Month: May 2011

My Weekend in Review

Monday, 30 May 2011

1) A few moments ago, I completed a lengthy search on how to edit my font and style for this blog. I am incredibly frustrated. It seems ridiculous that a site desgined for bloggers makes it harder to have snazzy fonts, underlines, and what have you than creating a MySpace blog does. Many moons ago, when I began my blog escapades on MySpace, I could alter the color of my font, change the size, justify sections, etc. It was a writer’s paradise. Well, not really. It was MySpace, and I assume the advantages and freedoms of editing text contributed to the virus/bot mill that MySpace could be at times.

Now, I find myself ignorant and frustrated that my entries are relegated to this boring look. I envy the other bloggers who have these neat little formatting dealies going on in their blogs. I understand how the undereducated must feel; I can see what is before me, but it makes no sense. I am in the WordPress Dark Ages. Of course, I am certain that there is a way to format text, and it has to be rather simple (while it is eluding me…my ADD refuses to allow me continue the search as I keep getting distracted by other sites). I know this has to be the case because I copied a post that I wrote in Word or something and the formatting transferred to my post. Unfortunately, when I went to peek at the style using the HTML tab, the formatting stayed, and there was no code. C’est la vie.

Eventually, I will stop being lazy and figure this formatting out. Until then, my writing will have to stand on it’s own without the bells and whistles of colorful text and neat little formatting niceties.

2) Today, I cut down a large, dead tree. By large tree, I mean that the tree was tall. Since I was not very keen on using a chain saw, I tackled the task with a hand saw. I really do love my primitive technology (excepting my iPhone, Playstation 3, and Alpha Romeo)! Sawing through the dead maple mass was not as difficult as I expected, and instead of sawing through the whole tree, I stopped halfway through, secured a rope above the cut, and pulled the tree the rest of the way down. Now there is a tree stump that is about five feet tall that I have to remove. Actually, it could be cool to let some climbing vegetation have the stump as support. Maybe some beans or a decorative grape vine. Charlotte suggests that I carve it into a deranged squirrel.

3) Today, an intern called me up and said that no one was at the Thunderdome to let him inside for work. I reminded him that as today was a Federal holiday that was not either Christmas-y or Easter-y, then the Foundation’s offices were closed and employees could enjoy a day off. I commented that my ADD must have gotten the best of me while multi-tasking memos last Friday and I forgot to mention the day off for newcomers. He stated that he just observed that I never abbreviate anything, except for my ADD and OCD. I never noticed that before.

Sunday, 29 May 2011

1) My secretary went shopping, and bought clothing items for herself. This is odd to me because she tends to avoid crowds, people, and clothes buying in general, unless I force her out on some adventure so that I have a chaperone when needed. Well, she comes in and says to me: “Look, I got these boots!” I looked at the gotten boots and my jaw dropped. The boots were shiny, tight, black and went as far up her thigh as my cock travelled down mine in admiration of the new footwear. The boots have heels that add about two inches to her petite frame, but I have never been opposed to anyone being taller than me (a lot of people are taller than me, that is just how it is, follks).

After tantalizing me with these sexy boots, she left the room and returned wearing this tight top and short skirt that immediately made me want to jump her right there. However, there were people blocking my junk and alas, I was denied a joyful trist.

2) Sometimes, you just need to have Chinese food. There is a wonderful little place here in Samurai City that I like to stop in and enjoy when I am in town. What makes them the bomb-diggity is that they will take any dish and vegetarian it up for me. What makes them evil is that they have given me an addiction to Orange Tofu. So, I placed an order and went to get my delicious fix. When I got there, I was told that a friend of mine had come and gotten my order (which they thought was sesame chicken and orange chicken) and after a little clarification, it was determined that somehow my order had not gotten made and some mysterious “friend” had not come and gotten my food.

Since the chicks who work at this restaurant are super hot, I was not opposed to re-ordering and sitting to wait for my order to be ready. After I sat for about five minutes, this dude walks in and says that a part of his order was missing. Hot Chick Number Two asks what his order was and he rattles off the items that are in an order on the counter. Apparently, when he got home and checked his order, it was sesame chicken and orange chicken. Now, Hot Chick Number Two informs him that he took the wrong order entirely and that if he brings that one back in, he can get his order and be on his way. Well, this fellow believes that he is entitled to the order he took home, and his actual order for free since he had to make the trip out. Hot Chick Number One then asks him why he did not bring the incorrect order back so that he could have gotten his correct one? He said that the mistake was theirs and that was how he saw it; it should cost them, not him. The Hot Chicks held their ground and the fellow left to go and get the other food to bring back so he could get his now cold, but proper, order. After he left, Hot Chick Number One looked at me and said: “If he would have brought the first order back and was not so greedy, I would have let him have both orders.”

3) Also, on her shopping excursion, my secretary bought me a few shirts. You see, I like sleeveless shirts (not wife beaters) and will wear a sleeveless shirt when working out, under my gi, or if I feel like showing off the wonderful tattoo art on my biceps. Normally, I prefer shirts that fit me pretty loosely, however, I bought one of those “Under Armor” shirts and fell in love with it. Feeding my love for this shirt, my wonderful, sexretary bought me two more of the sleeveless ones (another black one and a white one) and one that is a long-sleeved, crew neck shirt. She says that the longsleeve shirt will be good for me on cooler days. She takes good care of me. I would be lost without her. It is strange to make this statement based on something as innocuous as a shirt, but it is in these smallest of gestures that she shows just how much I mean to her. My affections are returned a million-fold.

Saturday, 28 May 2011

1) For some reason, I do not remember much of Saturday at all. I remember going for a run, but not really much beyond that. I did my show and played a bit more psychobilly music than I usually play and had pizza for dinner. Oh! I did go to a store at the Mall here and get a cool skull. The skull is red and lights up, switching colors from red to blue to purple to greenish to whitish. My secretary bought some henna and has been experimenting with it on everyone that comes in her direction. She did a neat piece down the center of my back, but I messed it up by moving around and lifting weights. Apparently, I was not supposed to be moving about.

2) Upon further consideration, I do remember one thing. I caved in and got a yahoo messenger account and now have added that info here. Not here, in this post, but here on WordPress somewhere. I am not sure where. If this makes no sense to you, see item number one from Monday, 30 May 2011, and add it to my learning WordPress woes.

Sunday, 27 May 2011

Sometimes, I have to get out and about. I enjoy a cruel irony that dictates that I go out and be around people from time to time although I tend to hate being around them. Not only am I a compulsive people watcher, I do have friends, and recently, many of them have begun to pass off from this world. I now feel the necessity to go out and see them because I fear that each time I have seen them will be the last time that I see them. Many of these friends helped me through some difficult times; I almost stopped existing when the Evenstar fell from the sky, but a few souls keep me grounded and about. Without them, this Xavier would not be. The Rothechilde Foundation would be in the hands of some law firm dedicated to ensuring its survival on the interest that the Rothechilde Trust generates.

While the need to explore is great, the compulsion to stay inside and behind doors is so great that often an excuse has to come about for me to go out. It is during these moments that I play opportunist and tend to an excuse and see those of those whom I have not seen in ages. This particular excuse was a gathering of disgruntled Samurai City Consolidated Schools employees who were laid off due to state-wide buget cuts. I understand they are upset and worried about their future, but they have to remember that an uneducated populace makes for more docile labor. Once the people get educated, they start to get concerned with equality in wages, occuaptionaly safety, and health benefits. Keep them near stupid, and they are happy to recieve a shiny new quarter and the machine can grow bigger and crush more of the opposition to the American Way.

But this is not about politics, this is about the generous hand of the Rothechilde Foundation being sent out through the representation of its Chief Executive Officer and President, Xavier A. S. Rothechilde, to buy drinks for these disgruntled soon to be unemployed and offer them an opportunity for employment through the Foundation. While the pay would be less, the benefits would be great. We at the Thunderdome believe that keeping the rabble healthy keeps them at work and we pay less for unproductive sick days (that are not rolled over annually…).

I met the crew in a parking lot located across the street from one of Manthony’s joints. When he saw us walking up, he seemed a bit annoyed to learn that we were not stoppin in but rather going to a local bar that caters to a crowd that likes music from the Eighties. As an old school goth, I love some Eighties music. However, this was music representing all that was wrong with the Eighties: hair bands, cock rock, and Journey (which is a guilty pleasure of mine – I used to sing Journey covers in a band a while back). I told Manthony that we would stop back through for a bit and headed to the Gay-ties bar. I had a Captain and Coke, and enjoyed some pleasant conversation with the crew. There was no music from The Cure or anything that was remotely of interest to me. So, I contented myself with hanging with the employees as the crew dwindled from six to three (counting myself). One of these three had these massive boobs. I mean, tremendous. But, not obscenely so. The shirt that contained these tits created a cleavage that demaned that I stick a finger in, but I did not since I was unsure of how the cleavage owner would have liked that; Charlotte suggested that I stick my face in the cleavage and motorboat the Hell out of that Shit no matter the consequences (you know, “in for a penny, in for a pound…”).

After about an hour, we travelled down to Manthony’s and sat in a booth on the karoake side of the bar rather than sit in my Very Important Xavier room where I could observe the crowd and watch the company. We sat, had a couple drinks, and generally a decent time was had by all. I was even well-behaved and did not show off my collection of iPhone pornography that I tend to show friends at Manthony’s as a conversation/threesome/foursome/orgy starter. Finally, I had definitely been out for long enough and headed on my way.

Here and Now

Currently, I am sitting here and watching the Law and Order Marathon on TNT. In the next few minutes, I will be changing the channel to watch Monday Night Raw. Yes, you read that correctly. And it is on that unclimatic, unexciting note that I shall end this lengthy post. If you happen to feel pity for me and decide to send me a bit of info on how to code my blog for cool formatting and shizzle. feel free. I would be most appreciative.

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Tonight on Darkside Radio with DJ Xavier

Darkside Radio with DJ Xavier

Greetings and Salutations! After a lengthy battle with my cable Internet provider, my connection issues have been resolved and tonight your beloved DJ Xavier returns to the Internet airwaves. So, tune in for a absinthe laden, gothic/industrial/dar80s/psychobilly time. The show starts at ten o’ clock Eastern Standard Time. And you can find the site above or by clicking here. You may have to sign into your media player, who knows…just tune the fuck in! Heh heh heh…

For those of you unfamiliar with my show, you never know what to expect; I try to stick to a theme of darkness, so anything goes if it can possibly give you the creeps or inspire you to leave your coffin for a moment to dance. While below is a list of the artists that are planned for the night, my lineup is subject to change (I do take requests, find me on Twitter: @XRothechilde). Tonight’s stream will feature the following artists:

Featured Artists

 The Doors

Leonard Cohen

Joy Division

Peter Murphy

The Smiths

Love and Rockets

Siouxsie and the Banshees (for Rachael)

The Asteroids Galaxy Tour

Depeche Mode

The Gothacoustic Ensemble (for Charlotte)

Rob Zombie

Lacuna Coil

Switchblade Symphony

HorrorPops

Mad Marge and the Stonecutters

Nekromantix

That Handsome Devil

Kidneythieves

Muse

Garbage

Wednesday 13

Mindless Self Indulgence

Nine Inch Nails

Ministry & Co Conspirators

Type O Negative

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

A Perfect Circle

Snake River Conspiracy

Candymachine 88 & Tina Root

Puscifer (for Di)

The Cult (for Tracey)

Michael Andrews & Gary Jules

Placebo

The Cure (for DJ Mirage)

And there you have it folks, tune in tonight and give the show a listen. This post was reposted from another blog…it was supposed to show up here as well. Why it did not, I do not know.

Welcome to the Sanitarium?

This is a short post designed as a Public Service Announcement from the Executive Board of Directors of the Rothechilde Foundation from the Desk of Xavier A. S. Rothechilde, President of the Rothechilde Foundation.

What in the Hell was that all about. Really. This is the last time that I trust an intern to open a blog entry for me. “Make it a short salutation,” I said. “Keep it neat and clean,” I said. And instead, I get that horrible introductory yibber-yabber dog nuts that is outrageously pretension, even for myself.

But I have gone way beyond the intention of brevity for this posting. Basically, I wanted to make you aware of a new addition to my blog. Sister Constance, or Arabella, or whomever she claims she may be will appear from time to time to add her two cents to the world.

Treat her kindly, she is a vicious and vengeful Gemini.

I’m nervous.

So… Mr. Rothechilde was kind enough to let me post on his blog as a contributor. Oddly enough I didn’t have to submit any nudes or do anything otherwise unseemly! Why anyone would want me to post anything is beyond me. I don’t have a large amount of self esteem, but at the same time I’m totally vain. Vainglorious! I forgot I wanted to use that word from now on.

Anyway, I’m not doing any sort of “tell me about yourself” nonsense, because I find that annoying and stifling.  So here’s a poem. Don’t ask me what it’s about, because I’m sure as hell not explaining it. Poems are whatever you want them to be about. I posted this and a couple others on my Facebook as notes, but no one seemed to read them. If they DID read them, they didn’t comment. I didn’t expect much. Most everyone I know there is either related (and therefore lacking in good taste, breeding, intelligence, and caring about things like this), or completely self absorbed/only into funny things I post.  So, why the hell don’t I just shut up and post the fucking poem for god’s sake?

Consequences of Your Distraction

Our friendship is a one way street, and I’m putting up a roadblock.
Your attention is on the radio, and what you can glean from the lyrics
So you weren’t looking
At the signs.
You duck out of the weather reports and the self important traffic to give me a smile.
That’s all you have time for.
I do not have neon parts.
Nor am I willing to direct traffic naked.
Your loss is no one’s gain, because no one would understand anyway.
No one else speaks FRENCH
And neither do you, nor I, but we pretended.
In reality you stammer and stutter
Are very SHORT.
You sit on a pillow while driving, thinking your brain makes up for lack of height.
I wasn’t willing to be a backseat driver, more like a passenger.
You’re still listening to the radio.
I’ll wait for this song to end.

Who Cares About Organizations? We Have Pissy Pants Plants to Cultivate!

This particular board meeting was particularly boring. Smeagol, our not-esteemed Vice President was in the middle of discussing the status of our maintenance staff. It seems that all of them, from custodians to handyfolk to groundskeepers had decided to organize and threatened to strike if we did not recognize their union and a few other demands. Personally, I had stopped listening to his blathering; a few states in the union have already illustrated the uselessness of organized labor and decided that eliminating them would be the next best attack on the middle class.

Why should the Foundation be any different? I understand they are not civil employees like those the states have started to assault (while smartly avoiding any reductions to those that govern), but the Rothechilde Foundation should be innovative. It is only a matter of time before corporate America follows the lead of state governments and I intend to set precedent rather than use them as defense.

I was ready to call for a lunch recess when the meeting was blessed with a frantic interruption from Sister Constance:

Sister Constance: “We have been violated!”

Vice President: “Excuse me, but we are trying to dis…”

Sister Constance: “Shut it! Or I will…”

Me: “Okay, everyone relax. What seems to be the problem? As this seems to be most pertinent, I will allow the breech of protocol. I assume this is agreed without needing a vote as the only objection is sure to come from the boring Vice President.”

Smeagol: “Hey..!”

Everyone Else: “Agreed.”

Me: “Now, Sister Constance, what seems to be the issue?”

Sister Constance: “Yesterday, all was well in the arboretum, it smell lovely and the koalas and alligators were content. Today, it smells like pee pants! The koalas are distressed and the ‘gators are cranky. We can’t have an arboretum that smells of pee pants!”

Charlotte: “Manthony, didn’t you just have some new plants delivered to the Thunderdome?”

Manthony: “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Madame Secretary: “Wait, I seem to recall receiving an appointment confirmation from some landsc…”

Manthony: “Shh! Maybe she is smelling mossy hobos?”

Vice-President: “Mossy hobos?”

Manthony: “Yeah, dey unwashed asses grew some moss cuz dey so dirty. Dat moss is camouflage and shit, so you think they plants and not people.”

Vice-President: “Outrageous! How can you be so insensitive?!”

Me: “Indeed! These mossy, malodorous cretins should have never gotten into the Thunderdome, particularly the arboretum! Why did the alligators not eat them or koalas maim them!” This, this is potentially serious. I knew I should have carried a larger pistol today…”

Charlotte, Sister Constance, Smeagol: “What?! That’s terrible!”

I was obviously surprised by the strangeness of that chorus. I was not alone in noticing this, and the equally observant, still outraged and now angry Charlotte spoke up:

Charlotte: “You bastard!!! I ought to taze you to death for making me have an outraged outburst with the Vice President! That’s low. Anyway, we’ll deal with that later; this anti-hobo propaganda of yours is rather disturbing to me. Personally, I like hobos and object to any mistreatment of them be they mossy or not.”

Sister Constance: “The critters are meant to add beauty to the Thunderdome while punishing violators (punishing the evil would probably eliminate most of this board, Mr. Rothechilde…) of its splendor, not to attack hobos. They are allowed free passage. Besides, they could be managed cheaply with cigarettes, sandwiches, and vodka.”

Vice-President: “You two are sick! That is NOT what I meant. I find your attitude toward the homeless disgusting.”

Charlotte: “Well, if they are living in the arboretum, they are technically not homeless.”

Manthony: “…and there ain’t no boxcars up in there, so they ain’t hobos either.”

Me: “They still can be hobos, trains are not a requirement. I check the Alpha Hearse for hobos all of the time.”

Madame Secretary: “No matter what they may be, they should not inhabit the arboretum unsanctioned, at least not without contributing to the expense of their inhabitation.”

Me: “Well, we could arm the hobos, provided they did not turn on us, employees, or ‘legal’ visitors. That would allow them to pay for their upkeep.”

Charlotte: “Upkeep?! Upkeep?! These are humans we are talking about, they deserve respect! Asshole, they are not pets to be kept.”

Me: “My bad. They could pay for their room and board.”

Madame Secretary: “Much better. And that is acceptable. I’ll draft a labor agreement immediately.”

Sister Constance: “This is ridiculous! There is a disgusting piss-plant stinking up the fucking arboretum and I want it out! Why in the Hell are we discussing imaginary hobos?”

Me: “Damn, swearing nuns are hot!”

Charlotte: ” Hell yeah…”

Manthony: “Look, da new flowers make a good toxin. It will paralyze a fool, then make him wet hisself like a baby.”

Us: “Eww!”

Madame Sectetary: “How is that beneficial?”

Manthony: “Hell, I jus’ thought it was cool. An’ I needed space to cultivate my plants, so I stashed ’em next to the marigolds. Rabbits even hate dat shit, so I figured it was kosher.”

Me: “Well it is certainly not a cheeseburger or pork, but not necessarily kosher. What if the board authorizes the construction of a green house for ‘research horticulture and botany?'”

Manthony: “Dat’ll work!”

Sister Constance: “I don’t care, just get the pissy pants plants out of the arboretum main.”

Charlotte: ” You’ve been watching too much Harry Potter, nunsy; you’re starting to sound British. Does that count as a motion and second?”

Madame Secretary: “I would say it does…”

Smeagol: “Wait! We need to discuss this! Besides, we were supposed to be discussing whether to accept the terms of the maintenance staff and their desire to unionize. We have abandoned the who point of what we were discussing and moved on to nonesense.”

Manthony: “Point of Order! A motion has been made and seconded; the Vice-President is out of line! Besides, protecting our shizzle is always on topic, boyee.”

Me: “Mr. Treasurer is correct, the Vice President will shut the fuck up! Besides, if we fire them all before they unionize, we can fire them. If they come near the Thunderdome we can sue them, have them arrested, or shoot them in self-defense. Now, all in favor of building a new greenhouse for research purposes, say ‘Aye.'”

And with that, the Foundation Thunderdome began the process of building a new research facility to explore the joys of potentially toxic, stinky plants. It seems that the workers would have to wait once again to have their day. They should be fortunate our distraction allowed us to avoid firing them for one more day. That is exactly how the lower classes need to live their days…waiting and happy for any crumb they can get; this is the home of the American Dream, no?

Feeling Quote-y

“…For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks…”

— William Shakespeare, Henry V, Act 4 scene 3

Things That I Need to Pay Closer Attention To: Part XXX

While reading blogs of interest, I noticed that one of the blogs that I subscribe to, and even provide a link to on my page, may not be something that is really worth a “READ THIS” endorsement. Please, do not get me wrong, the “owner” of the site is a great person and I enjoy the random conversation fragments that I have had with her in the past couple of weeks. Yet, the truth must be told: I am nearly certain that the site in question is not one for “literary” entertainment. If you are curious to know what link that is, you can easily discover which one on your own, for I shall not out the person of which I write.

Rapture Ramblings (via The Ramblings of D. A. Adams)

As I read the blogs that I subscribe to this morning, I came across this lovely interview with God regarding the Apocalypse and why it occurred and we did not notice. Read and enjoy while you enjoy a bagel and coffee with me.

Rapture Ramblings Contrary to popular belief, Harold Camping was correct.  The rapture did occur yesterday.  Unfortunately, however, none of us made the cut.  Since the liberal media won't report on such things and Fox News is too busy trying to roll back human rights for the working class to pay attention to anything else, The Ramblings of D. A. Adams was granted an exclusive interview with the supreme being, the great spirit, aka God.  Shockingly, he does look a … Read More

via The Ramblings of D. A. Adams

Reading the News: A Few Items That Caught My Eye

If you are a person whom happens to be familiar with my typical blog entries, you would also now be a person whom has noticed that my posts have not been particularly “Xavier-y.” For the unitiated, or newy initiated, this means that my writings are hardly deserving of the dark, pseudo-gothic satire that it is supposed to present for your reading enjoyment. To be completely honest (which may imply that typically I may not be completely honest…but that is neither here nor there for the time being), I have been off of my game a bit as this is a new blog, and I am still figuring out the basics of formatting and establishing a group of readers; my previoys MySpace audience is non-existant and the Facebookers just avoid the blogscene methinks.

As a result, there have been few new tales of the adventures of the Foundation Board of Directors, my brushes with those who are victims of the establishment, my wonderful, black Alpha Romeo that has been tricked out to look like a coffin, etc have all been brushed aside as things slowly progress here in this new style and format. While the new tales have been few, the news has been much…and alarming.

The CNN story that first caught my eye was that of Christian Choate. Actually, the very first thing that caught my eye was a story about the tornado that decimated Joplin, MO, but I had already watched that on the news as I prepared to head to the Thunderdome and was not a part of my online news fiesta. Anyway, Christian apparently was killed by his father and step-mother and no one knew about this for two years. No one asked or searched for the kid. The siblings in the house kept quiet as their parents kept this boy caged and beat him regularly and eventually to death. The main question is the title of the article: “why did no one know the boy was missing?”

That is what gets me the most. Here in the State of Michigan, we have been banned from smoking in bars and such, it is extremely difficult for teenagers to driver’s licenses, and we get charged an extra fee for being an irresponsible driver added to any driving infraction. Basically, the government here is always in our faces. Having an economic edge keeps The Man out of my face for a minute or two, but there he is nonetheless; all up in my grill for little shit. And the Feds are not much better – The Big Brother (also The Man), is so occupied with sexual reproductive rights of individuals, regulating the private lives of homosexuals, and protecting big banks that foreclose on homeowners like crabs on a hobo-whore that important things like a little boy who suddenly disappears goes unnoticed. I understand the family claimed he was homeschooled, but if we have sat and allowed the State of Arizona to pass Nazi legislation that can demand that any person of color “show them their papers,” then at least someone could have politely asked: “what happened to that one boy who used to live here?” They claimed he ran away; I had always assumed that parents looked for their children. I guess you would not if he was supposed to be caged…

Yesterday, I wrote about the lack of the Apocalypse, and how said non-event disappointed my plans to hunt zombies. While denied the living dead skeet shoot bonanza, I was able to find out just what those who were expecting the End are now thinking since the day has come and gone and it seems that everyone is still here. Apparently, while they are disappointed )and some are probably wondering what they are to do since they quit their jobs and made plans for the hereafter), they are taking solace in the fact that the dude who predicted the Rapture was a victim of his age old foes: arithmetic and science. You see, it appears that our non-Doomsday prophet has made this assertion of the End of Days before and was thwarted by forces of reason and education:

“Camping, a degreed engineer (not a pastor) who claims to have made the Bible his “university” for more than 50 years, has experience with failed prophecies. He once claimed the world would end in September 1994, later chalking that snafu up to biblical miscalculations and the need for further study. This time around, he said earlier this year, he had no doubts.”

After re-reading that, he miscalculated something Biblical; I was mistaken in my sarcastic snarkfest a couple of paragraphs ago. However, I do feel vindicated: a man who has studied a the University of the Bible for fifty years should be above such mathematical error when making biblical calculations. And he should know enough to know that assuming he was going to be taken and not left should the world have gotten all Rapture-y is a bit arrogant, and he should have made preparations for those of his followers who gave up everything so that they could join him in going to Jesus’ crib. In the end (which, I guess it is not), Harold Camper predicted the End and left to meet that end. However, I have to ask myself if he gave up what his followers gave up in order to move on from this world. I mean, he has a job still, correct? And I am certain that he still has his cash to keep him comfortable until he dies. For those who gave up everything only to discover that you are now not getting everything in the afterlife and are staying in the here and now, take solace in knowing that throughout history, people have been predicting the Apocalypse. I am sure that you are not the first to now find themselves broke, jobless, and homeless, but still faithful nonetheless. Besides, as the article points out, there is still hope for the end to come…keep your head up.

Now, for the most exciting part of this post! So exciting to me that I just had to use an exclamation point at the end of that sentence. It just so happens that while I was getting all excited about the prospect, I may not have been accurate prepared for the plague of zombies that would have been ripe for the hunting as I was predicting/hoping for this past Sunday. I should have seen what the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention had to say about being properly prepared for a Zombie Apocalypse. After reading the article, I quickly made sure that the Thunderdome was adequate prepared for an assault from the living dead and then drove back to my Estate to see if I did have the items needed should I be at home when the zombies strike. As it turns out, the only thing that I was missing were the extra gallons of water. As a precaution, there are now very many gallon containers stored in the Thunderdome basement, and the facility is fully prepared for a zombie invasion. Kudos to the CDC for raising awareness in the coolest of ways. I think that has been the most interesting thing that I have encountered online in a long time.

“It’s the End of the World as we know it, and I feel fine…”

Just when I had thought that it would be safe to venture out and about, I learned that the Rapture scheduled for yesterday never came to pass. At least that is how it seems to be going down at this time. Really? All of the preparations that I made for today have been thrown to the wind and completely discarded. Thank you Harlod Camping for ruining what would be my first opportunity to go hunting.

However, I was elated to learn that Judgement Day was at hand, according to Mr. Camping, and come Sunday morning when all of the good Christians were taken wherever they were going to be taken, there would be a host of left-behind Christian zombies to plink away at while otherwise enjoying an oddly quite day. Not being a Christian has its advantages; apparently we “nons” are ignored in the grand reckoning to come. That is, unless we are considered heretics or non-believers and therefore deserving of punishment with the left-behinders…which I certainly doubt.

So, it was this morning that I awoke to discover that everything apparently was the same as it was when I went to bed last night, and the Rapture was not late, it seemingly did not come to pass. At least that is what Christians who were down with that idea may be thinking now. I offer a different take on the subject, suppose the Rapture did come, and all of the Christians that are wandering about now are ones that were left behind. What if there is not one single Christian who is deserving of what was allegedly supposed to come last Saturday a couple of hours after lunch? What if all of the Christians walking, driving-running-biking, about are actually not fit for hanging with the J-man?

That is not something for me to say. I am a bit of a narcissist, but I am far too intelligent to assume that I could begin to know the mind of something that I would call “god.” Particularly if that god is supposed to one that is transcendent. That which is situation above and separate, can never be truly understood by that which is below. Fortunately, my view on diety does not include the requirement or dogmatic assumption that my gods are transcendent; diety walks through and with me always, it is a part of my experience and I am not one to wait around for my religion to experience me…

And the world still turns. The sun rose, the sun set. The moon glows above and the wind howls about as a storm brews on the horizon. Instead of Christian-zombie skeet shooting, I have to be content with another walk to the range. It seems that my target practice will still be inanimate bulleyes and statues of hated enemies stored and silent in the range in the back-end of the orchards. The walk ought to me a nice one: the new grape arbors look wonderful against the white blossoms that are now raining about thanks to the high wind. Man. It would have been a great night to hunt zombies.

Warning: This Post Contains Many Penii

Lately, I have been overwhelmed by penis. Many women will tell you that men only think about their dicks, but that is not really true. We tend the pass most of the day without paying much attention to the trouser mouse unless we have to go to the restroom or if something “motivating” happens to pass by. However, the sad case is, the fellow is often neglected unless we need it for a wank or some other thing. You would think that it would be something that is thought of more often seeing that it is an appendage; we know it is there, we just do not pay it much thought. Unless we happen to be baseball players and have to give ourselves random gropes to keep the closet homosexuals watching the game titillated. Okay, now that is not fair. I know that all baseball fans are not homosexuals, and homosexuals around the world are probably better off for that fact.

But this is not about homosexuals or baseball it is about penises. The ones that have been overwhelming me lately. Ironically, I do have to admit that a homosexual/homosexual hater will be mentioned later on, and he happens to be one of the dicks that have been overwhelming me lately. If you have an image of me being covered by male genitalia or assaulted by a gang of cocks wearing leather coats, swinging chains, and singing about the glories of being a Jet, LOSE THAT IMAGE! I have not been invaded by schmeckels. Rather, I have been subjected to numerous media occasions that feature swinging meat of various types and flavors. Personally, I blame it on iPhone literature and the Kindle for the iPhone app.

Unneccesary, slightly related, pseudo-porn

Recently, I purchased a collection of horror stories that were all centered on cannibalism. Really. I want to say that the book is called “The Book of Cannibals,” but I am not sure. I could go and look on my iPhone to be certain, but that would interrupt my flow and my ADHD would lead me to other venues…like Lego Star Wars III: The Clone Wars…and this would never get finished. But I digress. One of the stories in this collection is titled “Of Priapism and Big Breasts” or something like that. The quick summary: a hot chick with big boobs lures men via the internet. She lures men with big dicks. She meets the fellows, drugs them, ties them to a bed, and cuts off their tumescent cocks. She then cooks said cocks and eats them in front of the poor guy as he bleeds out.

Eventually, she meets a guy with a tremendous member, who by virtue of being crazy, resists her drugs, ties her to a chair and cuts of and eats her bountiful boobage. Yes, that is quite a story, and the associated graphic is a bit “extreme,” but I do have a vivid imagination and I wanted to make sure that your senses were as overloaded as mine. In any case, after reading the story, I started noticing that I was surrounded by a sea of floppy hu-Man sausage.

I do not include Ally-boy in the penis encounters because I have encountered his cock, but rather because he sets my gadar off as if I were hanging out at a RuPaul show, apparently hates gays, and is an intolerant prick. He is one of the dicks that has overwhelmed me lately. Remember, this is the same guy who created an app for the iPhone that would instruct others on how to cure gay-ness. Apple pulled his app soon after receiving many complaints. Perhaps they did not see that his blog clearly identifies him as a “leading speaker on gender issues.” If they had know that, perhaps he would have been appreciated as more than a homophobic penis.

Alan Chambers: sexy in lavender!

Having cured himself of his problematic gayness, Mr. Chambers seeks to spread the word to others that faith in Christ can help save you from your rump-rangery urges. Faith can help you stop acting gay and just keep up the gay look for shits and giggles or whatever reason you may be trying to pretend that you are a “reformed homosexual.” He believes that sexuality is a choice. If you believe this as well, then I ask you, if you are a heterosexual, when did you make that decisison?

For my next penile encounter, I have to travel back to last night. I watched a program on the learning channel called “Taboo” (sorry, no clever pictures here). This show featured “adult babies,” women who carry around real-looking fake babies, cosplay, and a thirty-six (I think that was the age) year-old virgin. I am not going to address the adult baby people. The man looked like a giant baby, his “mommy” had tits that hung to her knees (kind of like Ogra, from “The Dark Crystal”), and he disturbed me a bit. The other two items on the show…not too much to go on. The one item, I left out, was a transgender person, who is going to get a surgery to change him into a male physically. You see, he was a girl, and now wants to finish the look, so to speak.

Now, I am all for doing what makes you whole, and technically, I do not feel to comfortable including this story in the penis discussion. However, penis was in my face during this segment of the show as a surgeon discribed the procedure involved to create a penis out of female genitalia. A main part of this surgery is the installation of tubes that air can be pumped into for the creation of an erection. A cyborg balloon dick! Resistance is futile and safe to fourteen PSI! His lucky girlfriend is going to select the size his junk is going to be. Word on the street is that she is a size queen…

And that about does it for my pertinent experience with dick this week. I am sure there are others. There are dicks driving about all over the place, and generally showing up in everyone’s lives at some point to pee in the lemonade or spread their verbal smegma about the atmosphere to annoy and pester the general public. However, it should be noted that being a dick can be catching: if you spend too much time around penis you start to behave like one yourself. It has happened to me. What is coming next could be seen as penis-y behavior, but I am who I am, and sometimes, I am a dick. But you can still love me, I am harmless to most.

Yesterday I was Binging friends (Bing is my default search because I am too lazy to switch to Google; so I Bing things, I guess) and associates and I entered my dawg, Manthony’s, name for a search. First, I noticed that terror of language, Urban Dictionary, had a definition of Manthony. I was not amused. I was amused by this MAnthony, however. Oh, Mr. Secretary, if you only knew that skinny, Asian men are stealing your namesake and using it to promote their scrawny frames that they hope to turn into pillars of muscle in the future. After taking a closer look at the spelling of this cat’s name, I observed that he was not really a “Manthony.” He is a “MAnthony.” The extra capital letter really makes a difference on Facebook. Ha.

After reaching this Manthony, however, I immediately stopped looking for Manthonys and could not stop laughing. Really. I had to stop writing this, bribe my secretary to start writing this so that I could enjoy a hearty laugh. I think I need to get a drink to calm my hysterical nerves! This Manthony is like the opposite of the Manthony that I have grown to love and mock.

Tonight on Darkside Radio

Tonight’s show was definitely one of my best times. It is not like I played a particularly grand set. It is not like I strayed too far from my format to annoy some visitors. It is not even the perverse pleasure I took in playing The Sisters of Mercy and then mocking the Gothic stereotype that goes along with playing such songs.

No, the good time came in the tremendous ego boost I got from a couple of really hot chicas on Twitter during the show. I am totally beside myself. My narcissism is running amok and the tremendous bulge in my pants has been made moreso tremendous by the attention paid to your humble Xavier.

The encounter has driven me decide that I need to take new pictures for promotionals and for the sake of sharing my wonderful visage with others. However, I have a horrible problem. I hate having my image stolen by those soul capturing devices and I never know what exactly to do when posing for pictures. I feel cliche and oddish when posing on my own. Perhaps I need a photographer to take the pictures. I know a couple, maybe I need to look into this.

In other news, I have been unusually quiet (or so I have been told) on the killing of Osama bin Laden. To be honest, I have been quiet intentionally. I have my reasons.

I was accused of being unpatriotic the other day. I was not wearing red to honor the troops on a Friday. I did not know this was something that was to be done. More importantly, my entire wardrobe consists of varieties of black, white, and some tans for variation. I have a red shirt that I wore when I worked the stage at the Altered Skin Revolution, but a tee-shirt, black socks, and black shoes seem weird together. Besides, the shirt would look terrible with my suitcoat. I could wear workout gear, but then I would be tempted to work out, get sweaty and take naughty showers with some the hotties at the gym.

Well, I believe that I am about out of words for the time being. I really only intended to brag about the hotties who flattered me during my show earlier, but I ended up going on much longer than intended. Maybe I am a little tired (and a lot tipsy from the effects of the Green Faery). It is time for some bedtime antics. Then some sleep. Maybe.