Rigged Elections? It’s their job…

If you even wondered how those elections got rigged – you know the Presidential Elections – In the United States of America – among others, well, you don’t have to listen to Faux News tell you otherwise any longer. Because the fine people at Diebold are coming clean. They defrauded America. They violated innumerable election laws.

And they’ll never get in the least bit of trouble for it… of course…

In case you thought this all had anything to do with terrorists...

You may have been right. Only the terrorists are the folks working for the government. The folks taking your laptops without any warrants.

And now, the folks taking your vibrators!!!

That's right. Now, they can seize your sex toys. Not only do they not need anything in writing... where would they get it if they did???

I wonder about people who travel with a suitcase filled with pocket pussies but traveling salesmen need to earn a living, too. And, as for the folks travelling with suitcases filled with black, leather, dildos... well, Republican senators should have their rights protected as well...

How many houses does it take?…

John McCain is just like you and me… he can’t seem to figure out how many properties he owns! Call it senility. Call it fucked-up greed.

Either way, it’s little more than a fumble on the Republican’tsTM radar. The bigger issues are how eager he is to start wars and abuse the environment and how hesitant he is to show compassion or to tell the truth.

But if knowing he can’t remember how many houses he’s bought keeps you from voting for him, I’ll take that, too.

Zombie McCain!!!...

If there was every any doubt in your mind that John McCain is just, plain evil, surely the way he laughs whenever he gives us bad news must have tipped you off. "There's evil out there, my friends. Obama wants to fuck your cattle." (Smile. Smile. Chuckle.)

Just plain creepy.

Now, if that doesn't do it for you, how about this:


DOCUMENTED EVIDENCE THAT MCCAIN IS A FLESH-EATING ZOMBIE!!!!

Your God can’t ride a fucking bike!…

I ran into a contingent from a group that called itself Cyclists For Christ (C4C) on my ride today.

Cyclists For Christ.

What’s the matter? Can’t he ride his own bike?

He’s all-powerful and all-knowing and, yet, he can’t ride a fucking bike?

Did the crucifixion play hell with his circulation? Or is he just a gimp?

Or are you raising money to send him to camp?

Seriously. These are the things I wonder about.

The problem always comes down to people…

We know that burning fossil fuels = global warming. Right?

McCain’s answer to our energy needs is to drill for more oil. Supposing he finds this wealth of oil, what do you think that would equal? More global warming! Right.

Our options are running low. Alternate power sources are great; I have stock in a solar cell company, myself. But how far does that go?

I wondered about this as I sat inside of Taco Bell at lunch today. I was watching everyone eat, even as I ate, and I wondered if perhaps we’re all in denial or something. I mean, here we are, living far beyond our means. We’re killing off our oceans, drying out our forests, squeezing every ounce of goodness from the land, even as we make more and more people.

When will we start taking responsibility for ourselves? When will we finally grow up? Or do we kill ourselves before we get that far?

Stinking while you work…

Yes, another post about biking to work. What can I tell you? You’ll hear more about my puppy and dead father, by and by.

So, I get to work this morning. I shower. I dress. I break my lock… like an idiot… but enough of that. Later, I’m sitting at my desk when people start talking about all the bikes that are stacking up. When I first started riding my bike in, I’d park it inside, in a cubby alongside the only other bike. Now, there are four bikes in that little cubby and it’s getting crowded!

We took a quick inventory of who rides. There are four of us… but two of them can’t understand why we need to bring backpacks and have lockers and… hold on… They don’t shower.

They ride to work (four miles and 10 miles) and don’t shower, don’t change; they just work in their sweaty clothes.

Now, listen, I’m not stickler for hygiene. Hell, I’ve spent many a drunken weekend in the same clothes until I can appreciate my own, natural perfume – but hey! After riding 10 miles, you should really consider bathing!

And I don’t know what was worse. The fact that they don’t or the amount of people in the conversation who suggested I didn’t need to…

The play's the thing...

The new play, After You Fall, is nearing completion. I finished the first draft and was cruising through rewrites when news of my father's death struck... and then it became very difficult to be funny. But I fully intend to get back at it today at lunch, cutting the unnecessary, purging the unfunny.

Then, on the 30th - just a few weekends from now - the plan is to get some actors together at my house to read it all out loud. Comedy is different when it's spoken than when it's read so you really need to hear it. That's why you get some actors to read it before you know you're done.

... unfortunately, I've been so long from the stage that I know only a few actors and most of them are busy, you know, acting.

Used to be, Clostio and I would sit together for a preliminary read and I'd see if he would laugh. But he hasn't spoken to me in years - YEARS! - so I'm stuck without his help and without enough actors.

Enter Vicky and Jeff. Yep, I'm volunteering them to read with two actors I know. It shouldn't be too hard. A good play should be funny without any help, after all. As long as they can read, which I've been assured they can, we should be fine.

Check these pages for a full update later. Should be fun!

World ends tomorrow...

Wear clean underwear!

How much sex can you have before they switch it on???

Pot - Kettle - Black...

Now this one's rich.

Apparently, the Torture President is going to go "raise concerns" about China's human rights record. Now, listen, you won't hear me arguing for China on this one but anyone who thinks we Americans didn't abandon the high ground the minute we started torturing people needs a good smack in the head.

... I volunteer to do the smacking...

With the fishies...

I saw one of those great "10 Things You Can Do To Help Save Your Own Fucking Hide Before You Destroy The World With Your Fucking Plastic Shopping Bags" lists today and I was going to post it... Sadly, it's main crux was joining some group.

Being a joiner never saved anyone.

But this may. I thought it might be nice to help you out with an updated list on what seafood is good to eat, both for you and for the environment.

We can't eat everything, folks. No, seriously. We can't. Cut it the fuck out.

Bike trail etiquette...

There's a way to do these things.

When a bike is approaching you from behind, the rider is supposed to shout "On your left" or something about "left" short of "I loved the Left Behind Series" if he's passing on the left. Same goes for the right, except they should use the word "right". But yesterday, when a few bicyclists were passing me, all I got was, "Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!" All of them shouted simultaneously and literally weaved around like they were drunk once they were past. When my turn came to do things the right way, I shouted to a rider in front of me, "On your left"... and he moved to his left... oy.

It's probably not proper etiquette to stare at female joggers as you ride by, something I still have to learn.

One thing I love about biking is the level of friendliness riders have, which is all over the map. Some riders wave and say, "Good morning!" I'm too busy thinking, "Don't have a heart attack. Don't have a stroke." to reply. I usually give a single head nod, which is probably indiscernable since my weary head is already bobbing-a'plenty and might explain why some people give me an odd look and ride by. Others avoid you, caught in their fear of being alone on a river trail rumored to house muggers, murderers, rapists, and Episcopalians. Lighten up, folks.

Recently, I started riding before work. I'm up to about 16 miles each morning or so but, to do that, I have to leave at 5:am. It's still dark at that time of the morning and it remains dark until I hit the farthest point of my ride, where I head back home. Then, the diffused sunlight, itself appearing too weary to be up - who in their right mind would be? - slowly begins to bring relief to the east. I stop. I step off the bike. I think about my life, count my blessings, and try to set a positive attitude for the day. Up until then, the only signs of humanity are individual headlights coming towards me on the trail in the darkness. After, there are bikes a'plenty, bunny rabbits, egrets, a few cute jogger chicks, a congregation of life using the river and I am just one. My iPod keeps my legs pumping. I count streets until my exit. And I nod at those I pass.

Once in a while, I catch sight of someone less fortunate than myself, a guy who sleeps on a bench in one of the picnic areas or another with a bike so loaded up you think it won't work but it does. It reminds me that there's more to this life than riding alongside a scampering rabbit or waving at the jogger chicks doing their stretches and that I am enjoying a priviledge. Keeping that in mind is my bike trail etiquette.

Like your first pubic hair…

How sad a testament is it that the media seems to think we need to be told that (S)Miley’s new album is “grown up”? Remember the old days when “grown up” was measured by how slutty the girl was?

Conflict Resolution...

The thing I love about writing - and this probably applies to anything you love to do, such as acting, or painting, or sex - is that I'm constantly learning my craft. Things get better and I'm easily impressed, so...

But I figure this would be a good time to lay down my most recent lesson in the art of playwriting: Conflicts and How NOT to Create Them.

I finished Act One of the new play this weekend. In it, the Conflicts are obvious and right up front. I think that's the best way to go. Look at Shakespeare - I'm not drawing any comparison here! I'm just saying! - his conflicts were right up front: Romeo and Juliet couldn't be together. Hamlet had to avenge his father. Cesar had the whole "stabbing" thing.

My plays are not on such a scale. I write about typical, common, average... geez, boring people... In the new play, the conflicts are: an inability to conceive and insecurity. Nobody's left guessing after the first act what's going on, just how they're going to get out of this mess.

So, now that that's clear, let's look at my last play. In Whatever Happened To Me, the conflict between the main characters was clear: a couple struggles through an agonizing divorce when a younger version of the man comes to steal the woman away. But it's never been my favorite play and I'll tell you why. The relationship between the father and the son is forced. It's uncomfortable. It's wrong. You know why? Because you have no idea what the conflict is until the end of the play. The conflict isn't resolved; it's just illuminated! And the illumination is a copout because the conflict between the father and the son has nothing to do with the ultimate illumination (turns out the mother died of cancer, blah, blah, blah); the conflict is the conflict! Sometimes, fathers and sons can't stand each other. I know! So, trying to find an excuse for the conflict is amateurish and forced.

That's one of the great things about learning the craft. Now, I can go back and fix that. I can remove the stupid excuses and deal with the conflict itself.

And maybe, end up with a play I like.

The Church of Charlton Heston...

So, I was surfing on rather tepid waves of the Web the other day when this picture caught my eye. Looks like the Mormons actually worship Charlton Heston...

... which makes a lot more sense to me...

More slogans they don't want you to hear...

"You can take the boy out of the priest, but you can't take the priest out of the boy." - Catholic Church.




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... oh yeah? Well, it's hard to be topical!

Teresa…

Summer. 1983.

My first love.

I broke up with her in the most horrible, petty way – over the phone – over another girl – I was a louse.

25 years later.

I reconnected with Teresa through a miracle called the Internet and the first thing I did was apologize. I didn’t do it for her benefit. I did it for my own. I did it because I hurt myself with that act. I degraded myself and behaved as less than a man.

Now, we’re corresponding – and I can hear you out there. I can hear what you’re saying. “Ken! Sherryl and Cindy and now Teresa! How does Vicky handle you talking with all these ex-girlfriends of yours?”

I want to address this but let’s move Sherryl over to one side because she and I talk once a month; we’re more acquaintances than friends. Cindy and I are friends but Vicky’s met Cindy and knows there’s no threat there.

Now, Teresa. My first love. A girl I haven’t forgotten for 25 years. How can Vicky deal with my corresponding with her? Well, first of all, Vicky trusts me.

But enough about her. You’re wondering what I feel – I know I am. I was sitting on the sofa just now and that very thought fluttered by the landscaping of my mind. What do I feel?

First, I’m amazed. Life is so ripe with hope. It’s all around us. I mean, right here was someone I wronged, who has forgiven me, and is opening a friendship. It’s really amazing.

But who is this person? Is it Teresa? She sent me a picture of the girl I knew back in 1983 – almost like she was holding her hostage in a way, this other person who holds her name now in the present. I looked at that picture and felt pierced. Here was the face that I had etched into my brain as Teresa. That was her! Who was this person who sent me the picture?

Yes, who was this person? That’s the thing, really. She’s not the Teresa I knew. I’m not the Ken she knew. The most interesting thing about all this is that we both are total strangers, connected by a similar past. We may get to know one another and we may find each other completely wonderful – or completely annoying. The Teresa I knew exists only in my memory and I am thankful for that. This new Teresa may be my friend. I hope so.

Signs of hope in humanity don’t saunter by every day. I like to enjoy every single one.

Something about a fifth Indiana Jones film...?

Here's a movie I'd love to see them make:

Curse of the Holy Crap

That's it. That's the joke. Just something about the juxtapotion of those words just makes me smile...

... or, at least, if a TV announcer could be eaten by a shark as he read it...

There’s a definition that needs “tweaking”…

Racy.

Really? Racy?

I was greeted this morning with the banner headline “Web Site Posts Racy Miss Washington Pics”. Now, Miss Washington is no dog – so, being the perv that I am, I looked. Of course.

But seriously, someone has GOT to do something about our definition of racy. A little standardization, please! When I think of “racy”, I think of just shy of hardcore porn. Topless in a Jacuzzi, say. But whoever broke this story – Woodward and Bernie, they ain’t – must have been raised in an Amish township. To this idiot, “racy” is a picture of someone in her bra. Uh, that’s just a bikini top. It’s also someone flipping off a camera. Don’t go into the city much? It could also be making “suggestive hand gestures”… CALLING DR. FREUD!

Seriously, I’m a busy guy. If you’re going to turn me on to some high-class porn, fine. But don’t waste my time with this!

Seriously, I think this is how the FISA (Fourth Is a Superfluous Amendment) Bill got passed. We Americans allow ourselves to be too threatened by boobs to use our brains… and the contents of Miss W’s bra ain’t too bad, either.

More like Obamaybe…

Dear Mr. Obama,

When you voted for FISA, you took a horrible turn down the wrong direction. You betrayed the principles of the Constitution. No worse than the others who voted for it, perhaps, but you’re supposed to be better. We should be able to hold you to a higher standard.

This FISA bill gutted the fourth amendment and you know that. It’s going to be very difficult for me to vote for you come November. Will others? Sure, they will. You’ll win. I don’t doubt that. But principles are no more about voting for the winner than they are about taking the easy way in order to get more votes.

People will vote for you because they don’t dare allow McSame to win. But you know this should never be allowed to become a race between the lesser of two evils and that’s what you’re creating.

So, you owe us. You owe us big. When you take office, it will be your duty as President, as a Constitutional Scholar, as an American, as a Reasoned Human Being to right this wrong. I only hope you have the strength to do that. Because you didn’t have the strength today.