Month: February 2013

Saint Valentine’s Day Massacred?

Earlier today at the Rothechilde Foundation Thunderdome:

Me: “Greetings and Salutations, dear friends! What in the Hell is going on here? Have you all gone soft and sentimental?”

Charlotte (mouthful of chocolate): “Soft? No. But if my ass keeps eating all of the chocolate, the result may be my getting doughy in the middle:”

Manthony: “Naw, X-man, we ain’t gone soft. The Guvnor sent us some Valentine’s shit to send us into diabetic comas. Now, all this flower bullshit, I can always give ’em to some bitch at my club and get a pre-‘Steak and BJ day’ BJ. The cards, you can have them for target practice, mah nigga.”

Me: “Apparently, the sugar has made your brains deluded with carb-fed fats. You two are sorely mistaking me. I mean, since when do we sponsor any sort of corporate mass consumption that we ourselves are not responsible for creating ourselves?”

Madame Treasurer: “Well, we did’t include this sort of thing in the budget, and you didn’t write it in behind my back, so it is not our doing. What this is, is a gift from The Governor to us; probably some sort of thank you or reminder that he would like us to support his party when he’s out. The glad-handing season has begun.”

Me: “That makes me feel better. However, I must say that I cannot help but notice that my gifts seem to be missing; there is nothing here in front of my seat at our glorious table.”

M: “That, Sir, is because he didn’t send you anything.”

“Bye, bye, love…hello loneliness…”

Perhaps that is why I hate Valentine’s Day. No, not because I was denied gifty goodness — I am rather used to that. While it may seem hard to believe, I tended to get snubbed rather often when I was in school during the Valentine’s Day classroom card bonanza. Back when I was in elementary, it was okay to leave other children out of your gift giving to the class. Hence, this may be why a day of love began to represent a day of “Love-for-everyone-but-you” Day. A day that has made your dear author the eternal flesh exemplar of a Rastafarian Charlie Brown. While I bought the other brats stuffed animals made of real fur, and my teachers dozens of roses, I myself was lucky to go home with a card that I stole from some kid running about on a sugar high, erased his name, and then added my own. I was particularly fond of those with Batman kicking someone’s ass while suggestively leering at Catwoman and Robin as they all pose within a giant heart.

When I reached secondary education, my success rate as a Valentine receiver improved greatly. Teens understand the value of a dollar; when you give a young lady a stuffed Max Headroom doll covered with mink fur, your popularity skyrockets. Instead of having a beau take you to Showbiz (now Chuck E. Cheese) for video games and beer, you could roll with me and have a five course dinner served by quality home servants, or take a weekend flight to New York for a dinner in a posh five-star restaurant. So, Valentine’s Day did improve for me. As an adult, I enjoyed similar success. However, I began to resent being expected to buy gifts on Valentine’s Day more each year. Finally, I decided that I would not participate in the day. No red. No candy. No expressions of love to be set aside and sent on this wonderful fourteenth day of February.

The reason I am not fond of the day is because I think a holiday that encourages you to shower those you love on one particular day with gifts as a reminder of such love is unnecessary  Redundant even. I mean, for what other reason do we celebrate Christmas and birthdays? It is a day that Hallmark and the candy companies have decided that you should go out and prove your love with candy, cards, flowers, and jewelry – diamonds if you want some oral loving from the receiver of the gift. The day has little, if anything, to do with the man for whom the holiday is named.

 

True Love?

Saint Valentine  was a hitman for Al Capone. On February fourteen, ninety hundred and twenty-nine. Valentino killed seven dudes in a garage in Chicago at the order of Capone. His act was so incredible that he was beatified by the Pope. In his later years, he retired from his assassin’s lifestyle and performed marriages throughout the United States. Hence, the association with love. Okay, if you clicked the link, or if you happen to not be as gullible as a foreign exchange student being told that a “swirly” is how all piccolo players wash their hair at band camp. The actual story of Valentino still contains much gory, graphic violence. But that is where the similarities end.

If you ask me, I would have been much happier had modern Valentine’s Day stuck with the gory theme: the red could stand for the arterial blood spurting from the beheaded body of Valentine as it flopped in front of the executioner’s feet. The hearts we ingest could be symbols for the orgy of decadence that surely took place after this beheading…an orgy that could have ended with the beheaded’s heart being consumed by naked, Pagan Romans. Instead of Valentine cards promoting love, the cards would have the practical purpose of invitations to re-enactments or other sorts of parties. The flowers and candy? Well, excellent decorations and who can deny the decadence of chocolate. The presence of chocolate at an orgy increases the decadence factor by two thousand. Trust me on this one.

Perhaps that is too much for the common purpose. What if we stuck with the celebrating the day based on the apparent roots it has in Lupercalia. Now, that could be a party:

“While some believe that Valentine’s Day is celebrated in the middle of February to commemorate the anniversary of Valentine’s death or burial–which probably occurred around A.D. 270–others claim that the Christian church may have decided to place St. Valentine’s feast day in the middle of February in an effort to “Christianize” the pagan celebration of Lupercalia. Celebrated at the ides of February, or February 15, Lupercalia was a fertility festival dedicated to Faunus, the Roman god of agriculture, as well as to the Roman founders Romulus and Remus.

To begin the festival, members of the Luperci, an order of Roman priests, would gather at a sacred cave where the infants Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome, were believed to have been cared for by a she-wolf or lupa. The priests would sacrifice a goat, for fertility, and a dog, for purification. They would then strip the goat’s hide into strips, dip them into the sacrificial blood and take to the streets, gently slapping both women and crop fields with the goat hide. Far from being fearful, Roman women welcomed the touch of the hides because it was believed to make them more fertile in the coming year. Later in the day, according to legend, all the young women in the city would place their names in a big urn. The city’s bachelors would each choose a name and become paired for the year with his chosen woman. These matches often ended in marriage.”

Now, that is what I call a good time! Priests, spankings, and what appears to be the beginnings of the modern “key party:” the chick names in the urn. Awesome.

Now, if I could only find a bouquet of absinthe, I would be in business.

However, instead of awesome, we have gone with doing what the corporate hogs of the world want us to do. We took a “holy” day and completely secularized it into a means to make money by false showing of sincerity. You think I am being cynical? Are you a parent? Did your kid take Valentine’s cards and candy to her/his class for the other children to stuff in cleverly painted paper bags or shoe boxes? Do you think said kid really wanted to share the goodies with that grody little Roger who will not stop picking his nose and wants to kiss him/her? Or that smelly kid in the back who beats everyone up and takes their popcorn money? If your child did want to do such things, you have a child worthy of being beheaded just as Saint Valentine was due to the magnitude of that young ‘uns martyrdom.

I realize I sound like the what the Grinch may have been had he decided to steal this day instead of the other terribly commercialized holiday. Really,I do. I just do not care that I sound that way. While I may not be know for being a tender and loving soul, I try to show expressions of friendship, love and devotion to those that I hold in my own black heart on a daily basis. Whether it be showing up at a board meeting with bagels or doughnuts for breakfast, or taking dear friends out to my personal range for a full day of target practice and trying out the latest creations from that wonderful workshop of Professor Z, or surprising Charlotte or my secretary with my nude tumescence ready for some naughty and fun action, I try to do something that shows that the people I adore know that I adore them, and I try to do so more than once per year…and not according to the demands of Hallmark.

Have a Happy Valentine’s Day!

Forty Lent Suggestions

Ah, Fat Tuesday. A day that makes my Louisiana borne blood wish for bouncy jazz and bouncier tits. The grandiose parades, the crazy costumes, the people who normally would never be seen in by others in their skivvies dropping trow and raising shirt for plastic trinkets that will be lost before stumbling back to the hotel for two hours of sleep before round two begins.

However, that is just what I like about Mardi Gras. That and those wonderful Packzis, which I can enjoy now that I have found a baker who eschews lard. And which I can eat by the dozen thanks to my unique metabolism and general non-chubby state. Sorry, I am getting of track, thinking of boobs and Packzis can do that to you. What Mardi Gras actually is supposed to be is an advent of Lent, right? Please forgive me, I am a horrible reformed Catholic. All I really can say about Lent is that you are supposed to give up something you like for forty days. I am sure that is a rather glib and flippant interpretation, but that is just what it is sometimes, Jeeves.

I have been encountering friends, Catholic friends, whom have been wondering what to give up for Lent. None of them have liked my suggestions, some have even been a bit offended. That gave me an idea. I should write out some of my ideas here. Maybe even try to get forty of them.

Forty Things to Give Up for Lent:

1) Chocolate
2) Caffeine
3) Sugar…ALL sugar
4) Meat
5) Combing or brushing your hair
6) Swearing
7) Television
8) Sex
9) Brushing your teeth
10) Driving
11) Washing your hair
12) Work
13) Bathing
14) Showering
15) Bathing and Showering
16) Bacon
17) All red foods
18) Deodorant
19) Cosmetics
20) Nose picking
21) Justin Bieber (automatic entry to Heaven if you give him up forever)
22) Beer
23) Alcoholic beverages
24) Smoking (if you can make forty days, congrats! You are a non-smoker and have extended your life. Tell me how you did it so I can do likewise)
25) Masturbation (Or is that still considered sinful, and should not have been something to give up in the first place?)
26) Pickles
27) Standing in line (Simply tell people you have given it up for Lent and move to the head of the line. It will work out well. Trust me).
28) Facebook
29) Your mobile device
30) Being negative
31) Smiling (Your dourness would impress the most ardent of Stoics!)
32) Looking at breasts (If you chose this one, you have already blown it.)
33) Jealousy
34) Any weapons you own (What could possibly go wrong in those forty days?)
35) News media (Just the major news, go indie, baby!)
36) Vice
37) Shaving (This includes: face, legs, armpits, back, etc.)
38) Underwear
39) Your technology
40) Using paper

Enjoy the next forty days.

The Answer: “Not a Damn Thing”

The Question: What’s wrong with Xavier? I have been hearing that a lot the last few days. And my answer to that question seemed to be a perfect way to title this post.

I guess my actions of late have upset some. Apparently, I have been acting out of character. Funny. I hear those words, but my brain translates that into “Why aren’t you letting me walk all over you anymore?” Language is a funny thing. Words have meanings in themselves, but when arranged to form a sentence or thought, it is up to the listener to determine understanding of those words; lately the understanding people have been trying to convey to me is not the understanding that I myself have be getting.

For years, I have been a “go to” person. Always there to help, listen, shoot you in the face, etc. For years, I have walked the borderline between good and evil; those on my good side have always been honored and loved. Those on my bad side, or of whom I have no opinion have been subjected to what had to happen at the time. Within that matrix have been friends who turned out not to be such, and I still kept my loyalty.

Until recently. Recently, I just decided that I needed to start cutting loose the deadweight. I have begun saying: “You know what? I am done accommodating and feeling cheated like some cheap whore in an hourly rented hotel room. I am sick of placing people on pedestals and treating those I call friends as the highest on my list only to be forgotten, left behind…neglected.

I decided it was time to go back to my roots and stop being jaded into believing that my actions would be returned in kind. This has been a long time coming; my sense of altruism slowly being replaced by wanting something in return. Now it is blossomed into a wondrous sense of not giving a fuck, and trying to carve out a sense of peace for myself.

I have learned that I am totally responsible for my own happiness and that waiting for the Karma bus is a long, cold wait. My optimism may finally have been turned to a seething cynicism that tells me the truth, burning away the mote from mine eyes and revealing a knowledge that I had denied, had never wanted to accept. I am no better or different than anyone, why should I be treated so?

With that thought, I arrive at the answer for those who claim I am not myself, for those who wonder wrong with me. The answer: nothing. Absolutely nothing. I have become just like you.

Too Many Pandas

This entry has nothing to do with pandas in any quantity. In fact they will not be mentioned again in any form. I was just too lazy to come up with creative title and slacked and hacked on it instead of coming up with one. To be honest, I was more concerned that my entry here be advertised via my social network connections than I was about a title. So, I should not be shocked if people stop reading or feel disappointed. But that is how life goes. We get disappointed. So, I broke the rule of basic writing and skimped on the title. Do not be angry, think of it as not having enough money for an appetizer at Applebee’s.

I missed a bunch of holidays. An election. And who even knows what else. Basically, I have spent the last few months in a spiritual/emotional Hell hole. That, and immersing myself in science studies in preparation for medical school. Yes, medical school. Your dear Xavier has decided to become a medical professional. I am thinking genetic research. At this time you need not know more. Balancing my new forage into academia and my daily Foundation duties has caused me to be horribly neglectful of this here blog. The stories of my having to deal with some legal issues regarding an alleged incident involving escaped alligators and maimed children have been greatly exaggerated. All of the families allegedly involved have been compensated, and no children were eaten, or even killed.

Sadly, however, a tragic end did come to a dear, beloved friend of mine. A friend whom was almost a lover. A friend that I will always have a fond memory of and will never forget how much that dear friend meant to me. A couple of months ago, Darkside Radio went off the air. If I am not mistaken, my broadcast was the last for the show. I will miss the Darkside. It was one Hell of a ride and if I could do it all over again, I would be tormenting the airwaves with gothic sounds, inappropriate humor.

What brought me roaring back out of slumber was a discussion that I had the other day at my local gunsmith’s:

Proprietor: “You’ll love this one, Mr. Rothechilde. I have never seen a weapon fit a person so well.”

Me: “Ray, you say that every time, you flatterer. I could just kiss you. But, I am just not a rifle sort of guy, you know that.”

Proprietor: “Hey, I had to show it to you.”

Dude: “Hey guy, you should reconsider that. Pretty soon, the Government is going to make them illegal and you won’t be able to have them. What’s so funny? They’re going to take all of our guns! First these, then the rest!”

Me: “Silly man. I help pay for government. Those laws are not for me, I can and will do as I please, and they will allow it.”

Dude: “What’re you sayin’? I pay taxes, asshole!”

Me: “I do not. Well, very little, anyway. But I do pay to get lawmakers elected. Just not in taxes. Congress works for you; the politicians work for me. It is the best government that money can buy.”

This would be vanity were I not behind a tombstone.

This would be vanity were I not behind a tombstone.

And that brings me out to say my piece on the gun debate. Apparently, I missed a lot since I was in cyber-exile. Apparently, the country is afraid that the stern hand of Uncle Sam is going to reach into homes and take the firearms out, leaving a population at the mercy of thugs and murderous brigands. The government is not going to take guns from you because the government has more bullets than you. They also have bigger guns. And bombs. And robots that can kill a bunch of you from a distance. The guns you should be saying that you have rights to are already denied to you. I hate to say such things. I really do. But it is the horrible truth. And the reason why I am bringing this up is because the population is engaged in a torrid and sexy debate over what is to become of our cherished Second Amendment right.

This happens all of the time. Some lunatic goes lunatic-y and rudely kills a bunch of people with guns. Afterwards, everyone wants to start “doing something.” That doing something usually involves a statement on firearms. That statement starts the riffraff going on and on and fighting and fighting and eventually something is done, and no one is really happy.

Secretary: “Wow. That was insulting. Who are you talking about this time?”

Me: “Me? Insulting? Never. I am just keeping it real.”

Secretary: “That’s just a way to say ‘Nobody likes me because I tell the truth. People can’t handle my honesty. No. You’re a prick, sometimes. A big one. Not even a hard on, just a dick. And a bitch.”

Me: “You object to ‘riffraff?’I am glad I held back my actual opinion. By ‘riffraff’ I mean that ninety-nine percent that those crazy liberals claim are being selfish and greedy and not paying their share. And that was a little harsh, I am a very nice person when people are doing what I want and need them to be doing.”

Secretary: “Right, right. So, obviously you are not talking about yourself…”

Me: “Sarcasm does not become you, my dear. Okay, I lied, it is actually pretty sexy. But not I am not talking about myself. Those laws do not pertain to me.”

What I mean here is that I can do things that most cannot. Like, I pay to go to dinners that cost thousands per plate to listen to what my candidate has to say? Do you, the general public, do the same? No, you do not. You sit at home and listen to what we tell the media to tell you and then you argue about it. You argue about that and other petty things so that we can have the politicians do what they are elected to do, keep us wealthy and safe. I can have as many guns as I want. As many kinds as I want. Look, you know that guy who is going to start selling passenger rides into space? He has a bunch of dough. A whole lot more than you. Now suppose you are a genius. A Wile E. Coyote level genius. And you build a rocket. And you go out into the middle of the desert and test your rocket in the name of science. Where do you think you will wind up? Yes. Guantanamo. Or some hole similar since that one is closing (cough, cough).  Probably without a trial because your ballistic launch could be construed as a terrorist act, and thereby have you indefinitely detained.

However, I have gone to many dinners and can call up a Washington friend and invite them over to a dinner in their honor that will also raise funds for their re-election. Of course they will be safe because I have plenty of guns, and armed security to protect me from that ninety-nine percent. At this dinner I can secure a permit to launch people into to space, and not be a terrorist. I wonder if that other cat took that approach…

All Goth things must come to an end. Embrace the Darkside.

All Goth things must come to an end. Embrace the Darkside.

Am I being unfair? Really? Think of all of the people in prison right now. How many thieves? How many thieves? Loan sharks? People who founded that legalized institution of Check into Cash, or whatever they call it. There is a standard of law here and it is a stratified as our economic statuses. The less you have the less you can do…and get away with.

But I have gotten off track. I was simply trying to illustrate how myself and those like myself can have guns, why we can have guns, and why we do not need them because we can hire people from beneath us to use guns to protect us. However, the fear is that they are going to take away the firearms from those of you who are not of my ilk. The truth is the government has a vested interest in the general populace be armed. If for some reason those wiley Chinese actually invade, or whatever Jong  Il happens to be in North Korea really grows balls and marches troops in, the US government is counting on the armed citizenry to be fodder before the encroachment. Having some illegal alien take your job is one thing, but some angry Easterner stepping up to you with a rifle saying you are about to be forced to speak another language? Naah…most United States citizens will not have such a thing. The will take to the streets and show the invader what a good ass kicking is all about.

See? That is a necessity. A nation that defends itself costs very little for the government; the extra money can be used to fortify the hiding places of the elite (ahem), build more drones to provide air support for the civvies fighting off the invaders, and shuffle the politicians into Canada or somewhere. Hell, it is very possible that a good month of holding the East at bay in Alaska and California could go by before any dude in a military uniform shows up and says: “Good job, citizen! We’ll take it from here.” Subsequently ending the war and being lauded as heroes. While you, the rest of the nation, waits for Congress to stop bickering over how much relief money should be sent to aid those lives ruined by the war.

So, that is why the government will never take your guns. Nations with an unarmed populace will never enjoy that level of security. However, the problem then arises that the Gubmint may need to lay the smack down on the citizenry. You may cry for health care and equal pay and a sandwich one too many goddamn times and then something will have to be done. But wait? They left you with guns. Damn. That complicates things. To fix that, there are always those drones. They have all sorts of cool ways of seeing you and finding you and killing you from a mile away. So your rifle really does not help much. But, there always has to be a “but”. A big butt. To fill that but you limit ammo. Yes! Limit the ammo. Those rebels have guns, but they sure as Hell will not have as many bullets. Or drones.