  When someone was presented as a hero, I just absorbed that shit.  That being said, all of my heroes had one thing in common, they were itching to kill something. There was something so manly about shooting a gunslinger down in the street, beating and alien until his fluorescent green blood gushed into the jungle or showing Cobra commandos that freedom would be protected at all cost and only blood is accepted as payment.  My man Darkwing Duck didn't kill anybody, but you can't come much harder than "Suck gas, evildoers!"  That shit is gangster! That's what heroes did.  Kick ass and take names.  Fast forward to today and when I think of heroes I think of 1) Claire, from 'Heroes', my irrational young white girl crush (did you see her in that cheerleader uniform?) and 2)  A white dude coming to kick some ass.  Respect to my man, Carl Weathers.  You were a bit of a jerk in the 1st two 'Rocky' movies, but ...

Before I drive people nuts by defending a man arrested for domestic violence, I want everyone to know that I deplore woman beaters.  I shouldn't even have to say that.  This blog isn't about that, though.  This is about what happened when Chad Ochocinco Johnson got out of jail for it. The Miami Dolphins are in the same division as the Patriots and are looking to stay our of last in the division this year.  That being said, they could only hope to have a team worthy of putting people in the seats.  That is why they signed the home town hero, Chad Ochocinco, in the first place.  Then he headbutted his wife or something.  I tend not to read the details that the media offers, they usually don't tell the whole story anyway. But, I digress.  The day after his release from jail, Ochocinco was out of a job.  Not for something he did at work but for something that happened between him and his wife.  How on earth is that remotely fair or justi...

I wish I was a super hero.  Even at this age I have delusions of saving people that far too often don't want to be saved. Seriously, how many stupid people can one city have?  That's not even counting all the people with Confederate flags on their cars or worse, Mitt Romney bumper stickers.  Those people just need to be slapped.  There are people in this city that still think drive by shootings are viable options to settling disputes that started on facebook... Fucking FACEBOOK.  Shooting these people would be counter productive and hypocritical but I do think someone should at least make an attempt to turn these people into useful members of society.  When that doesn't work, beat those assholes into submission.  Brutality worked during slavery and that had zero moral grounding.  I support routine beatings of people that obviously deserve it. First example: Sexual predators.  Something ridiculous, like 1 in 4 women are sexually ass...

You know what needs to come back in style?  Not the Afro, not the hightop fade and certainly not bell bottoms.  Well, bell bottoms are kinda funky but what we really need is good old fashioned ass whippings. I'm anti-violent but I'm not non-violent.  Sometimes people don't need three hots and a cot or even a couple of weekend anger management classes.  They just need to understand that they REALLY fucked up.  What better way to know you messed up than a lingering injury. Pain is nature's way of telling you not to do that again.  You grab a hot skillet and nature doesn't non-violently protest.  No, you get burned.  You jump off of rooftop and land awkwardly, your back doesn't write you a letter espousing its disapproval. When some meth head breaks into your car and falls asleep, why not take your cue from nature and whip that ass.  Be careful because drug addicts often have that super cracky strength so make sure you give them a surprise...

Paul's dead.  My mom could hardly spit it out.  I knew something was up because my little sister and my mom rarely call me on the same day. My response "Paul who?"  I know a couple of Pauls.  "Paul McCleary." she said. I couldn't believe it.  Paul was the best behaved of the McCleary brothers.  The youngest and probably the smartest. I hadn't heard from my man in a while but he seemed like he was doing well.  He had at least 2 kids and one on the way.  I hardly remember him as a young man though.  I remember him as the kid his mom referred to as "Pauly Paul."  He used to want to be like his dad so much that he had a pretty noticeable Jamaican accent.  His pops injured his foot and Paul would limp around, mimicking the steps of his idol.  Instead of calling video games by their names he would quote them.  He would say things like "Lets play some dribble drive." or "We was playing Last Lap."  It would always ...

If you get to know me, at some point you are going to see me behaving as a drunken maniac... and I don't care. I like being drunk and crazy.  That shit is just fun.  I know, I know its far from my usual intellectual rationality but that's probably why I like it. I tend to spend a lot of time in my head contemplating the universe but when I'm drinking, I apply those powers of analysis to whats in front of me.  It doesn't matter if I'm watching Purple Rain or watching drunk white girls get down on the dance floor.  My attention goes to whatever is presented to me.  I, being a braniac, tend to over analyze the new stimuli.  When you're drunk its like experiencing everything for the first time and just like a little kid, I like to talk about it. I don't talk very much on a day to day basis but after a few Cuervo shots (my favorite) I cant wait to discuss.  Race, politics, religion, there isn't anything sacred to a philosopher with a beer in his hand....