No Fap No Point

Fap is the sound of a meat mitten slurping down a pink cock for the hope of an ejaculation. Plain and simple, and messy.

So I don’t understand “No fap” contests online. 

How is mitigating self gratification something to be proud of? If I were myself judging myself, as I usually am, I wouldn’t, and don’t, give two shits for how often I beat my meat. The concept sounds fucking brutal.

How can you judge yourself for enjoying what can only be described as the single greatest invention merely for the mobility of the event. You can take masturbation anywhere. You can wank one out in the church, and no one except the figment of an asshole god who’s sick enough to watch you would judge you. Drop a load on him for watching, the fucking perv. 

 

Filed under: This and That

S&M and the whipping boy syndrome

If I’ve learned one thing about being an American, it’s that I’m naughty. Someone, preferably someone in a uniform, please, PLEASE spank me. 

In an American court of law I am innocent until proven guilty, but that structure is wildly put on it’s heels when we live under more restrictions, laws, and regulations than we have liberties. 

I smoke pot, and despite my license to do so I am virtually on the run. Especially in any other state. I eat mushrooms, and in the great state of California: exploring the consciousness with mushrooms as opposed to cocaine, is a huge, huge offense. And no one has died on mushrooms. 

The death count for cocaine? ZO-muh-gaw. 

So I’m somewhere in the mechanism of a system which cultivates laws and harvests grief as a sick profit margin in an excel sheet in some government office. 

There is no compromise, no negotiations, and hardly any talking. The drug war is a silent war. 

And what happens in war? Both sides compete. But drug manufacturers and their dealers aren’t fighting with the DEA; they’re trying to evade them. That’s not a war at all: it’s a witch hunt. 

I’m addicted to coffee, and probably beer. I never go without these two vices. When I smoke pot, it’s at the end of a long day, or in the threshold of a fun experience. When I ingest mushrooms it is one of those once-a-year camping “trips,” and I know what I’m doing. 

So I’d appreciate and respect my country if they would decriminalize weed, mushrooms, research chemicals, and the like. Don’t tell me the line blurs between “bad” drugs (cocaine, heroin, meth) and these harmless drugs, because the line isn’t as fucking blurred as the definition of “free range,” chickens and the bullshit excuses made by car companies to sell an SUV as a four-door. 

Go shove a cactus up your ripe ass and call it Jesus, cos I’m sick of my country. 

The system of catching, imprisoning, and then rinsing and repeating cannot be sustained unless it’s paramount to rot American’s and their families from within. 

The narrative of the drug war is one of S&M, where white adults in clad uniforms beat with shiny clubs the ”bad” people; handcuff and restrain them, drive their emotions and nerves through uncalcuable extremes and expect them to willingly take their physical punishment as a consequence of a banal harm. 

Oh well, another blog post on the same subject which will never be addressed with anything other than a good whippin’. 

Filed under: This and That

Why and how I still pray

I love my family.

They are a source of unending happiness to me, despite how religious some of them are and how much I am not.

And though I’ve lost all apologetics to science and reason, I still pray for them.Why? Becuase I love them =/

If I love someone, then I’ll I spend the time in which I cannot fall asleep thinking about their wellfare, their behalf, and all the reasons and instances for which we exchange love. It helps me sleep.

My brother is a gnarly alpinist; he scales shit I couldn’t look at without throwing up. When he’s climbing: I’m begging the Universe to take care of him, which means I beg my own consciousness to convince me that my brother is so competant, that I don’t have to worry so much. That’s my prayer.

When my sister moved, I prayed for her family’s well being every night until I flew across the country to see them.

It started with prayer.

Nothing spiritual, but the thoughts and yearns which plague on me create the actions I would otherwise ignore.

So yes, I pray. I’m praying right now for dog, Jake, whose home alone. He’s gotta be so bored, and I know how much he misses hanging out with me before I fall asleep. He loves watching TV. I’m praying for him, too.

 

 

 

Filed under: This and That

Chronicles of Riddick and why my judgement sux

I was a diehard fan of Perfect Dark. Never seen it? Well then, here we are. 

But if you have seen Perfect Dark you know at least the potential of the original story: compelling, eerie, and filled with (albeit corny) substatial ass-kicking. Perfect Dark delivered, and we saluted it. Did you not salute it? Well then, here we are again. 

C’mon! A crudely futuristic setting where the nation of Islam is the ONLY shred of similarity to our own lives?? BAD-ASS MOVE RIGHT THERE. Respect that level of badassery. 

Chronicles of Riddick is like any other grossly budgeted sequel: all the catch-phrases from the original are phoned in a little too much.. but that’s it. The movie is near flawless because it sets out to do nothing else but move along a full and balanced story. 

Anyone can retell Star Wars, it just sucks that the idea and the execution had to come from the steak-injesting craw of George Lucas. So it goes with Chronicles of Riddick. 

My only complaint for this movie (and every movie not directed by Benicio Del Toro) is that it wasn’t directed by Benicio Del Toro. 

Has that guy flopped a flop?

Filed under: This and That

I get it now

Forbes wrote an article this morning discussing the failure of the war on drugs, and at the very least, the author asked for a legalization in pot. 

http://www.forbes.com/sites/artcarden/2012/04/19/lets-be-blunt-its-time-to-en…

This was the top comment: 

It’s NOT, repeat NOT unjust imprisonment. At this time, in this country it is illegal to use drugs. That means that it is against the law, period. AGAINST THE LAW. It’s a CHOICE to do drugs. No one is hooking you up to a machine and force feeding you the substance, it’s a choice. You make that choice, you take the consequences for your actions, and if that includes jail time, you do the time. Quit whining about being prosecuted for your mistakes! And, in case you havent been paying attention? THEY WOULDNT have jobs now, the unemployment levels would be just that much greater. Im sick and tired of hearing “The war on drugs is a failure and needs to end.” Thats crap. Im also sick to death of hearing about how “drugs are addictive.” No matter how you try to turn it, no matter how you try to twist the truth, you made the choice to use, you suffer the consequences. DARE has been around since the 80′s and every cop show in the world has a moment about “dont do drugs, drugs are illegal, drugs are bad.” If you didnt get the lesson in school, from your parents, or from TV, then your life is beyond sad and I wish you nothing but luck.

TL/DR: If something IS illegal, than it cannot be made UNillegal. And, to make something law, you need only to CAP THAT SHIT.

I hope that comment was trolly. But it’s better than anything I or any of my friends can do, so I am left to think that this is how a lot of America thinks. There have been others, oh so many others. 

LA Times has writen 1,863,4803 articles on lifting the gay marriage ban, and the prevailing argument against lifting ban uses the same logic: if it IS illegal, that is grounds for it to stay illegal forever, and on and on…

“It’s in the constitution,” as if changing that document is by far the most heinous act of democratic genocide. 

The problem is we are incriminating pot use, and gay couples who love each other cannot share the same rights as straight couples. The problem is too many of us enjoy the narrative of “catching bad guys,” and squandering weak minorities. No one wants to admit it, but all the cool Star Wars video games had you fighting for the dark side. 

Filed under: This and That

Tough and Why I am Not

A lady told me today “you have such an innocent baby-face, but with all those tattoos..” he voice trailed off, and I didn’t understand if that was a comment, question or just a placid statement. 

But it’s true: I am cartoonishly non-threatening. 

I have blue eyes, a round Christopher Robin face, a small frame, and usually a big, dumb grin on my face when engaged in conversation. So now I’m thinking, what is the stuff of being tough? 

Somewhere out there are men and women with or without tattoos who are tough/threatening/meanie-heads. I’m not sure what their calling is, whether or not their efforts are joint or maverick, but I do know one thing: they have a job to do, whereas my cheery disposition is employed only for enjoying life. “Gay,” right?

I am a nuisance in the presence of tough people. “Naw dude,” or “yeah, whatever,” are what I am casually called by these tough-personas. My self-depricating sense of humor is an affront to their domineering lives. I’ll name my first born Nawdude Davis Jr., just so he knows who we Davis’ are. 

Tough is like the goth culture: it’s something you can’t back down on. It’s an act that requires 100% dedication, which is funny, cos right now there is a goth-child/demon-acrolyte who is ordering a sub from Subway, one who masterbates to Beyonce, and yet another who is shitting blood. So it goes. 

Tough and goth are very similar in this respect. 

Tough people are always incredulous, but never curious. Shit is “fucked up,” to them, but never to the extent where they will do anything about it. 

Tough people hate seeing what they would call ‘weakness’ in anyone else. For ANY reason. This creates a problem for me because I have nothing to prove… and I look to only get along with otherds, and have a good time with those around me, which requires me to act vulnerable, make fun of myself, and open up lines of communication for others to chime in and converse. This is a no-no in the tough culture. 

I used to have tough friends. They were never wrong. Never. They made it seem like the worst event in a person’s life was to be corrected by another. I never understood that. They were transfixed with the concept of an Alpha amung numerous betas; that got them off. 

But it scared me. 

I didn’t understand what the squandering of another’s esteem, hope, or sense of equinimity did for anyone else. I saw behavior like this as a cheap substitute for cannibalism; that, if these tough people had tusks for our soft skin: they’d puncture and devour us. 

We can do nothing but make light of their silly way of pretending. 

Filed under: This and That

Apparently I hate the British

(mind the spelling errors, I’m on my phone and lazy

But I do. 

I watch youtube’s of British people saying anything, and my blood boils with an unacknowledged rage entirely unknown to myself. What the fuck is going on?

I’d like to think my disdain for the islanders comes from their accent: vowels dropping deeply like large stones plumping into pools of superior speech. Fuck that noise. The British accent (and don’t begin to say it is as nuanced as American accents, because it is only insomuch as a Englander can tell the difference) hasn’t changed since the signing of the Magna Carta. 

And what’s worse is when any non-native Britian tries to squeeze the Queen’s speech from out their throat-box: it is as pleasant sounding as describing porn in sign language is hot. 

I’ve been mistaken for British several times, which is their greatest compliment at the expense of great offense to me. When asked why I sound British, I’m returned with ‘you speak so well, I thought you must be British,’ because only Americans fuck up using their words. 

Since when did the population of England became the amassadors of the English language?? 

England comes off too homogenous to disperse any single emotion into numerous sentiments, something I can easily do with the American population. As it is, I am convinced there is one Britian on the island, and he is 25-40, professional and educated, looks like Hugh Laurie, smells like Hugh Laurie, shaves as often as Hugh Laurie, and is routinely grouping all Americans into one, neatly packed stereotype. I hate that guy. 

This representative of all English culture is my whipping boy. He loves the idea of a monarch, defends his queen (while being a devout atheist), and will never hear the coupling words ‘American Government’ without bashing and blaming the Bible-belt (just look at that alliteration, Hugh Laurie .

His name is Chamberlain or Quentin. He might be “the third,” or “the fifth,” but never an even number. He limits how often he says “smashing,” and “whinge,” but still says them more than any other words. 

You know who he is? He’s one of the guys that creeps behind the curtians on Britians Got Talent. You know those pricks who judge a contestant before and during their performance, as if we can’t just watch the fucking variety show? The ones who inform the public how to think, feel, and judge? That’s the fucker. I hate that guy. 

Filed under: This and That

More Show-offs Pl0x

I love them. 

They are my favorite people in the world, both for being better than me at something and for having the dignity to parade my inadequacies in front of my face. No sarcasm.

It kills me when football players have to fork $40,000 for throwing the winning pig-skin into a mass of hungry fan-hands. The fans LOVE it, too. But what? Are the football players on the other team (vikings gone ball-sporting) taking it too hard when this happens? 

Every sport has it, even chess. It’s stupid. What it tells performers is that they are not in fact performers, but separate deities of athletic community who act according to the laws set down by proctor and gamble in the second century qua qua qua..

I love when people are expressing uncontrollable glee, and especially when it is a response to how good they feel about their performance. There is that word again: performance. 

Athletic directors hate that term, because it allies atheletes with, well, actors who are fake and vain, flawed and asymmetrical, a little awkward. 

And not just “showing off” like this women: 

http://www2.timesdispatch.com/sports/2010/feb/17/o-rndp171_20100216-231601-ar-8266/?referer=http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=american%20snowboarder%20disqualified&source=web&cd=1&ved=0CCIQFjAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww2.timesdispatch.com%2Far%2F8266%2F&ei=O_h5T8z0O4e42wW-m_C1Bg&usg=AFQjCNGFsC–_0G1Ue4QdiGLnHRP2C281w&shorturl=http://bit.ly/gZgzU2 

Suddenly having fun and making fun of others is above the steal-class of elite atheletes who lounge on mount olympus while we fight the pigs for scraps.

They’re performers. Watching John Jones fight in an octagon is a thing of beauty: improvisational jazz even (and actually, the UFC has cares the least about showmanship).

Showing off has nothing to do with humility, or treating your fellow man nicely. When Usan Bolt ran THE FASTEST ANY HUMAN HAS EVER RAN, he was literally playing with other people, and we all watched them play. There just so happened to be a stop-watch, a track and a finish line to delineate a first, second.. 

They’re fucking sports. Jump around and hoot and holler, and expect it to come back at you. And best of all: enjoy the humiliation of a poor performance, dust your shoulders, and get back in the game. 

Filed under: This and That

Something I don’t think about enough

My dad done me right by the music he played in the house. 

Stevie Ray Vaughn comes to mind immediately. Stevei’s cover of Wonders’ ‘Superstition’ is immortalized in my youth, bouncing off the walls of houses in which I cease to live. It’s eeire and beautiful.

Traffic, too. Have you heard Traffic? Search: Low Spark of High Heeled Boys, on YouTube, and let me know your thoughts.

How could I rebel against a dad like mine?

Sure, he didn’t smoke pot, but he listened to Bob Marley when he drove long hours cos it “eased the itch.” How’s that not the same as a joint?

My dad is weak to music: it crushes him like he’s a child, and as a result: he is a station of good tunes, good vibrations.

He finds new artists before they touch the radar, and whatever he misses, he is quick to listen and enjoy. 

I am entertained so much by the sound of music, and I owe so much of that naked participation to my dad’s childish engagement with sound. Wonderful, eh?

Filed under: This and That

I Love my new Kindle Fire

$199.00 is an incredible price.

Sure, it only has 5.35g of native storage, but I already have an iPhone 4 for nearly every song I’d like to listen to. But as far as readibility, I needed something more robust than the iPhone 4.

Enter the Kindle Fire, for only $199,00 (with mail-in rebate, mind you . 

What I use it for: Netflix, taking notes, reading books, browsing the internet and RSS feeds. 

The Kindle Fire excels in these areas, and the interface efficiently and easily benefits these operations. 

The screen is a tad glossier than I would like it, but keep in mind of that price point; I don’t recommend reading in the sunlight unless you can shield the screen, if only with your body. The touch screen is perfect and typing is no different than any Andriod device/slightly less efficient than the iPhone 4. 

Sound is perfect, video quality is nominal and battery length seems nominal as well. 

But I could offord it. I only had to save up for like a week, and I already have so many books in my library… gah, I’m excited to hit that list!

Amazon cloud storage is AWESOME. It reminds me of the simple layout of Windows XP, where dragging and dropping files, creating folders and subfolders is in plain English. You can upload your itunes songs with no mind to DRM or liscensing. Neat. Neat. Neat and tidy. 

If you have the bucks… buy the iPad 2 or the New iPad: those are perfect in their own right. But if you’re a student, or don’t see yourself playing games (probably the only great use of the iPad), than I suggest checking out the Kindle Fire. 

Of course, I’m not touting the games on this device… it’s just the iPad rules that neighborhood.  

Filed under: This and That