A Work In Progress

The world is cyclic, ever spinning, ever repeating. Unless we read the signs, our sins too will be repeated. Patterns are everywhere, in nature, in the choices we make, in our every day interactions. To evolve we must be able to recognize the patterns, and heed the warnings. If we can’t we’re doomed to make the same mistakes, over and over again, passing ineptitude down for generations. Some have that ability; the clinical thinkers, the people who can look at a situation from outside it, and base their opinions or decisions on rational thought. These people learn from their mistakes, and their lives are enriched in turn. Many though, have an innate inability to clinically evaluate and instead will rationalize irrational behaviour to suit what they believe to be right. These are people who can’t see beyond their own selfish needs, and fail to recognize how their actions affect those around them. In most cases they are likely only going on what they know, what they were taught, or learned through experience, but herein lies the problem. An inability to adapt only helps sin beget sin, and the cycle continues unchecked. How can we evolve as a people if we’re surrounded by people incapable of evolution? We’re all doomed to the same fates, as are our children, if we are unable to see the patterns, much less do something about them.

Ask yourself, can you step back from a situation and attempt to look at all sides? Can you put yourself in another’s shoes? Can you understand another’s opinion, or at least where it comes from?

Do you rationalize without thought? Will you write those other opinions off as blasphemy if they don’t match your own? Do you feel like you repeat yourself?

If the latter is true, do you often find yourself in the same situations? Do you wonder why it seems like everybody is against you, and nobody understands? Perhaps you need re-evaluate how you look at things. Perhaps you need to heed the warning signs, learn from your mistakes, and evolve.

Where We Came From

I was once told a fantastic story that I’d like to relate, because I think everybody should hear it. A woman I know once told me what she believes to be the History of Humankind. It goes a little something like this:

Women came before Men. They were their own race of people, completely self reliant. Women reproduced by stimulating the then active female prostate. Women’s DNA arrived on Earth on the back of a flying turtle, or maybe a living flying saucer that was shaped much like a turtle and upon arriving on Earth evolved into a turtle, and the DNA was distributed throughout the planet on the back of said turtle. Men only came to be when the women began copulating with monkeys, thus contaminating their pure bloodline.

This theory poses a number of questions.

1) Where did the DNA actually come from?
2) Where did the turtle come from?
3) Why was female DNA on the back of a space turtle?
4) Why did the turtle and/or DNA not burn up during entry into the atmosphere?
5) How exactly did women stimulate their prostate? And to follow up, did they help each other?
6) Why, if they had it so good, did women start screwing monkeys?
7) Is that where AIDS came from?
8) Do women think they are superior because Men came from monkeys and they did not?
9) How superior can they be, they screwed monkeys.

I searched around on the internet for a while and couldn’t find anything on the subject, so to answer these questions I’ll have to go to the source. Wish me luck.

Why Cheating is Like Murder

(Disclaimer: This is all written from a male point of view because I just happen to be male. Ladies, it works both ways.)


At first glance it might seem like I am adamantly against cheating, and at first glance I am, but if you look a little closer you’ll find that there are different degrees of cheating, and sometimes fault is not as clear as one would think. I intend to explore the various degrees and discuss them in a relevant fashion.

1st degree cheating is the premeditated cheating. This is when you’re sneaking around, telling your girl you’re going golfing or out with the guys when you’re actually meeting a piece of tail at the lake for some forest fun. This is clearly the most audacious of the cheats. It’s cold, callous, and calculated. If you are caught there is no defense. Pleading guilty and throwing yourself at the mercy of the courts is your best bet.
Punishment for 1st degree cheating is often lifetime termination of the relationship and a Level 4 Timeout, though some guys seem to repeatedly get away with it. It’s not clear whether this is because they’re so charming, or because the judicial system is terribly flawed.

2nd degree cheating is a conscious choice, but unlike 1st degree, it’s a spontaneous cheat. In this case the guilty party doesn’t plan the cheat, but events conspire to force them into a poor decision at a weak moment. Because of its impulsive nature it can be slightly more difficult to prove Mens Rea (Guilty Mind), for as the great Sir Edward Coke said, “Actus non facit reum nisi mens sit rea.” (An act does not make a person guilty unless (their) mind is also guilty). To show you how this might work let’s say you find yourself at a pool party, you’ve had a few drinks, and the cute girl across the hot tub is flirting with you. You flirt back, just to be friendly, but it quickly escalates beyond your control. Maybe you find yourselves on the back deck, innocently discussing Nietzsche, when you notice how the moonlight twinkles in her eyes, and before you know it you’re screwing on a deck chair with a beach towel for privacy. If you get caught committing a 2nd degree cheat you’re definitely in trouble, but it can be easier to talk your way out of.
Punishment for 2nd degree cheating can be substantially less than for 1st degree. It is forgiven far more often, because of its spur-of-the-moment nature, but don’t count on leniency, as there are at least as many cases of harsh punishment. Someone guilty of 2nd degree cheating could find themselves anywhere on the Timeout Level System depending on the severity of the cheat and/or who it was with.

3rd degree cheating is the Manslaughter of cheating, and can be broken down into two groups, Voluntary, and Involuntary. Voluntary 3rd degree is an intentional cheat, though it occurs in a circumstance where any reasonable person may lose self control. An example of Voluntary 3rd degree would be if the cute girl across the hot tub in my previous example were Jessica Simpson dressed as Daisy Duke. Nobody in their right mind could resist.
Involuntary 3rd degree is the Negligence side of said degree. This would come about if the allegedly guilty party were too drunk or stoned to make a rational decision. There is still fault, but the fault is only in that the perpetrator engaged in other, normally acceptable activities to such an extent that their judgment was clearly not in play. Waking up with a bra in your pocket and not knowing from whence it came would be an example of 3rd degree cheating, as would waking up with a girl in your bed and not knowing her name. It’s harder to prove innocence in these cases though, because it’s simply your word that you were too inebriated to make decisions. Perhaps if you were so drunk at the pool party that you kept putting your dick in a hot dog bun, you might be able to find a few witnesses to corroborate your story.


(Disclaimer 2: The preceding exploratory essay was not an endorsement of amoral, deceitful, or despicable behaviour. It was merely an explanation of the subtle nuances of the Cheating Table. The bottom line in cheating is that it is wrong. It might feel good at first, but ultimately it will only cause heartache and tears, and nobody likes tears. I for one, would never cheat on my precious little Chimpit.)

Common Sense

After I posted my last blog I received an influx of emails, and they all had the same refrain, how can I claim Common Sense while writing about such incidents as going over bike handlebars and attempting to fly? I am here to answer that question.

First I should address the question of what is Common Sense? Merriam-Webster defines it as “Sound and prudent judgment based on a simple perception of the situation or facts.” Well clearly I possess the ability to assess a situation and make rational decisions based on my findings. I proved that just last weekend when I got in a cab instead of fighting 11 homeless punks with a superiority complex. I could have given them the tirade of their lifetimes, putting them directly in their place, before being pummeled into salsa, but I did not. I deemed it imprudent. That alone shows I have Common Sense in my arsenal. You may claim that one example does not prove a theory, but I submit that it does, especially a theory as vague as this one, with no real point to it.

A mistake commonly made is when people project their own feelings of morality or prudence on others. I do this myself on occasion, but I am in the unique position of often being Right (apolitically of course). Far too frequently I witness people making judgments based solely on their own views (this is called closedmindedness, and I won’t listen to anybody who tells me different). To truly pass judgment unbiased one must be immersed in that which they judge. It’s not fair for a homeless punk to think he’s better than me just because I don’t know how tough you have to be to live on the streets, because I couldn’t care less. He was judging me from his own perspective, unable to put himself in my shoes, because he clearly couldn’t afford them.

Let’s try another example. All the emails I received about not having Common Sense because I went over my handlebars were guilty of biased judgment. I was unfairly condemned as lacking Sense because careening down a hill through the murky darkness of a moonless night on a bike with no back brakes while chatting on a cell phone may seem to the layman as imprudent, but for somebody who can not die it really is quite safe. Ok, it’s not necessarily safe. I’ve proved I’m immortal, not invincible, but I have also shown on numerous occasions that I’m made of rubber, much like a baby’s head, and virtually proved that theory when I bounced down the road with nary a scratch or bruise. A mortal being consisting of flesh and bone may not be able to conceive the relative safety of tumbling down a paved road at twenty km/h, but that is simply because they are in fact mortal flesh and bone. Another human rubber ball could read about that incident and think nothing of it. It wouldn’t even occur to them to question my Common Sense. So who would be Right? They both would be, from their own perspective.

So you see, Common Sense is about relativity. Contrary to its name there is nothing common about it. It’s different for every person. Could it then be said that everybody possesses Common Sense in relation to their own circumstances? No. Some people are just morons. That’s why they created The Darwin Awards.
http://www.darwinawards.com/

So to recap:

1. Common Sense is about relativity
2. Judge not lest ye be judged.
3. Closedmindedness is a word.
4. Fun things that seem stupid to other people are still fun.

Ergo,
5. I am still a 4 out of 5 for Common Sense.

Intelligence Equalizer

I am Intelligence elitist. It's not that I think I'm superior to everyone, it's more that I think I'm superior to MOST everyone. I judge, and I have strict criteria. As I see it Intelligence can be broken down into infinite parts, depending on what you see as important traits for an Intelligent being, as long as you are Intelligent enough to make the distinctions, but for me the most important aspects of Intelligence, and this is a very basic synopsis, are; Common Sense, Problem Solving, Sense of Humour/Wit, Imagination, and a basic grasp of Quantum Physics. I don’t expect anybody to have it all, it's fine to excel at some things and not others, it's what makes us unique, but any truly Intelligent person will have a good average.

Picture the graphic equalizer on your stereo. When you have the music sounding just right, some bars will be up, some will be down, and some will be hovering around the middle. My Intelligence Equalizer (I.E.) works much the same way, except in this case the music sounds better when you have more bars near the top. I can rate any individual’s Intelligence using this simple system, according to my own likes and dislikes of course. 3 out of 5 is not bad, 4 out of 5 is impressive, and 5 out of 5 is a little intimidating. Conversely, 2’s out of 5 are a waste of time, 1’s are the living dead, and 0’s are the peanut allergy of the Intelligence spectrum. They don’t have a chance.

Some of you may wonder at my leaving out Fact Retention, Book Smarts, or University Degree, but I did so for good reason. They all fall under the same category, and do not denote Intelligence. All these prove is that you have a Good Memory. That does not factor on the Intelligence Equalizer. I usually can’t remember what I had for breakfast (usually because it’s nothing), but I can cross a street without somebody having to pull me back out of traffic on every corner, something a certain University Graduate I know is guilty of. If you're relying solely on a Good Memory to get you through life, without any real I.E. worthy statistics, you might as well have a peanut allergy.

The following is a rough example of what the Intelligence Equalizer might look like, and I keyed in my own statistics to show you what’s possible.

Little Red Riding Hurts

I swear I do not go looking for situations like this. They just come at me, thick and fast, like garlic breath on a close talker.

Last night I got drunk. On the way home from work I stopped by the local loud talkers convention to drink as many free beers as I could, turns out it was all of them. I hung out with Good Conversations for a couple of hours talking about such things as love and toys, and then went home to get ready for the rock show at Barb’s Buns. I drank more beer at home and by the time I was ready I was exceedingly drunk. Responsible adult that I am, I decided to ride my bike to town, for safety’s sake. I packed a few beers for the ride and set out. It was an uneventful ride, the only highlight being when I swerved into traffic trying to open a beer can. I spilled a little too, which irked me more than anything else. I worked the door at the rock show, because Squirrel clearly has a doorman deficiency and was just letting everybody walk in for free. Afterward, Squirrel went to a party that was uphill, and I only like riding downhill, so I went over to Moby’s for more beer and nonsense, except that the beer became rye and ginger, and stronger each time. By the time they closed I was exceedingly drunk. I pulled my bike out from behind the woodshed and began swerving again, this time towards home. About halfway there I crashed right into the ditch, and this was no ordinary ditch. It was more like a small valley. This ditch can probably be seen on Google Earth. I had to ride it out, and almost did, but for the pothole that sent me tumbling. I picked myself up and got back on the bike, still in the ditch, and then a car drove up.

“Did you crash in the ditch?"

“Who, me? No I’m checking the drainage. Yup, it looks pretty good. I’m just going to ride down here. It’s safer that way, you know? Shouldn’t be on the road this late at night.”

The car carried on. I pushed my bike back up the bank, and that was when I noticed the rear brake was broken. A smart man, a sober man, might have decided to walk at that point. No rear brakes on a bike is a bad idea, especially considering it was all downhill from there. But riding is faster than walking, and I like going faster. It really did go downhill from there. I made it to my road, the steepest part of the journey, and decided to call Squirrel to see how his night went. There I was, with my phone in my right hand, leaving a message for Squirrel about how much fun I had at Moby’s, my left hand gingerly tweaking the front brake to keep my speed down for the upcoming corner, when I wobbled a little, and squeezed the brake way too hard.

Do you watch gymnastics? The floor routine? I believe they call it tumbling. Last night I was a tumbler, except the floor wasn’t so much springy as fresh asphalt. It was as though I had an ejector seat. I launched headfirst over the bars in a tucked position, somersaulting, as the bike did two full rotations behind me. For a split second I thought I was going to stick the landing, that is, until I actually landed. Then came the tumbling. I lay on the road, moaning and gasping for breath, and then noticed my phone about eight feet away, still on, still leaving a message. When I could finally drag my tired body off the tarmac I decided it might be a good idea to walk the rest of the way, and then quickly changed my mind, because riding really is much faster. I just didn’t use my phone again.

This morning I woke up to my phone ringing somewhere in my bed. It was Squirrel calling to see if I was ok. Apparently he heard everything in the message I left him, the talking, the tumbling, and sounds like a baby elephant being eaten alive by a pride of lions.

I think in the end it was another good experience. It turns out I am ok, maybe not in the head, but we already knew that, and I learned some valuable lessons;

1. Don’t ride a bike that only has front brakes down a hill, one handed, in the dark, while you talk on the phone.

2. Nobody needs a helmet.

And once again;

3. I cannot fly.

4. I cannot die.

What's Newt?

Last week I caught a newt, or was it a salamander? There was some question. For the story’s sake I’ll say newt, because it sounds funnier, and works better in the title.

Last week I caught a newt, and it reminded me of an experience I had with another lizardy bastard, though that time it was much bigger. I’ll set the scene;

I was traveling around the Galapagos Islands, part of a group researching the effects of high levels of estrogen in the sea on the local tortoise population. One day I snuck away from the group to do a J with a German couple. One became two and pretty soon we were messed up. We hung out by a stream for a while, laughing ourselves silly, until one of us realized the group had moved on, I think it was Gunter. Anyway, when we got up to look for the group we realized we were not alone. A huge lizard was sitting on the other side of the stream. I guess it had been there the whole time, but none of us had noticed. When we got up to leave it came at us, fast. I can remember Inga screaming. I glanced at Gunter and he was frozen, rooted to the ground, his face twisted with horror. I knew I had to do something. Instinct took over. As the lizard got closer I let out my fiercest war cry and ran right at it. A split second of hesitation was all I needed. The lizard wasn't accustomed to being challenged. I surprised it with my counterattack, and it balked. That's when I struck with a flying kick in the face. The lizard stumbled back and eyed me, confused. I charged again and it fled. Just then our guide ran up. The group had heard the screams and some of them came running. One of them even had the presence of mind to snap a picture. When we got back to civilization she gave it to me. In the newspapers they said I'm a hero, but I don't think so. I'm just a man, with a wicked snap kick.


I must admit, catching this newt wasn’t quite as exciting as kicking a giant lizard in the face, but a naked guy did say their skin is poisonous, so I should wash my hands after. I scoffed! Clearly he didn’t know that I cannot die. I ate berries until my fingers turned blue…come to think of it, those were strawberries…

Anyway, it reminded me of this time that I caught a giant frog in Nicaragua. It had been terrorizing the local duck population, eating their eggs and molesting their young, so I offered to help. The thing about man eating frogs is that they piss venom that, if not washed off right away, will cause necrosis. That’s when your skin peels off like old paint in the sun. At the time I wasn’t aware that I cannot die, so I was understandably nervous to do battle with such a loathsome creature. I had given my word the beast would be caught though, so I crusaded into the night (that’s when they come out to feast upon small children). I searched in the dark on my hands and knees, dangling a chicken’s pancreas out in front of me like the lure on the head of a deep sea fish. Eventually the greedy bastard took the bait and I pounced. I did not anticipate just how strong the thighs of a frog can be, and the thighs of a man eater are particularly strong as they’re roughly the size of a horse’s wrist. It kicked like a kangaroo on its tail, but I was too much for it. Years of hard labour have honed my hands into viselike appendages. I held the little bucker until he tired himself out, but he was not done. With his last ounce of strength the froggy bastard toad-pissed all over my arms. Thinking quickly I stuffed him in the sack locals had made from the three stomachs of eight alpacas (the only thing that can hold a giant frog) and quickly tied it up with a lock of my hair. Then I rushed to the nearby lake to wash off the poison before its evil could take effect. Now my only worries were what to do with the frog bag, and how to wash off the lake water containing a microbial bastard which, after entering the blood stream, will traverse your intestines and live there until you die, wreaking havoc on your digestive tract. There is no cure. As quick as I could I tore open the stomach bag and let the frog toad-piss all over my arms again, hoping it would act as nature’s Purell and kill any nasty microbes lurking on my skin. Then I wiped my arms down with wet banana leaves and a paste I made with small chili peppers and my own saliva. My quick action paid off, as in the end it was only my mouth and sphincter that burned.

Unfortunately in my haste to pick peppers and banana leaves I forgot to re-tie the stomach bag and the giant frog escaped. Four duck eggs were lost that night. For my ineptitude the entire village turned their backs on me, which is regarded as the most severe punishment in that region, reserved only for goat rapists, murderers, and bungling fools. They turn their backs, and will never face you again. There is an old legend of a man who refused to accept the village’s decision to turn their backs on him and went on living in the village in defiance for three years, but eventually went mad because nobody would face him. The legend says he died trying to sew his face onto the back of his own head. I wouldn’t give them the pleasure of not seeing me that way, so I packed my things and left the village in the morning. They never saw me again.