Why is it that in a world where we have pig fucking jihadists setting bombs in our cities…
Where protests against police shootings turn violent…
Where ISIS launches a mustard gas attack against our troops…
Where Russia’s president Vladimir Putin has proven once again that history repeats itself by essentially revamping Russia’s security apparatus to resurrect the KGB…
And where of the two major party candidates for the most powerful office in the world – one is in bed with the Russians, fellating Putin so hard, that he might actually swallow and digest his microscopic cock, and the other apparently can’t even tell the difference between a classified portion marking and a paragraph marked in alphabetical order (because the only letter in the alphabet is apparently “C”)…
Why is it that with all this shit going on in the world today, the biggest news story on my news feeds is Brangelina’s divorce?
You know what I learned today against my will?
That apparently Brad Pitt was allegedly fucking around on Angelina Jolie with some French actress about whom I know nothing, and who denies this allegation.
Why anyone cares about this, I cannot possibly fathom, but when I get on my news feed (the news app on my iPhone) or on social media, and all I see is the gaunt, fat-lipped face of Jolie and Pitt’s hobo beard, I have to wonder what the hell the obsession is.
Yes, they’re rich. Yes, they’re famous. Yes, they’re probably somewhat weird. But the richer and more famous they are, the more bizarre their public displays and the more problems they have keeping their shit private.
It’s like we’re living vicariously through them! OH LOOK! THEY’RE RICH AND FAMOUS, SO LET’S GAWP AT THEIR FAMILY PROBLEMS TO MAKE US FEEL BETTER ABOUT OURSELVES.
Please. Make it stop.
And yes, I’m cranky. You would be too if you had to do physical therapy for a bum ankle twice every week.
But on the bright side, my buddy Dennis is helping kick cancer’s ass in his own special way.
Now, y’all are familiar with Dennis’ work, because I proudly carry my pistols in various holsters he has made for me. Well, Dennis is raising money to help fight prostate cancer and giving you the opportunity to win…
Now, motherfucker, this isn’t just some ordinary holster!
This holster is autographed by the NY Times Best-Selling author of the Monster Hunter International series Larry Correia, who was kind enough to autograph this holster for this fundraiser when Dennis met him at Liberty-Con.
There are other autographed holsters as well. I noted one with Dean Cain’s signature on it. Dean Cain is hot. Just sayin’.
So here’s how you register to win one of these beauties!
1) Go to the donation page by clicking here.
2) Make the donation in multiples of $10
3) When you go through checkout, select Team Dragon from the drop-down list so that we get credited with bringing in your donation.
4) When you get the PayPal receipt in your email, simply forward that email to email@example.com so we can verify the amount donated, and that the donation was made to Team Dragon.
5) In the forwarded mail, let me know how to apply the donation (which holster, how to split up multiple entries, etc.)
6) We’ll email you letting you know that your entries have been logged.
We’ll draw the winning entries first week of October, after the fundraiser is done.
Go here and do it. Trust me.
Because FUCK CANCER!
At least you’re not this guy, whose nutsack somehow got caught in an electrical grinder. Ambulance called. Dude wheeled out on a stretcher.
Couple of questions come to mind, including “Why was he using power tools nekkid?” and “Why in blue hell would he ever let a power tool so close to his giblets, that they get caught?”
Someday, he will laugh about this incident. Today is not that day.
And at least you’re not Vegas tourists enjoying a vacation while this douche pickle is zipping by.
On Wednesday, guests of Vegas’ popular Fremont Street Experience were shocked when an unknown liquid began showering down upon them. Alas, it was not rain, but a 15-year-old boy urinating as he rode the Slotzilla zipline above.
Slotzilla is a slot machine-themed zipline. Riders can choose the zipline for $25, which is 77 feet off the ground, or the ‘zoomline’ at 114 feet for $45. The zipline whisks riders over the pedestrian promenade.
Cazimere Ferguson, a vacationer from Hawaii, told Fox 5 Vegas that it was “a lot of liquid coming from above us, just showering us from head to toe, our back and top of the head dripping down. And we thought it was some sort of water, maybe some drinks or beer.”
Isn’t this just the typical Vegas tourist thing to say? “Dude! We thought it was beer raining from the sky, cuz VEGAS! So we, like, opened our mouths, but it was all salty and shit!”
And I’m fairly sure that your day is not “fell into a wood chipper and died on the first day of work” bad.
So, happy Friday, all!
I’m on the couch this morning with a smooth cup of coffee, a large Saint Bernard at my feet, and a ginger kitten running around the apartment like he’s just ingested some jet fuel and is now burning it at Mach 6.
I’m at peace.
I turn on the television, just for some background noise to break the silence, and I immediately hear the grating voice of the Hairy Hemorrhoid™ barfing his latest promised diktat to an enthralled horde of reporters. I change the channel quickly.
The movie playing on some premium channel is “Paper Planes,” and Australian (I think) flick about a children’s competition to make the best paper airplane.
Typical. Nothing extraordinary about it.
I’ve missed the majority of the movie. I tune in just as a small boy on the screen is watching the creation he made of green construction paper fly into the hands of his father (who may or may not have been missing throughout the entire movie – I don’t know). And something about the look on his face – a look of love and relief (maybe?) and hero worship – something, coupled with the crashing sounds of the background music crescendoing took my breath away a little.
And that’s when I picked up my silly iPhone and began writing.
Inspiration. It could come from the strangest sources. The most unexpected sound, picture, person, or a moment in time could become a muse, awakening that flash of creativity, or love, or motivation.
Have you ever heard a piece of music that seemed to hit you directly in the heart – and hit you so hard, your breath literally caught in your chest, and once you began breathing again, you realized there were tears running down your face and your arms were spread, almost as if you were trying to meet the crashing wave of sound with your entire body?
I’ve had quite a few of those moments – especially when I was involved in musical theater and choir. I would hear a piece of music, see a photograph, read a book or a poem, and all of a sudden my own voice seemed to sound clearer and more powerful, my body would move more fluidly, and the words seemed to pour out almost without any effort at all!
It never really was that easy, but something hit that motivation button and gave me the heart and the desire to match, and surpass, that energy.
So what is it that brings tears to my eyes each and every time? What is it that takes my breath away and awakens my spirit?
In Russian, the word to describe inspiration is вдохновение. Literally it describes the act of inhaling, of taking that creative spirit into you, uplifting, becoming lighter than air that compels you to conceive that beauty that is within you.
I like the Russian word a lot. It describes precisely the spirit that inspires us to greatness. My list is eclectic.
Beethoven’s 7th Symphony.
“Lacrymosa” from Mozart’s Requiem.
“Seasons of Love” from Rent.
Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” sketch. I also love the fact that Da Vinci wrote in mirror image. I’ve done that since I was 12.
Venice. The canals at sunset.
Military basic training graduations.
The movie “White Nights,” and watching old videos of Mikhail Baryshnikov dance.
Steel and glass skyscrapers.
Billy Joel’s “Rootbeer Rag.”
The Saint Crispin’s speech from “Henry V.”
Idina Menzel’s voice.
Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A Minor.
This is by far not a comprehensive list. Anything can inspire me at any time to be better, to work harder, to be more.
What about you? What inspires you?
I’m home sick today. This is what happens when you work in an enclosed environment with folks who have kids. Kids are kind of like little vats of infectious disease. I found that out when my own kids were in school and would bring home all sorts of germs. But now that both my kids are gone, I miss the little disease-carrying petri dishes of crud!
Speaking of which…
I took my son to start his freshman year at UNC Charlotte three weeks ago. I didn’t cry. I swear! I was actually quite relaxed for a parent who has delivered her firstborn into something resembling adulthood! He immediately got involved in a fraternity, which he plans to rush this semester. He’s now involved with the College Republicans, and he’s doing ROTC. Oh, and that’s in addition to his part-time job, which he works to pay for his car and auto insurance. To say I’m proud would be an understatement.
Oh, and he turns 18 tomorrow.
The house still hasn’t sold. What the child molester Cooper and his scummy hag of a wife did to me is indescribable. In addition to having caused thousands of dollars worth of damage to my property, they also ruined my chances of selling this house at the peak of when I could sell it. Now, the house is beautiful, but the season for selling a home has passed. I’m paying 80 percent of my take-home pay for my rent and the mortgage on the house. I’m turning to my parents for help, which I hate to do, but don’t have much of a choice. I hope to pay my parents back after I sell the house, but at this point, I’m just hoping I can sell it and not lose my shirt. The Coopers are the lowest form of scum.
My friend Evelyn is shuttering her crochet business. It’s too bad, because she’s a phenomenal talent! But she is having a sale on her Etsy page, so if you want something beautiful for a Christmas gift, or just for yourself, check it out.
Speaking of Christmas… I saw a Christmas commercial. The day after Labor Day. While we’re going through a heat wave here in DC. What. The. Fuck.
Here’s something I’m beyond belief excited about. Two of my favorite authors are collaborating on a novel. Sarah Hoyt and Larry Correia are writing a Monster Hunter International novel “Guardian.” Together. Actually, “excited” is sort of an understatement. I’m losing my shit thrilled!
No, I’m not blogging about that hypocritical twat Kim Davis. No way. But for those who want me to say something…
Donald Trump once again stuck his foot in his mouth. Seriously, how Trump supporters can take that fucking buffoon seriously, I can’t even imagine! He may be a good businessman, but he’s borderline retarded when it comes to anything else related to foreign policy, diplomacy, and being a decent human being.
“Look at that face! Would anyone vote for that?” Trump said to [Rolling Stone writer Paul] Solotaroff. “Can you imagine that, the face of our next president.”
This coming from someone who looks like this:
Can you imagine something that looks like this being our President? Why would anyone vote for that?
Of course now, the cock slurper is backing off and claiming he meant Fiorina’s personality. No, REALLY!
Oh, and by the way, my buddy Mike Williamson won an award for his short story “Soft Casualty.” I’ve often told him this is one of the best stories he’s ever written, and seems I was right, as I told him in a text recently.
If you haven’t read it yet, you should. It’s free, and it’s here. Enjoy!
I agree with another friend of mine, who says that this Baen award is much more interesting than the Hugos have become.
Another friend commented that “one side benefit of this whole Hugo kerfuffle has been the introduction of many new and wonderful books and authors…”
I think at least one Sad Puppies goal has been accomplished. Kudos to Larry Correia, Brad Torgersen, and others for making that a success!