My Failings as a Cult Leader

Since I decided to deemphasize my pimpin bidness and focus on starting a cult, I've encountered a few hurdles. First off, I dunno how to break it to my girlfriend that I'm gonna turn the crib into a compound and start recruiting followers (any ideas?). Additionally, no one seems to know what I need to do to get my taxes waived on the compound, groceries--er communion, and gas for my alter on wheels. Lastly, how do I start getting followers. Without followers, I cannot start rolling in the dough--err fund my evangelism. So where is the cult leaders for dummies book? Why isn't Charlie Manson free to go on the speaking circuit? Can he be THAT dangerous? Most cult leaders kill themselves, oddly enough by senticing him to death (later reduced to life, and he is up for parole), he's outlived most cult leaders (hopefully he'll outlive Tom Cruise).

Is my son gay?

Being a single parent is rough, especially with Myspace. I have two kids who're online quite often, both of which have Myspace profiles. A while back I noticed that my daughter was getting hit on by older married men, including those with kids almost her own age. I've also seen that my son gets messages via Myspace from chicks who appear to be porn stars. Now I see that my son is getting friend requests from gay dudes who want to share nude pics! I've discovered naked pics of my son on his profile, so it's all very seedy. I want to barf. Is it because he's online and I dunno what to do about him? Is it because he's sharing naked pics? Is it because he's getting hit on? Is it because he might be gay (am I a homophobe)? Or is it because my son is a CAT, and I view bestiality as quite gross (gay or straight).

The World's Game: part two

This morning meandering my way to work, I drove past a few cars with National flags on them. They weren't the usual Puerto Rican flag/air freshener on the rear view mirror or Mexican Flag/headliner one usually sees in my part of C-bus, they were the type shit usually reserved for Buckeye flags and stuff (the flags were those of Argentina and Brazil). I suppose it's World Cup pride (both nations are doing well enough, but nothing unexpected). It makes me recall a trip to Toronto, a city were national cultures are strong and well defined, during the last World Cup. It wasn't unusual to hear cars hooting their horns at 5am when Portugal won, nor was it unheard of to see a small (I'm being redundant) Ford Festiva packed with 8 Brazilians, with one holding an enormous flag out the sunroof--again hooting their horn). Polocks, Spaniards, Japanese, Koreans, etc ... ... There were even World Cup raves. We've all seen Super Bowl parties, but come on. This is off the hook. Anyway, it was a lot of fun, and I kinda miss it. I'll have to make do with an occasional flag sighting for now. I guess I'll have gotten a full case of World Cup fever when you see my kitties dyed red, black, and gold.

The World's Game

Well it's that time again, and it's been so for about a week. Of all of my eclectic global sporting interests (Formula 1, America's Cup, Olympic curling, etc...) my favorite by far is World Cup. I got a head start by being born to a German and German-American, living overseas, and getting soccer balls as gifts as a wee little one (well, relative to my present giganticness). I always enjoyed the sport, more so watching than playing, and I've been an avid World Cup viewer the past 12 years. Four years ago I had to wake up at 2:00am to watch games, either at home or at Crew Stadium, which was a sight to see. Games at Crew Stadium had relatively large crowds, showing their national colors, chanting, and munching on free food. Quite a few folks were quite inebriated, and certain matchups brought quite a bit of passionate hatred for the respective sides. I thoroughly enjoyed all of my moments at those games. This year the games start at 9:00am, so it's not so fun. A DVR is my saving grace, well that and my somewhat relaxed work schedule, so I have been able to watch most of the games.

Me and my boy Adler watched German yesterday, and he seemed to be kinda interested. I guess I'm just another dad trying to impose gender stereotypes on his kids. I should watch with my daughter, but she'd rather sleep. Being German (Adler is even a German name), we routed for our team, and fortunately they won, though the Poles played their hearts out. Whenever I watch Germany I think of the German term for World Cup, Welt Fussball Meisterschaft, which then reminds me to never play Scrabble with a Kraut. A few more weeks left, and I look forward to all the games, and one day I'd love to see one in person. I always enjoy the drunken fans, singing national chants, waving flares, lighting fireworks, and doing various dangerous things. I guess I should do it sooner rather than later, and maybe I should leave Adler at home. He can watch on TV--maybe with his sis.

My Trip Home

Besides my unfortunate experience in Tennessee, I had a good trip home. I left early and made good time: I averaged 72 MPH, but that includes time spent getting gas (4 times), getting coffee (3 times, including two lengthy stops at Starbucks), stopping for pizza, a torrential downpour in Kentucky, and the time it took to get my speeding ticket. I rarely went under 80, and I spent more time in triple digits than below 70 (you can't listen to Rammstein and drive slow--go ahead try it; it's impossible). I spent too much time (and money) at Ikea, but it was a nice diversion, and I got some cool shit. I got to see lots of cars with either obviously redneck or obviously gay bumper stickers--quite a nice mix. I really enjoyed the big jacked up pickup truck with a giant rebel flag with the word "redneck" on it in giant script, like that isn't redundant. It's like a Mini with a gay pride sticker, which I saw a few of too. It really was a dull drive, a 13 hour dull drive.

I Fucking Hate Tennessee

I never thought I'd be happy to be in Kentucky. What can make Kentucky seem so nice, well I think the only thing that can is Tennessee. I can't honestly think of one nice thing about the godforesaken shithole. I suppose there needs to be somewhere folks in Arkansas and Kentucky can make fun of. It's just a bunch of ugly mountains (why couldn't they blow them up to make it quicker to go from Kentucky to Georgia?), white trash, and rednecks. Only in Tennessee do you have giant crosses (which I'm sure are rigged to burn at night) next to gigantic adult toy stores. Only in Tennessee have I seen someone hit a bong while driving on the interstate. Only in Tennessee do they have billboards asking you not to make meth. Only in Tennessee has a women told me that a vibrator and a dog is better than a man.

Some of Tennessee's most famous citizens are known for what they did when they left Tennessee: Davy Crocket, Steve Spurrier, and the inventor of the internet. The shithole state is most known for lame ass formulaic music, where folks sing about their daughter/sister/aunt (they're all the same person) leaving them, their dog killing itself (likely from the shame and horror of being molested by the white trash perverts), and running out of moonshine (even gallon jugs run out sooner or later).

I got a speeding ticket in the shithole, in a valley, trying to pass some trucks before they clog the interstate on the next mountain. The fucking speed limit dropped from 70 to 55 at the bottom of a mountain! Sure enough a cop was there--what a coincidence. Couldn't they shut down a still or two or even stop some goat from being raped?

I don't think it helped that my car has its share of Gator paraphernalia. I can't help it that UT sucks ass.

Pimpin Ain't Easy

I've come to discover that being a pimp ain't all it's made out to be. Sure there are all the bitches and hos, but there are all costs associated with bitches and hos. Paying for hoochie skirts, condoms, weaves, and an occasional abortion ain't cheap. Hos make money, but the bitches spend it as fast as it comes in. So what do I want: to have my cake and eat it to. Pimpin' has too many downsides, and I need to find a new direction.

Well I ain't just a pimp, rather a pimp and a minister. Pimpin' hos has it's upsides, but so does pimpin' god. I can start my own cult. Cult leaders get money like a pimp, but their hos--er followers pay their own way (yours too if you're the cult leader). I can still be eccentric, and I can avoid many taxes (there's that whole separation of church and state thing--thus far there is no separation of pimp and state, we should work on that). So I need to work on a few good sermons, learn to play acoustic guitar, and get myself a compound. Heck, I need to work on a few good Koolaid cocktails too. Maybe I should start looking for followers at Comfest--there should be some willing followers there (may need to preach the sermon of bathing though).

All I can say is halleluiah!

More Musings on my Journey

Well, I'm still in Florida, quite a ways from home, but I'm getting closer to the wonderful cow town that is Columbus. Along my journey I have seen billboards politely pleading people to not make meth (thanks Tennessee), ones proclaiming the human rights violations known as psychiatry (again, thanks Tennessee--maybe it's the shrinks that drive people to meth?), adult toy stores larger than any Toys R Us I've even seen (uh, you got it, way to go Tennessee!), and much more. I learned dolphins swim much closer to shore than I ever imagined (I've heard of swimming with the dolphins, but standing with them?), Euros in Speedos are merely a horrible childhood memory (perhaps some psychiatry or meth would burn those memories away), not a lasting problem, and there is a dance mix of Don't Stop Believin' (not that Journey should ever, ever be heard like that). I've seen more drive in churches (1) than drive in theaters (0), and I've seen more billboards warning that Jesus will kick my ass when he comes back (wasn't he supposed to be nice, these billboards make them out to be some bad ass, worse than a psychiatrist). Oh, there must be a lot of confused pregnant chicks driving around reading billboards down south. I've been reminded that seafood in Florida is much better than that in Ohio (I'm of the opinion that it's more the reflection of the disgraceful state of Midwestern seafood than anything Florida should be too proud of), and my family is pretty much the same as always. I've been reunited with friends from the past (don't want to call them old friends, as that isn't necessarily the case), and I've met folks I've heard about or merely known online. Despite my recollection of what a bunch of social drinking often homosexual types Nationwide employs in Florida, I was again surprised (not that there is anything wrong with homosexuality--they aren't causing gals to get pregnant and drive around looking for billboards with advice). Well, that's it so far. I guess nothing too exciting has happened. There is always the return trip.

Lastly, I know I definitely don't want to be away from my boo this long ever again. It sucks.

My Vagabond Existence

Some miscommunication and other factors has spoiled my otherwise planned day. For now I'm chilling in a Panera, using free wi-fi. I've already used free wi-fi at Maudes and some other place, I already forgot. I'm bored off my ass, wilting in the humidity, and homesick. What's odd is that I have Vicodin from my toothache from hell, but I'm not taking that, so if I seem loopy, it's from the insanity inducing boredom. OK, I should quit dumping my shit on you fine folks.

So anyway, I'm now getting the feel for homelessness. I'm not homeless, I own a house (ha, the bank owns most of it, but they're nice enough to let me live there), but for now I'm homeless. I must admit, it's not an easy existence. I'm half tempted to scamper to the liquor store next door and get a quart bottle (in the bag no doubt) to add to the authenticity--no wait, that's what the make Mad Dog for. I don't know what a real mad dog looks or acts like, but if Cuju slurped that shit, he'd be even more pissed (maybe if he was in here with free wi-fi, he could find a rabies support group online). By the way, when I watched it again recently, me and my girlfriend found ourselves compelled to root for the dog. He simply is a much more endearing character than that stupid skanky ho. Go Cujo!

So anyway, I guess my idealized memories of my old life in Gainesville have hit the stark reality, that it ain't home anymore, and there isn't shit for me to do here. Maybe I need a tour guide, the aforementioned Mad Dog, or a lobotomy. For now, I'll just finish my coffee drink (forgot what it was already), and surf the net. I'm pathetic.

I Miss My Boo

Well first off, while traveling from Ohio to Florida, I saw more Ohio and Florida tags (not counting my time in Ohio and Florida) than any other state, including the ones I was traveling through. While in the middle of no where (Near Stinky Creek Rd) Tennessee, traffic suddenly slowed to 50mph or so (from about twice that fast)--what was the cause? Well there was an overturned tractor trailer (well just the trailer). It was mangled as fuck, and its payload (a giant roll of sheet metal that had unrolled), rocks, bits of sign, chunks of rail, and other shit was all over the median and THE ROAD! What was odd, was that the truck was missing, as was the driver, any police, tow truck, or other signs than someone gives a fuck that there is chaos on the roadway. Odd. What was cool was that people still managed to cruise along at 50 over/around that shit, which more than I can say for folks in Columbus during a drizzle. Still it was bizarre.

I love Japanese food, and I drive a Japanese car. I wouldn't settle for kim chee if I wanted sushi, so why would someone settle for a kia when they obviously must have wanted a Honda? I could care less if it weren't for the fact that 80% of the traffic hold ups were due to fucking piece of shit Kias in the "fast lane". They just can't hack it, especially in the mountains. Oh, and don't get me started on the old farts who think just because they are driving faster than ever before that they are entitled to the "fast" lane. Move over you old-ass crackers.

As a kid I used to go to MGM Studios and Universal Studios. At each place you could tour the back lots and see sets that looked like fake streets, but they were all facades. In this day of digital effects, that shit is no longer necessary. So what do those peeps do for a living? They design elaborate facades for fireworks stores in Tennessee, where a small convenience store sized place will look like a Macys with enough plywood and paint. They usually sell gas too (don't light a match). The only other business I'd see on the roadside in Tennessee are adult stores. Some even sell used adult books--eeewww!!!! A few were about the size of a Giant Eagle (a midwestern grocery store chain with big stores). I should have stopped at one to get a blow up doll so I could drive in the car pool lanes in Atlanta. At least I got to go to Ikea in Atlanta, which is thus far the highlight of my trip. I dunno why I like the place so much--perhaps I'm bonding with my Scandinavian roots.

It was also cool to finally make it to Florida. I knew I was there when I saw fields of goats hopping around, and the ostrich farms. I guess ostrich meat never quit took off the way it was supposed to. Anyone ever eat the shit?

I miss my boo