Monthly Archives: May 2012

Alright… maybe a little more.

Some days it is nothing but fucked up people where ever you happen to look.  The human condition can be incredibly disappointing.  I used to love television, back in the deep dish days when it was free and sometimes rolled, and you had to fiddle with the knobs to get the picture to stand still.   Now it’s costing me $100 a month for 250 channels of “Fifteen and Pregnant”, “Half Ton Dad”, reruns of “The Jerry Falwell Ministries” and “Confessions- Animal Hoarding”.  News?  Forget it!  It’s a corporate salad spinner of mind numbing misdirection and bullshit.  And there’s me with the nicest TV of my entire life and hating what it spews.

Then the cat wakes you up at 3:45 am because the birds are already making a racket outside and the magnolia blossoms are stinking the neighborhood up like an accident down at the perfume factory.  You let her out to roam and put the coffee on and get back to reading “The Social Conquest of Earth” by E.O. Wilson and before you know it the sun is up and you are in another, better, world.  The garden is wet from last nights thunder storms.

Ants and termites… the primary social insects, have been doing their “social” super organism thing for over a hundred million years.  People, it seems, picked up the trait about 3 million years ago when we began to master fire and used it to define our campfires as a nest.  A place to come back to and forage out from, just like ants and termites.  Only then, sitting around a campfire cooking, bullshitting and caring for children did it become truly a survival trait to ponder what the other guy was thinking and how  to make your place within the group more secure.  Brain size exploded and the rest, as they say, is history.

Of course we never would have had a chance to evolve at all if insects were big enough to manipulate fire.  Funny when you think about that.  We were big enough and on land… and that made all the difference.  It doesn’t matter how smart a dolphin or a bird is…. The bastards can’t smelt aluminum worth a crap.


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I am in the middle of one of those “end of the rope” days.  I can’t watch TV any more.  Went out yesterday to buy some food, ravioli to be exact, because I had a hankering for them. We were out of wine and a few other necessities of life, so, like an idiot I’m off to the Wal-Mart.  That’s where it began this time, and the “times” are getting so close together that it’s getting scary.

Outside Wal-Mart a well dressed man about my age is pestering everybody to give donations for “homeless veterans”.  Now, on pure principal I hate people who stand around with their hand out collecting for this or that… I don’t give a shit WHAT it is… I just can’t stand it.  I guess the guy could read my face as I passed by, so, he goes into a bit about how much we owe to those who “keep us safe”.  That was it for me.  I asked him what he was doing there pestering people for money.  I suggested he round up some of his friends with no arms, or, no legs and hang out with the recruiters that stalk the halls of our High Schools fishing for suckers.  Fishing for more warm bodies to grease the wheels of the obscene WAR MACHINE my country has become.  The kicker was he was wearing a [ROMNEY] button.  Romney being the deranged presidential candidate who thinks we should be spending MORE on the military.

Now, I do not call that creepy bastard “deranged” lightly.

In my book ANYBODY who thinks wearing underpants with magic symbols on them will protect them from demons is a screwball… full stop!  Anybody who thinks the universe runs on “magic” and that people come back from the dead is crazy as a bedbug.  Well,… That’s Mitt Romney.

What I have had enough of, or, more than I can stand, is this ridiculous idea that it is wrong to question, or judge a person by their…. wait for it… FAITH.  

Pardon my language, but, FUCK THAT!  So lets say we all go to a magic show.  There is a guy up on the stage pulling rabbits out of his hat and he finishes by sawing a woman in half and then putting her back together again.  What would you think of me if you got the idea that I believed it was really magic?  If I told you that magic was real?  Would you trust me with your future, or, the future of your country?  THAT is why I feel the way I do about Mitt Romney AND each and every other person who prefers to get their truth revealed to them through one fucking kind of Scripture or another.  Their heads are soft.  Their porch lights are out.

The simple fact that Fat Bastards like this miserable excuse for a human being could SUCCESSFULLY parlay total bullshit into political power and hundreds of millions of dollars makes me embarrassed to be human.  The fact that we are told it is impolite to speak ill of another persons absurd religious “beliefs” … OF THE ABSURDITY OF ALL RELIGIOUS BELIEFS…  but instead, cast the stink-eye at science and scientists, BUT, accept as truth, what is to anybody with half an ounce of brains, total bullshit is more than I find I can put up with at my age.  It makes me rather certain we are a failed experiment in biological evolution.  Then I turn on the TV and I have to see fucking morons like this….

How did it EVER come to this?  I’m thinking the best thing that could happen on this planet is OUR extinction.   That and the idea that absolutely ANYBODY who has a uniform is a hero is just pissing me off to no end.




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Remote Controls


There are many kinds of remote controls that men have a need to get their hands on.  This is a picture of one kind.  This “need” to get a hold of remote control buttons appears to be innate and first begins to manifest itself when puberty kicks in.    Manipulation of the remote controls above, all other conditions being favorable, causes profound changes in the brain they are connected to.  The desire to fiddle with, fondle, hold, look at, and, somehow gain possession of the remote controls, like the ones pictured above, is something boys and men are hard wired to experience.  It is hard for females to understand the endless fascination that males have for the female breast.  It is hard for males to orally articulate just “why” they have these desires, these fascinations…. without getting all stupid looking and sounding.   The reason is it’s all subconscious.  It is a bit of knowledge that males are born with that they don’t know they have.  It is one of those inborn bits of information that evolution has provided us with that is just there without men knowing it is there.  One of those pieces of the puzzle of our continued existence on this planet in spite of the odds against us.   Men, without knowing why (and any man can and will, if he is being honest, confess this to you) want those boobs!

Biologically, of course, the reason behind this business is reproduction, or, at least on the part of the male, maximizing the opportunity for reproduction.   It is about control of the situation.  It is about getting your hands on the “knob” that changes the channel.  It is about causing the release of Oxytocin in the brain of the female that can, and, most often does, change the complexion of the whole ball game.

As we know Oxytocin is referred to as the “bonding” hormone.  It is released when a newborn first stimulates his mothers breast through suckling and causes a mother to bond to her child in what is widely considered the most powerful and profound of human bonding relationships.  Stimulation of the female breast and the release of Oxytocin also plays a major role in the experience of pleasure, sexual arousal and physical intimacy.   Men in search of “pleasure, sexual arousal and physical intimacy” themselves innately understand that getting their hands on the remote, the very means of causing release of Oxytocin, MUST, in and of itself, be a VERY good thing.

Now, in case you are wondering to yourself why the hell I am writing about this subject and why I decided to entitle this little essay “Remote Controls”…. I will tell you.

I don’t think you can be alive in this culture without observing that men and women deal with and handle the remote controls of televisions entirely differently.  I have set out to articulate, in my opinion, just why that is.  If you wish you can think of it as Mrs. Neutrons Unified Theory of Remote Controls.  It goes something like this…

A woman, using a remote control, will pick it up, press the desired button and then put it back down where she found it.

A man will pick up the remote and begin changing channels, every few minutes, one after the other, in an endless search to discover what ELSE is on and keep going and going until someone (usually his wife) takes it away from him.   He is rarely satisfied to just sit and watch what he has chosen.  He NEEDS to know what ELSE is out there.  His desire to possess and fiddle with remote controls is as innate as his desire (if he can get away with it) to spread his genetic seed as far and wide as humanly possible.    It is survival based.  It is hardwired into the male physiology.  That is why he is fascinated by women’s breasts.

The picture you see below, in its own way, is every bit as “borderline pornographic” to the male brain as the picture at the beginning of this essay.  It stimulates the mail brain.  He can’t help wanting to put his hands on ALL of them.

Science, Mrs. Neutron predicts, in the years to come, may just prove that the manner in which a husband conducts himself with the TV remote controls in his living room is both indicative and predictive of his over all capability of fidelity within a marriage.

Now, wouldn’t that be something?



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