It's mayhem...

Sometimes people ask me if all this fame coming from quiet-ramblings.com has gone to my head.  I think by now we all know that sugar coating and beating around the bush isn't really my style.  So I look said fans and/or jealous counter parts right in the face and reply, "absolutely".  Then I show them a map that plots the locations of my global followers and I say, "smoke this".

I can't help it that I was genetically reconfigured with ninja DNA.  Did I choose to be a lab rat for the CIA the day after I was circumcised?  OK, you got me, I probably did.  I was laying there while the doc did his deed with no analgesics, gazing across the nursery at all the other crying babies.  So I didn't see what all the fuss was about.  Apparently the CIA was recruiting that day (I can't be sure the details still remain fuzzy to this day, plus after every briefing the
Image by DonkeyHotey via Flickragents would say, "this never happened,"  to which I had to reply, "what never happened,")  It was all very covert.  Surely sometime around age four I was kidnapped by the secret order of the Shaolin Ninja Dynasty somewhere in Japan, at which point I retrained aging ninjas.  Look that's all I can say, my point is: How could someone judge me for being the bad ass that I am.

Now that we've got all the sponsor mandated self promotion taken care, I'd like to move to a subject of great importance.  Some of you may not be aware, but I want you to know that there is no known immunity to the video/social/computer game epidemic.  Think about it Mr. "I control my own destiny", what were you saying the last time you played Words With Friends.  I bet it was, "Just a couple more rounds than I'm going to bed."  We all know that you were up til 3AM trying to shake the demons.  I bet you're playing right now.  When you finally put your foot down and called it a night, Was the sun up?  Did you have enough time to empty a bladder that you've been ignoring for hours?  If you're fortunate to be sober, I warn you, do not jump on the next gaming wagon.  It could be your last.

Writer's block...

Image via WikipediaOk folks, it's time to come clean.  Lately I've been running in strict improv mode.  You see being a student again has given me a daily live venue to debate all the moral dilemmas that we face as Americans.  And get this, there's no principal's office.  Apparently I'm supposed to be mature and understand how to behave during class.  Seriously?  Don't people know that I'm not capable of such nonsense?  So my loving classmates are now the privileged recipients of the overflowing pools of knowledge that can not be contained in my head.  When I say "can not", I honestly mean I don't have a choice.  Apparently when my brain was being manufactured in the "mind factory" some tweaker on the assembly line, who's in charge of installing the part of our brain that filters out innappropriate comments in social situations, was coming down off a three day high and fell asleep.  Well, there was probably a new guy or a fill-in running quality control too, because I got passed there undetected as well.  Anyways with an open venue to discuss mind blowing subjects such as anatomy and nursing theory (...zzzzzz), I arrive home at night pretty spent.  

So here I am left to question my own awesomeness.  Don't get confused it is not a question of awesomeness, it is more like--where do I stand?  Am I at level: super awesome or inconceiveably awesome to the 10th power.  You see, I thought that there was an endless fountain of knowledge and incredibly lucid quips constantly flowing from my mind.  It appears that economists may be on to something when they all agree that even on this great earth raw materials are limited.  Although I'd love to support "common belief" and be just another sheep in the herd, I prefer the lonely road.  Could it be, that maybe there is no deficit of knowledge and maybe there is a filter?  Maybe the filter just needs to be delved from bellow the layers of white matter (that's the quick part of the brainage).

Now I'm just confusing myself.  I just want my little soldiers to know that the revolution is still very much alive.  Unfortunately, my mad skills are being used up on sexual innuendos during talk of reproductive organs...

la verdad es que....

Image via Wikipedia
Sometimes your just too busy to release the thundering words of encouragement, that are carefully threaded through each majestic blog post.  People left and right are offering me hundreds and thousands of dollars to bleed out another post.  To this I reply, "I realize that my superfluous lyrics are engraved upon your hearts, but the only reward I can accept is the joy of seeing more and more people boycotting Subarus; that we're no longer pulling over for policeman during rush hour (for they damn well know better than to further inhibit the flow of comerce); and that we as a unit have set the revolution is motion."  I can understand the sorrow that may come each day for the many who currently have this url set as their homepage and fire up their computer to find nothing but another old post.

Let's think about this police canandrum for a minute here.  Having to commute to work or school alongside thousands of others, who no doubt hate whatever working enviornment lays before them, is painful enough.  To further twist the knife there are individuals known as police officers, that have the gall to issue citations for driving over the speed limit.  Seriously Officers?  You can't even break the speed limit during rush hour.  For the few people that magically manage to break the speed limit, I think a reward is necessary.  Rather than pull them over and further slow up every other individual, why not clear the road for people willing to drive at a decent rate.

All I'm saying is quit ruining my day...

Hey ma, happy day...

Dearest Mother, who carried me in her belly for 9 months and assumed full legal responsibility of me clear until the age of 18 (hopefully the 9 months part is true, otherwise I think it's time to confirm my speculations),

Thank you for raising me and laughing at all my jokes, even when they weren't that funny and didn't make any sense.  I also appreciate having someone to go to, that actually falls for my "I'm a martyr routine".  You've done good, except of course with the youngest, but we don't even know how he showed up in our family.  I'm not trying to start any rumors but seriously, could we see some solid DNA evidence? It's not easy taking care of 6 kids, and even more so since none of them could be more like me.  Thanks for challenging me and never telling my siblings that I'm your only REAL favorite.  It would have caused a lot of unnecessary drama had they known.  Thanks for helping my wife and I to continue to be students for life, even though our degrees will clearly NOT represent the countless hours of schooling.  I'm sure it's tough telling people, "yeah, my sons in school again, and no, he's not a doctor.  He's not even in grad school."  It could be worse though, I could have been a dentist.  All that schooling, yet they appear to gain no knowledge.  Sometimes I swear that it is common procedure to give all dental patients a lobotomy.

Thanks for all you do!  The kids are grateful too.  And I'm grateful that they're grateful, because it makes it that much easier to dump them on you.

Love ya,

Your greatest son ever--Lee

Querida wifey feliz dia de madre...

Image via WikipediaDear Wife and Mother (of at least 3 of my children.  Hopefully that's all I have, and hopefully they're all mine.  I can handle the truth, because if I found out that I was puttin' up with drama from somebody else's kitten, it would be the opposite of good.),

Just to clear the air and confirm the speculation, I do love it when you call me big pappa.  I also love it when you wave your hands in the air like you just don't cur.

As I sit here staring at you peacefully sleeping on the couch (mild snore, regular breathing pattern), I can't help but look down the long journey we've taken.  As I look I think--what were we thinking and why didn't anybody talk us out of it?  Of course I'm referring to the three young "princesses" that run around the house with red pitchforks and pointy red ears, and not our marriage.  It's been T-riffic watching you put up with me.  Thanks for keepin' on with the keepin' on.  You're one cool mama with an attitude all full of spiciness.  If it wasn't for you our children would run all over me.  Sometimes I feel like an old person being scammed by a salesman, then you swoop in and remind me that our children have a very elaborate MO.  Let's just face it, if it wasn't for you vigilance and Hi Def 3-D vision, they'd be a hurtin'.  You've watched over them like a hawk ready to take on Tony the Tiger, if necessary.  And with Tony's sadist smile on that cereal box, it's always necessary.  "Grrrrrreat", he says.  What's so great about you Tony?  Did you go through 9 months of incoherent speech and bipolar like symptoms, only to be ended be a long excruciating labor?

Thanks for being such a great nurturer to our children, and constantly reminding me how to check and see if I'm still breathing.  Hold up... yep, still 48 bpms.  All seriousness aside, I love you approximately 78% more than Romeo loved that one chick he was after, who also happened to have a crazy extended family.  Anybody who acts surprised by that remark, might be the direct recipient.

Anyways, Happy Mother's Day.  We love you (speaking for myself and the children that are believed to be ours).  I hope you don't ever wise up some day and chirp them tires, leaving me and the kiddos to point fingers.  (They always gang up on me.  You can't out ninja Tha Ninja.)  Love you much.

Con besos y pesos (porque ya no tengo dolares... soy pobre, que hago?),

Your breathtakingly sexy husband.

The eye of a tye-gurrrrh

Image via WikipediaSo you want to put your game face on today?  You want to roll out in the streets and let everybody know--Imma get mine!  Well that's the way to play it.  If you've got the stones to build some crazy hard-core game plan (while you're staring at yourself in the mirror) and you follow through, you might be a force to reckon with.  Every night before I go to bed I have this brilliant game plan for the next day.  No need to write it down--I tell myself.  This is where we come across a few problems.

First, I must explain the current state of the inorganic power house that runs my body.  I'd say on any given day, I eat more candy than 10 "normal" adults.  I know you may be surprised to hear this, but this doesn't really aid in the stability of my blood sugar level.  I'll be working my butt off then without warning, I start shaking and I get real dizzy.  Of course I don't think--if I could get a decent protein right now it would help me out.  To make matters worse, since the beginning of the year there's always someone around me dieting.  I get 175 calories per meal--they say--I'm doing the HCG diet.  To which I reply--you get?  They say it like it's some kind of privilege to only eat a side items worth of a meal.  This isn't some third world country, this is America.  We are the most obese nation.  I hate to break this to you, but in this country food is privilege.

So why should I care if people want to go on outrageous unhealthy diets?  I don't care, but the more you tell me about it the more my belly growls back at you.  You've got me worried about a food surplus.  So now because you can't do your part in society, I have to eat up an extra 2,000 calories.  That's quite a burden for me.  I've got sores in my mouth that may never heal, because I can't quit shoveling down the candy.  Laugh away, but once you're done with your diet and you're craving something good you'll thank me.

That's right, while you're screwing around with our economy I'm keeping a steady supply and demand.  What if one of these days when I remember that my plan is to eat a little healthier?  Not scared yet?  What if I follow through?  Who's going to keep supply and demand in balance?  Keep laughing, right up until you show up for that late night craving and you can't find your Reese's.  Many stores have already taken away my cinnamon bears, how many more candies have to perish before you people learn?

Your diets don't work.  Eat more candy...

I guess it doesn't have to make cents...

Time is a commodity, be careful what you trade it for.  I can't wait until the day that time no longer has meaning, it is a poor measurement.  Does it really matter how many hours are spent in the office?  No my friend it does not and any employer who argues the contrary is an ignorant Stalin impersonator.  How did we become a civilization so desperate for a means to measure productivity, that we completely threw quality into the wind?  Our entire economy has been slowly spinning in a whirlpool right down the toilet.

Look around it didn't fall because we got more lazy physically.  The crapper ate us up, because of our mental laziness.  All because we put everything in a box.  We stopped checking the basics.  It was decided that productivity should have a more comparable unit of measurement.  If you spend 12 hours in the office you must be accomplishing more than you would in 8.  It's that type of reasoning that has landed so many empty headed fools a position of leadership.

So Wall Street decided to put all their crap in a box and mark it "premium".  They decided that trading items of value just didn't seem to make much sense.  So they started to trade theory.  Congress points the finger, but they too have determined theory to be far more valuable than actually doing something.  So while people talk and argue everyone gets to sit and watch the free entertainment.  We're all wondering how this all happened, but we know the truth.  We just didn't care anymore.  The sad part is that it has all evolved into some form of alien excretion, and we don't know what to care about.  

If I sell you some lemonade at 25 cents a cup, is it profitable?  After I pay the neighborhood kids for dodging traffic and swirling signs, then settle my recurring bill at the grocery store, I can see if my net is black or red.  I could work 12 hrs or 12 min, in the end all I care for is profit.

Next time you tell me to hurry, just know I'm not listening.  The rambling above is what's running through my head.  So I'll take my time and do it right.

And that, my friends is your country in a hand-basket.  Where are you going?

because you have faith...

Dear solid fan base,

There has to be at least 4 or so of you, that are still die hard.  For that I commend you.  You are the people that make this world a better place for all, in fact it is getting just downright wasteful sparing oxygen molecules for the rest of the earthly population.  Do you get as exited about world domination and class separation as I do at this point?  Of course you do, you've probably found yourself speeding and flipping people off a lot more than usual.  Don't be ashamed, you're only human.

A lot of people think that I've been too neglectful towards my supremely important blog.  I just want to clear the air, by reporting that although school has been a challenge, it is not the reason for my decrease in writing activity.  I have my priorities straight.  The real reason for the cut back, has more to do with budgeting and government grants, that I have yet to receive for providing such a quality education.  You see, at times I experience what some people refer to as "passion" or "overzealous-behavior".  Yes, it is true, I have been caught sitting on the couch cursing at the laptop from time to time.  Occasionally, I tense up so much while I'm typing, that I literally press the keys straight through the keyboard.  Exit wound and all.  This is a type of situation, that can't be undone.  When such passion provokes this sort of destruction it becomes very expensive (Especially if you have a laptop and the keyboard, now needing replacement is directly attached to the computer.).

So in order to save product, I've taken to using a keyboard with a 20 foot range.  This way I also avoid punching the screen.  The sad ending here is while trying to reduce destruction to my computer, I've also lowered my level of anger and blood pressure.  I still use up the same untapped energy, only I take it out on a 5 lb. bag of cinnamon bears, or Red Vines.  Not having that anger, to constantly stir up the voices of irrational thought and chaos, leaves me a little short for words in times that they are most needed.  Any psychologist would probably refer to this as a positive outlet.  But how could any of this be positive, when at least 4 people are relying on me?  I've said it before, I'm no martyr or savior, but I am here to offer the best of me.

So I thought about going back to close-range typing.  Once Wifey caught wind of this, it was immediately vetoed.  And because I choose not to type in a dark closet, in order to avoid her all-seeing eyes, I know I need some form of controversy.  So I've devised a plan.  This is going to involve some help from my fans, but I'm sure it will work.  The cure I ask for, to fuel me up is hate mail.  I know my most faithful fans couldn't find it in them to even set their minds in a state of anger or contempt for me, but I'm sure you have friends who could.  So I need you to seek out the people in your lives, that truly detest people like me (You probably don't even have to leave the house to do this.).  Invite these haters to visit my site and comment.  I'm sure that some angry words will really bump up my game.  It will also bump up your game, when you find yourself delivering personal jabs in attempt to defend the website that makes all things clear to you.

It's either hate mail or I skip my meds for a week, but I'm pretty sure that society is not ready for that.

Chase 'em down...

Wait til I'm down, before you start kicking...

It's pretty embarrassing when you walk up to the cashier at Walmart and you ask about a payment plan for a $10 pack of highlighters.  If you're not getting the horrible sensation of this experience, let me rephrase it--You're pretty pathetic if you get embarrassed inside of a Walmart.  Have you ever seen the freak-show that is peopleofwalmart.com?  Outside the store is a different thing.  You don't ever want people to see you walking into Walmart.  That is like publicly admitting that you are mentally and socially off track (kind of like someone who was home-schooled).  Now you're with me.  That's why I always have a "pissed off" look when I enter the store.  Then, people will think I'm going against my will.  It becomes more of a mission, like I'm supporting a cause greater than me.  Always look down at the floor, these people are looking for someone to cling to.  You'll be hangin' with your friends, and they'll approach you saying, "hey dude, I saw you at Walmart this weekend."
You reply,"Like hell you did."  Closed fist aim for his head, the concousion is for his own good.

You can't truly hate the man, when you support the largest non-military pillaging corporation on earth.  Well, you can claim to, but no one will believe you.

The worst part about Walmart for me, is the convenience.  I had the terrible luck to work as a contractor for the big W, remodeling their stores.  So just by looking at the front of the store, my mind automatically drafts an extremely accurate floor plan.  That's very necessary, because finding an associate to show you around is quite a hunt.   The real blow is that when you work for them, that's the only place that you can afford to shop.  Ask any child of an employee about the embarrassment.

Walmart Employee: (Speaking to kids) Get ready to go school shopping...

Kids: (Having already lost hope for destinations such as the mall, in their heads they chant in unison [pleas say Target, Please say Target...]).
Image by Getty Images via @daylife
I haven't been around the rough teenage crowd in a while but I'm pretty sure that when you're hoping for clothes from Target, you my friend are not sitting at the cool table.  Tough luck buddy, don't blame your parents and don't feel like you have to resort to the tight pants wearing, socially-familiarly-mentally repressed kids.  They think they've got something solid, but when you walk around like a duck showing of your polka dot boxers, you look like a clown.  Not the funny clowns, but the creepy ones that little kids are afraid of.

I hate shopping for clothes.  I always feel like I'm being judge.  What, men are not mature enough to share changing rooms with women?  It's not like we shop at Victoria's Secret (although it probably would happen a lot more if men were allowed in the dressing rooms.  That's a pretty solid marketing strategy, Victoria's Secret people, do with it what you will.).  I thought women were all about equal rights anyways.  So, why do we have to part ways at the changing room?  Ask anyone who was involved in the Civil Rights Movement, if separate but equal met their needs.  This is why I'm proud of women trying to make a statement, by taking up such issues about the oppression of making women cover the upper portion of their bodies in public.  Unfortunately, such laws are upheld because the only women actively protesting, look much better with a turtleneck on.

I guess that equal rights is just a bunch of idealistic crap...

Stic to the fun-duh-mentals...-

Please, someone explain to me the thought process encouraging the formulation of a word like fundamental.  Given the erroneous claim of the prefix fun-, I can't help but question--what political mastermind had such need to deceive his people?  You don't follow? Try this: show me just one fundamentalist who actually knows what fun is.  Sure, you'll find someone who claims they have fun, but I guarantee that their explanation will fill you with the same type of confidence that you felt every time George Bush said he would address the public.  Don't you dare tell yourself--maybe I'm the crazy one.
Image via Wikipedia
We need to focus on the cleverly placed suffix, which should actually be the root of the word: -mental.  There now, did that word happen to chime through your head when you heard the latest (or oldest) fundamentalist's definition of fun?  They've distorted so much.  Don't fall for any of it either, it's a mind game that they like to play.  They adhere to ignorance and good old fashioned blah, (with pride--I say) before they'll ever evolve.  In fact the word evolve is synonymous with devil to these people.  Maybe you're uncomfortable with such talk, but I'm only getting started.  You think I'm referring to hyper-gun-toting conspiracy theorists?  I don't need to tell you about them, their story is self-narrated.  In fact I recommend befriending a few of these NRA members, just as an insurance policy.  I'm talking about the people who ban together to ostracize you, for using a drill with a buffer on the end, to wash your kitchen table, walls, chairs, etc.

Fundamentals--they tell you.  "Nothing gets that out like a good old rag and elbow grease. " Nothing makes me want to never clean the table again like elbow grease.  I'm not wasting precious elbow cartilage on this unworthy cause.  You want to judge me and call me lazy, just because I've evolved?  Because I refuse to scrub away while I inhale cleaning fluid, that could send my neurons in some kind of fray?  Well, I'm ready to bring the demons out.  If you have OCD this will now doubt cause you to twitch a little.

Pay attention: I use a sander with a rag on the bottom to wash the table.  I let the tub overflow to wash the bathroom floor, soak for 10 minutes, then remove moisture with a shop-vac.  I'm pretty sure that bleach and 104 degrees Fahrenheit water will reduce the terrorist threat level, to what ever lies below level orange.  If I'm caught kneeling on a hard surface, it's because I'm looking for something really important that my magnetic wand and metal detector failed to locate.  I send my truck through the car wash with the windows open, so I don't have to get Armor All, all up in my pores.  What about vacuuming, you say?  That's why you put in that extra buck for the air dry.  No need for a pine tree here.

So spare me with your curmudgeon rants.  Next time you see me sitting on my front porch with a remote control in my hand, as I watch my lawnmower do everything I tell it to, why not say- "that could save me a lot of time."  If you want to be proud of that sweat pouring down your face as you slave away, move to Houston.  All you have to do is walk to your car to work up a sweat.  The hardest part is finding a close spot, while there are five other people driving around looking for a spot 20 feet closer to the entrance.

All I'm saying is quit demonizing evolution.  No one cares how hard you work anymore, you're probably fudging the facts anyways.  Embrace change...

Yes, you...

pump your fist and resist...

Image by Robert Goodwin via Flickr

Redemption has been a long time and running.  There is no excuses for last place, ever!  The embarrassment I speak of is a pinewood derby race.  I've been helping my wife's cousin prepare for the pinewood derby, last year we had some scheduling issues, and let's just say it did not go well.  It also doesn't help that current cub scout politics are modeled after the girl scout organization.

Talk about red tape.  They've got this race so locked up these days, either there is an underground conspiracy or it has been determined that critical thinking/engineering skills are no longer important in the Cub Scouts of America.  You have to turn in your car three days before the race, you can't touch it from then til after the race, no tweaking, no adjustments, no scientific process, and no trial and error.  My only question--Cub Scouts of what America?  This is a direct threat against the competitive nature, that drives social dynamics in our country.

When I was a cub scout, we started sanding, painting, sanding, painting, over and over weeks prior to the event.  We each made five cars.  Body style was where autonomy was permitted by Dad.  When it came to frictionless axles and wheels that could fly straight down the track, parental supervision was required.  Dad had us polish those axles with him for about an hour each.  We set up the track days in advance, and ran trials till the early AM.  In private my brother and I would plot strategies, to destroy other cars that might present a threat.  We couldn't just win, we had to make sure that there wasn't a shadow of doubt that we won.  We stayed up all night before the race, so that our eyes would be blood shot all day.  We dropped by the drama club before leaving school, so they could accent our jaw bones and make our eyes look deeper and more mysterious.  We showed up to the race like 2 vampires, unwilling to leave without drawing blood.  You better not be picturing that pasty guy from twilight.  We'd race our own car to the end of the track.  There was no timing, it was car vs. car.  Tourney style elimination.  We brought it.

At the end of the day victory was ours.  But like I said, times have changed, boys are supposed to be more interested in tea parties now, or something...

By the way bro, happy b-day...

break time...

After four and one half hours of microbiology on Friday morning, I sensed that my brain reached and surpassed its maximum stimulus limit.  All those worms that make up the structure of the brain were probably inflamed and irritated.  You'd think hermaphrodites would never get bored or overstimularted.  The truth is they're all tensed up sexually.  They're so confused and frustrated, it's not good.  This is why our brain should just be a big round blob, rather than being made up of high strung, emotional worms.  They work like lazy, deviant roadside construction workers and they're constantly sending my neurons on unnecessary detours.  This only creates collisions that lead to uncontrollable expletives, finding there way out of my mouth.  Sailor, you can me?

So, as you could imagine, I was in great need of an outlet.  Unfortunately, getting rest or free time in my house is more of a second job, than a luxury.  Much to my dismay, I wasn't blessed with the commanding power to walk in the door, lay down the law, make three demands, and then go unwind.  I think that there are plenty of modern fathers, who experience a similar powerless environment.  It's as if women are trying to avenge us for the sins of our fathers, and the tribulations of their mothers.  They say equality, but what they mean is: we want the good things that our mom's had, and better things than you have.  Freud knew about this long ago.  We're taking about textbook penis envy, but it is spiraling out of control...  Anyways my point is, if I want to get any R&R, I have to play crazy when I get home.  I really have to sell it too.  The best method is pretending to have tourettes, which happens to be a natural skill.  Ok... I have no control over it, but after microbiology it's all ticks and cellular words.
Image via Wikipedia
I managed to step into an empty home.  So, I went into my room and stood in anatomical position--palms forward.  My chi found center, and I began to float.  I was on my way to a happy place.  The clouds were made from the cream that they put in the middle of Twinkies.  I choose for the ingredients of said cream to remain mystery to me.  What if I really found out?  That could ruin Twinkies for me for life, and I'm not willing to take that risk.

So anyways, I was standing there pondering... and it came.  Oh yeah, like a ton of bricks!  The meaning of life.  I was so stoked.  I wanted to write it down, but I knew I'd remember.  After two victorious fist pumps in the air, my mind went blank and the knowledge was gone.  Just like that!  I woke up in my room growling at my reflection in the mirror and chewing on the drywall.  Very awkward.  Never let go of that anatomical threshold...

I'm not crazy, you just have a skewed understanding of reality...

Subaru...

Dear Subaru Drivers,

I realize that there is a certain image you are trying to uphold.  I just want you to know I get it, you're cautious.  You love to drive slow.  In theory, your vehicle should be among the top performers for driving in the snow.  I'm a bit of a skeptic here, because I've yet to see you come anywhere near a velocity that would necessitate all wheel drive.  The normal person sees the speed limit as a minimum speed.  We adhere to that minimum speed, because it lowers our blood pressure and keeps our mouths clean enough to speak to God each night.  Can't you see when you not only choose to see the speed limit as a max speed, but when you make a point of not even approaching that max it is bad for everyone's health?  Yes, I'm sure you have 10 cats at home, that understand you better than any human, so you don't need us or our wasteful usage of plastic grocery bags.  

Just know that I'm on to you.  I see you walking around in your fleece vest, as if a sleeveless "jacket" provides the perfect climate control, no matter the weather.  You think you look so rugged with your hiking boots, who's biggest excursion comes when you find the furthest parking space from the store.  I guess we can thank you for that.  I know you're trying to be this super righteous human, but for the love please turn on your hazards and just drive in the emergency lane.  I don't know if you never have anywhere to get to in a hurry, or if you're one of those freaks that leaves an hour early to make sure you arrive first.  Just know, the rest of the world is in a rush so if you're not going to join in, get the frick out of the way!

Dear Subaru corporation or some communist country,

I just wanted to right you to offer a proposal that could double you're revenue.  I believe that by simply reducing the size of your brake pedal and increasing the size of your gas pedal, it will redevelop your image by reaching an entirely new market.  If sales don't increase immediately, be patient, because this should at least remove Subaru from the list of substitute curse words.  Then I can stop telling my friends I'm about to go take a subaru, which really means I gotta go #2.

Sincerely,

A concerned citizen

Education...

The best part about Sunday dinner is getting feedback about my blog.  Unfortunately there are always people trying to change the subject, which requires me to spin the convo back to the subject of: ME!  It's like marketing hour for me, and it gets exhausting.  People are always misquoting me and what not, so I have to correct them (I'm real anal about quotations).  Then there are always some people that think they're so frickin' amazing, they're basically overcome with jealousy, so they act like they're tooooo cool to participate in the blog talk.

The reason that feedback is so important to me, is because I need to know that my fans are getting every penny's worth.  That's right, I'm in it for you.  It would be nice if people would comment, on the blog, so that I didn't have to go to Sunday dinner with several people I can't stand; yet they can't get enough of me.  What I'm getting at folks, is that if you're just rushing through these posts you're not getting a full education.  You need to participate.  If you don't, it's basically like going to college for nothing but job training.  Where's the education in that?

I'm extremely grateful for the curmudgeon English teacher that I had my freshman year in college.  He spoke of our decaying society with such disdain.  I was thrilled that someone could be so disappointed with modern pop-culture, that he would start using bigger words with more sting and spoke as if his pulpit were 100 ft in the air.  The "mall world" is what he called it.  The man refused to memorize his social security number, because it was not his identity.  I'm generally a fan of verbal abuse, but when it came from this guy I left the class so disoriented that I didn't even know my name.  Talk about getting your money's worth in education.  I wish that I wasn't so lazy, just so that I could have a list if things that get under my skin a mile long, just like that guy.  To be obsessed to the point where you'd probably love to make a student cry, that's dedication.
Image via Wikipedia
He talked about how the mall world schools didn't teach us anything anymore so we had to take precious time to learn parts of speech.  We were lucky that such a knowledgeable individual would even speak to us unworthy creatures.  I would be shaking with embarrassment as he rounded the room dissecting a sentence.  When it was our turn we had to declare which part of speech was being represented by each word.  He spanked us all over the place, and it was one of the greatest learning experience I received.  It had nothing, yet everything, to do with my major.  Priceless humiliation.

I stand next to my teacher, when I believe that public education is crap!  (Don't start building your case about how my spelling or sentence structure is still just barely above a 5th grade level.  And if you do you better make me cry.  You really think I have time to edit while still meeting the demands of so many fans?)  So anyways I want to congratulate my number one fan (I don't mention names often, but she deserves it and besides she realizes the waste of time it would be to try to sue me for defamation.  Although the claim would have to be on other grounds, because defamation insinuates de-faming, but this is more of an entry to fame).  Without further adieu, thank you Aunt Melissa!  Why is she number one?  Let's just say she stays up til 3 am waiting for a post and if I happened to be too lazy that night, she can't sleep.  Besides that she's been a great promoter.  If there is any promotion worth praise, it's the kind that has no price tag.  She even texted me to inform me that my layout was not functional on her browser, even though it looked fine on my Mac.  Just so you know my last post had nothing to do with her (it had everything to do with her).  What really impressed me today, was to learn that she makes her oldest daughter read my posts before she can do anything else, including homework.  So we could also award her mother of the year.  All I know is that she's on her way to earning one of my static pages that I never have time to update.

Why would anyone force this on their children, you ask?  Because they see the true value in education.  Do you think your kids brains are just soaking up all that crap, that their teachers spray all over them?  No.  No. And NO.  You can't hold a candle to this education you're receiving before your eyes.  Maybe I don't have a diploma to offer, but I can give you some recycled toilet paper worth the diploma of any "prestigious" schools.  That's about the current worth of my diploma anyways.

Soak it up...

P.S. Sleep well auntie...

Go ahead waste your time-

• The Future For Education (whatithinktank.wordpress.com)
• Reasons Why a High School Education is Important (brighthub.com)
• Avoid a Phony College Degree and Diploma Mill (brighthub.com)

Fellow Earthlings...

Dr Humble Friends,

The word is spreading.  People are coming to get some ramble all up in their brains.  And I aim to give the people what they want.  Some times when I'm walking down the street, people stop me and ask If I'm really the Creator.  At first I play coy, mainly because I don't know at what point my fans began referring to me as the Creator (Not that it bothers me at all), I also like to let them know that I'm used to the attention.  I sign a couple autographs and quote a few inspired lines.  Then, with tears of joy in their eyes, they depart.  Am I a miracle worker or just another super-hero?  Personally, I don't like to get all caught up in titles and what not.  I'm just trying to fulfill my calling here on this planet.  After which, I'm sure I'll be asked to rule some other planet.

So I want to thank those of you who believe in me and know that we're on to something big here.  And to those of you who think your too cool to read my blog: first of all, it's impossible to be too cool for this and second, screw you and the crappy little tricycle that you rode in on!  We don't need any wannabe, jealous punks (this part is mainly aimed at my father-in-law, he thinks he's sooooo cool.  Wrong Buddy!).

But seriously folks, we've got to upsell this baby.  There are tight jean wearing teen-agers, old wrinkly people, y gente de todo modo.  So spread the word, that there's an education to be found at quiet-ramblings.com.  If you look at the bottom of your screen you'll see we're about to break 900 visits.  But we don't think on small levels here (also a jab at my father-in-law).  Let's bust through 1,000 before this weekend.  If you love it let me hear you make some noise!  I said, if you love it make some noise!  Now post this bad boy on your Facebook page and tell all your homies where it's at.  You're all too kind.

Till the next ramble, play on playa's...

Heretic in a very non-religious sense...

Image via WikipediaWhat has become of our culture?  Why do we prescribe to this system of beliefs and unwritten laws, that tells how we are to act and feel in any given circumstance?

So here I am feeling guilty, because I'm supposed to.  Try as I may I just can't truly feel bad for no longer working at the dysfunctional catastrophe of a workplace, where I spent at least 40 hours of my week.  What has happened to us, America?  We spend the majority of waking hours shuffling paper in the name of productivity.  Yelling and screaming at each other, cuz we all get the same doomsday feeling in our stomach every Sunday night.

I'll get back on track, but I'm not going to feel bad for enjoying some time off, to re-memorize my kid's names.  I feel as free as Peter in Office Space.

Parenting: getting beat at my own game...

I wonder if my kids would think twice if they knew they were copying antics, from the rule book on scamming parents, written by yours truly.  You would think that this would give me some kind of edge on parenting, having been a young deviant myself.  What I didn't learn til later in life is what would allow so many kids to rule the world.  Don't let your kids read this next part.

If only I knew while sitting on the floor in my room, as a young apprentice, with army action figures strategically placed, papers containing logs and graphs written in crayon, and of course a watchmen to inform me of adults that might be approaching.  I could have saved myself a lot of time by writing:  Parents are generally lazy and have less stamina then I do.  Booyah, rule book complete.  Kids think they're clever, but they're just repeating the same stuff I did.  Their real edge is the parental laziness factor.  Most parents don't have the time or are too tired to be concerned with little tantrums, therefore we pick our battles.  Two year olds on the other hand can go rounds all night, even as they're falling asleep.  Better not let the Army see this either or they'll lower the drafting age

So why don't I take charge knowing the antics that are coming my way?


1.  Because I am to lazy to deal with every little tantrum.
2.  Because there is a small part of me that just wells up inside, knowing that my kids are challenging the system at such a young age.  Even if the system is me.

This is dangerous, I suppose.  It is possible that kids get the wrong idea and think they run the house (current state of the union).  The worst problem is that when you do fly off the handle after putting up with a zillion tantrums, all bottled up, your kids will start wearing tight pants and crying all the time.  If they're boys they'll start wearing make-up and if they're girls they either stop wearing make-up or start wearing black make-up.  This is the uniform, if you will, for the modern day oppressed suburban children.

You see back in the day parents didn't have things like more than 1 TV or handheld gaming systems, to avoid every single battle.  So parents would have to deal with it.  It's hard to ignore a tantrum being thrown on gameday right in front of the TV, when it's your only TV.  Quick solution: Whoopin, they won't cry for too long.

And that is why I'm King.  I call it the care factor.  They care to win every little battle.  I win by not caring about each little battle.  No matter what the outcome is I'll always be sure to explain why I've won...