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Bed of Roses

While pretty, I am best viewed from afar.

Greetings and Salutations!

For some strange reason I decided to overhaul this blog instead of just trashing it. Originally, my plan was to delete the thing and end this voyage and abandon any dear readers that I may have collected along the way. Readers which I am certain have moved onwards and upwards and have forgotten about an alleged narcissicist with  tendencies for degeneracy on scales that can only be measured with “epic” as a qualifying adjective. But I ditched the plan. I have no reason why I have done so – I was having a bastardly bastard of a time coming up with things that I felt were relevant enough to write about (and we all see where that went…). And beyond explaining what has happened it the eon that I have been away, I find myself wondering if I will have material beyond a few days, maybe weeks.

Now, things have changed. I have moved on to a new chapter in my novel existence (see what I did there?), and wonder if the coming experiences will rate sharing with others. It is not that I feel that my life has become or will become boring…that is not something that I believe is possible for me. What is at issue is that I have been avoiding – the collapse of The Foundation. Yes, the collapse of the what was the single most beneficial asset to Samurai City. From beginning to end, the tale is one that I am sure would amuse, horrify, and possible bring about several more indictments; it may be told on various turns of your humble narrator’s new adventure, but do not plan on it (for any of you that care, for those of you that do not…pick a finger). The fall of the Creator of the Thunderdome is a tale wrought the joy, sadness, treachery, and ultimately, a tragedy of Greek literary tradition. But our Foundation life was not a bed of roses, this way is better for us (snicker). Needless to say, instead of focusing my empire on “charity,” I decided to go back to the University. A career in psychology/psychiatry seemed like a new and exciting path for Dear Xavier, so I packed up my office, and traded my ledgers for textbooks.

We all press the lever for food.

The road back to academia was an interesting and treacherous one. I found myself immersed in a culture of students that were significantly younger than me. Now, I am not unused to being around young people, but typically I am bossing the younger people around like some self-important autocrat. However, they younger people are now my peers and colleagues. I am now faced with having to remind myself that these are people with opinions that I owe the same consideration and respect that I would give my fellow Generation Xer’s or some junk (which is not necessarily all that much). Still, the journey has been pleasant, despite learning that I still can count mathematics as an area that I am lacking in superiority. I have also learned that psychologists are an incredibly interesting lot of people.

 

I think the best part of the journey that led to my literary hiatus was  that I got to avoid discussing the 2016 election. I also have to struggle to refrain from speaking of the result of that train wreck. 2016 will always represent where three to four decades of dismantling public education will lead. I cannot even bring myself to watch the news anymore. However, this is not a bad thing because I can avoid local news stories that have not gone away (I get it, the Thunderdome and Arboretum would make an excellent public park and demonstrate good will to Samurai City after the unfortunate turn of events that may have involved the Foundation! I said I was thinking about it assholes!).

These are not real babies.

In addition to avoiding the election, I was able to rediscover a few old interests. Namely, photography. I have turned into one of those people that is an unabashed and unashamed iPhonographer. See that shit? I even used tend-iLanguage to talk about my old/new thing. I am not sure why it all started. I mean, it could have been when I was taking naughty innocent pictures of various sex acts statues. It could have been when I got the idea to take a bunch of babies used for teaching how to not abuse babies and arranged them into neat photos. Whenever it was that it started, it started and now it is a thing. One thing that does not bother me about my journey into iPhotography (I am addicted, maybe?) is that I cannot take selfies. It bothers me that I had to type “selfies” multiple times to discuss this, but it was unavoidable. You see, dear readers, it seems that my arms are in fact too short for me to take a decent self-image. No, it is not an angle thing. No, it is not an inability to frame an image. My arms or too fucking small to take one, and I refuse to use one of those horrid sticks. Instead, I have to request that others take pictures of me, and aside from my secretary, I trust the photographer responsible for the image of me featured above (and one other). Other people will make my head to big or get my fat side or get too much forehead or not tell me what do in the picture so I do not look like a hideous fool. This is why images of myself tend to be a year old, maybe two.

What does any of this have to do with me? Loser!

When people quit smoking, or retire, or elect a dangerous Ferengi that had ear reduction surgery to public office, they tend to remember the date that the deed was undertaken. People remember import, significant, life-changing events. So, it would seem to reason (to me) that I would remember what date the doors to the Thunderdome closed leaving the looming structure abandoned in heart of downtown Samurai City. But, I do not. Which is a little disconcerting to me now. I mean, the amount of litigation alone would probably warrant a course in some law school…but I guess when you leave the minutia to attorneys and sycophants and spokespeople one does not have to be concerned with dates and outcomes. It sounds terrible, but other than maybe having to pay for the demolition of some property, the outcome does not really effect me. And is that not the American way? What does not effect me, should not concern me…right? Is that not the direction our species is headed? I believe you should all be concerned that someone such as myself is questioning the humanity of humanity. I mean, my idea of helping the less fortunate involved elephant stampedes parades, and alleged forced substandard-wage labor in apple orchards. I am not saying that I was bad person (just horribly misunderstood), but friends, I am just saying consider whom is writing this and the implications.

Lately, I have found myself having Dante running through my head: “In that part of the book of my memory before which little can be read, there is a heading, which says: ‘Incipit vita nova: Here begins the new life’.” It seems that I am headed into a new life – I admit to being eager and horrified.

Oy gevalt..!

My Yiddish exclamations are not nearly close to showing how I am really feeling about the last few weeks. My duties at the Foundation have been overwhelming. I am not pleased with the situation at all. I mean, seriously, I have been doing more work than a six-jobbed Jamaican moonlighting as a ninja. Did you see that? I feel so tired that my metaphorical sense is not even wiggling, let alone tingling.

I was operating under the impression that the fellers at the top were supposed to content themselves with golf or hookers or yachting, the actually work to be done is supposed to be in the capable hands of underlings, henchmen, and overworked secretaries who actually have an idea about the day-to-day operations of a charitable foundation. This year, that is not the case. My poor fingers are sore from all of the document signing. I spent at least an hour sitting at my desk today listening to some jib jab about some children needing haircuts, backpacks, and other school supplies. I asked if the backpacks were to store the hair clippings. Apparently, this was so unfunny that my apology from my secretary cost us double in contributions. I have taken to calling this situation “Hairgate.”

Anyway, with all of that nonsense out of the way, I can get to my real point: apologies to my friends and readers here for being negligent in reading your blogs and writing my own. I was doing such a great job keeping to task with these things, but then I got caught up in paperwork…and taking my own hyper-educated ass back to college. I have been doing the college thing for a while now, my plan is to eventually go to Medical School. I believe I have mentioned this before. I will mention it again. It is important that you all understand what is coming to the world: Dr. Xavier A.S. Rothechilde, MD, PhD. Neuropsychiatrist and geneticist. Ruminate on that a bit. We have already starting planning the Thunderdome’s new laboratory…

So, friends, my apologies for being lax. However, you are in for more oddity from me. Since I have re-discovered my passwords for my old MySpace page, I plan to start migrating (re-blogging?) some of my older material. Perhaps that will give you a better idea of why you should let the idea of me with a medical degree sink in.

Well, that is all from me tonight. For once, I have an evening with nothing to do (actually, I am shirking responsibilities and planning for booze and blow jobs) and I am going to sit back and relax a bit. Good night, punkins.

So-So New Look, Shabby (Even for a Hack) Title.

I have been making changes. Many changes. In fact, I had gotten so caught up in changes, that I had completely forgotten that I had this blog. Actually, that is a complete and total falsehood. I was fully aware that I still had this blog. It clung to the back of my brain like a cybertext yarmulke. However, it was causing me a large degree of anxiety. A tremendously large amount.

To begin, I hated the way the damn thing looked. Being unfamiliar with how the formatting thing-a-ma-stuff works here, I am unable to manipulate the design as I was able to back on MySpace. On MySpace, I was a God! I could format the blog’s appearance, and add pictures, and adjust the layout of each blog entry so I could dazzle and amaze! Then MySpace became terrible, and Facebook seems to have something against blogging, so I came to WordPress. I came to WordPress where I saw things like CSS and strange empty windows that would allow me to somehow type something in them in order to create a spectacular looking blog. I searched for templates on the web. I did not have the patience to try and figure out anything I found. Sure, there may be an easy way to go about doing things to give me the blog of my creative dreams, but I just do not have the patience to sit and figure all of the subtle cyber-nuances that would help me create the design of my twisted dreams. C’est la vie.

I know I am being harsh, but I already agreed the old design sucked more!

OCD is a terrible creature. It makes life difficult in the most innocuous, but crippling ways. For me, the anxiety of having a blog with dysfunctional pages was making me nauseous; just thinking about the idea of of WordPress was giving me cold sweats at times. This may sound weird. But it was not WordPress, per se, it was the pages that were a part of my blog that had no data and were just sitting there like failed cyber trash or those blank pages that you can never get rid of in a Microsoft Word document unless you get certified in its use at one of those seminars taught by some IT geek from the regional office of your corporation. Certification that is going to be invalid after the latest update comes out a week later.

To avoid the anxiety, I ignored the blog, occasionally suffering guilt from not writing, and more from disconnecting from the words of friends and colleagues that I share this bloggy part of the net with. I managed to log in periodically and keep up with the blog of a Mr. D. A. Adams. He tends to write daily, and I did keep up with most of what he had going on, but I refrained from commenting on things as I have been feeling significantly less that witty, or able-to-say-something-meaningful-y.

I did try to write a few times during this dark period of apathetic writer’s blockage. I have about four lengthy drafts stored up, waiting for some sort of finish that more than likely will never come; I have grown to hate those drafts. While they started out as interesting tales, they now only seem as relics, fossils, of a lost time period that started with a catch line that was the greatest thing since “Once upon a time,” and eventually came to that senseless drivel that you can read in the fifteen or less line at the local Piggly Wiggly or Kroger or where ever you get your groceries.

And then Arabella posted a blog, And another. Two from her that quick was a bit of a shock to my system. And then Apple sent me an update for my WordPress app on my iPhone. The technology that I had been using on a daily basis was starting to remind me about WordPress. That was odd, but a little motivating.

And so here I am today. I decided to figure out how to remove the offending pages (which I did), find a new design (I stuck with a non-custom design, I hate the fucking orange highlights), and that is where I am at the moment: a new look and a shabby title, and hideous, orange, fucking highlights. Shabby title for now. I have decided that it would be a good idea for me to take small steps. And this is the smallest step that I could imagine taking. For the time being. Yet, in that small step, I also took a spectacularly large lunar leap for Xavier-kind; those that know me well, would have seen that right away. What is this thing? It is the picture of myself that I have added to my blog. There, on the sidebar, a picture of me in full color, non-oldtimey or black and white. A picture that further defies convention and shows me wearing a blue, three-piece suit, rather than my standard black, two-piece with black tie. I am not sure how I feel about that one for the time being, I may remove it once I come up with a better title for my blog.

However, my anxiety and apathy does not begin and end with this blog. I stopped training. All aspects of training, I simple ceased. It was easy to stop running because I hate running and can do without that means of cardiovascular exercise. But I stopped lifting, and calisthenics, and stretching, and most significantly – jujitsu. I stopped going to the dojo. I even stopped thinking about technique. The idea of doing anything just crept from my mind and body. It was if my brain decided to go on strike, and my body joined in a sympathetic shut down of operations in solidarity. Next my desire for inane fun left; the Playstation 3 sits there getting dust, the newly discovered verb, “Batmanning,” slowly creeping from my vocabulary along with the Third Street Saints and Ezio Auditore.

“Bonnie Parker”

What I have been doing, is riding my newly acquired motorcycle. Ever since the last one was crushed by that imbecile, I had been displeased with riding. Sure, I was able to replace the mirrors and turn signals, but I felt like I was riding a victim. It felt as if taking her out was a further violation. And then, the gear shift broke. So, I was no longer faced with the guilty sensation of pushing my poor, injured, bikey to her limits unnecessarily.

Fortune smiled upon me and I was able to acquire another vintage beauty. A nineteen eighty-one Honda Silverwing. I named her “Bonnie Parker” after Clyde Barrow’s infamous, but compelling partner in crime. Since I got her, I have added a windshield (which was graciously given to me from a fellow rider, more on that later), and even gotten some luggage for the back so I can carry things, like tools, Monster drinks, and spare ammunition and tazer cartridges. Oddly, one of the things that pleases me the most about Bonnie is the convenient helmet holders on her sides. Once I figured out how they worked (Thank you, Manthony), I was fascinated with them. I have no idea why. It just is what it is… And yes, although the great State of Michigan has repealed the mandatory helmet law, I still wear my helmet when I ride.

I also joined a motorcycle riding club. From what I understand, there is a definite and distinct difference between a motorcycle club and a riding club, I am a member of a club of the riding variety. While I may offend few by saying this, I wish to be completely honest and say that all that matters is that I have a few cool cats to ride around with and learn how to become a more skilled rider. Sadly, I have not gotten to ride with my new pardners, my schedule is being a total bitch. Happily, my schedule has not prevented me from riding Bonnie. In fact, my schedule has become one that ensures that I have to go places, and the recent spate of decent weather has further ensured that I have had the opportunity to ride to those places.

So, I guess this is where I am. I hope that I have finally gotten through those doldrums that I have kept me in a see of apathy, non-motivation, and generally ho-hummity.

Friday Night with Charlotte

Last week was quite a week. It started with scandal and ended with an ugly attempt to discredit The Foundation. The scandal was a bit of ugliness involving The Foundation’s war elephants. While it seems that the issue should have been over quickly and with a few payouts here and there, that was not to be. Fortunately, I had a fun night out with Charlotte the Friday before the treacherous attempt to ruin your beloved charitable organization.

I could go on and detail the incidents that led to the horrors of the weekend, but instead, I have decided to go the honest route and provide the transcript of a local news programs morning interview of yours truly.

Bert Berterson: “Good morning. I’m Bert Berterson appearing on this special edition of ‘Samurai City Saturday Morning’ with local mogul, Xavier Rothe…”

Me: “Mogul?! What the fuck did you call me? I am not a snowy lump on a ski slope! Nor am I some brandy sipping curmudgeon sitting by some fireplace in some cavernous, drafty, Victorian mansion. I am a humble orchard operator and general all around nice guy. I am really tired of your slander and libel. You really need to get over that camera incident with Manthony.”

B.B: “No, that is not the issue. True, there have been ‘incidents,” but they aren’t what this interview is about. We are here to discuss the elephant rampage that you and your associates with The Rothechilde Foundation are responsible for causing, avoiding, and admitting no responsibility.

Me: “Berty darling, that is exactly what I am talking about! Okay, so unfortunate things may have happened. People may or may not have been allegedly had the misfortune of standing where an elephant may have been walking. Whatever the case, there is no need to start throwing around faulty, unproven allegations that could result in a hefty lawsuit or potential burying in a shallow grave in Nevada or somewhere.”

B.B: “Did, did you just threaten to kill me and bury me in Nevada?”

Me: “I have done no such thing! I was merely stating things that could happen to a person. I have never gone to Nevada. The sand would destroy my wardrode, I believe. Speaking of which, I have been experimenting with adding color to my wardrobe…”

B.B: “Let’s not get off topic, Mr. Rothechilde, Xavier, may I call you Xavier?

Me: “I would not if I did not want to get ‘punished’ severely.”

B.B.  “Ahem. Before we begin, let’s refresh your memory. Ronald, roll the footage please.”

At this moment, a clip was played that showed a large group of people hanging about Downtown Samurai City. In the background, the Foundation Thunderdome stood majestically in the background. In the foreground, more people. Then the clip cut over to the ass-biscuit that I was currently being tormented by in this interview. Mr. Berterson was interviewing people who were “Occupying Samurai City.” Yes, the wave of civil unrest and general unhappiness of the populist poor had spread to Samurai City and the occupiers were occupying various areas of the city. This was exactly why we at the Foundation came up with the idea to have the war elephants. The occupiers had not come as far as the Thunderdome, but a group of counter-occupiers had begun to head in our direction. These counter occupiers were those who supported the one percent or something like that. Berterson interviewed a few of them as well. Approximately two minutes into the clip, a wave of people could be seen coming toward the camera. In the background, the image and sounds of a herd of elephants rapidly approached the news crew. Fleeing to a safe area (who knew there was a safe place from a herd of stampeding elephants?), the camera still recorded, Berty-baby’s panicked reporting in the background:

Bert: “This is Bert Berterson! A herd of elephants is now rampaging in downtown Samurai City! People are running everywhere as complete and total pandemonium has erupted! Oh my God! An elephant just tossed a police car into the side of the bank! This, this is terrible! Absolutely terrible! Hey! Someone grab that little girl! What the hell are you talking about? You do it! I’m Bert Berterson! I’m not getting stepped on by a freaking elephant! What the hell?! Is that elephant wearing a monocle and a tophat? My God the police have shot the elephant in the tophat! Tophat elephant is down! Holy shit! That elephant has that old lady by the neck! Wait, wait…the elephant has gently set her down. People we have a miracle, the elephant just set her…Shit! He kicked her! The elephant kicked her! Oh my…oh my…she’s, she’s barely moving. Paramedics are trying to help her. Okay, she’s giving the thumbs up. What? Headed where? Oh shit! Run! Ruuunnn!!!

And the clip ended there. To be honest, I was very upset by that footage. There was not one mention or shot of Sister Constance and the nun-wranglers coming in, taking down the rest of the pachyderms with tranquilizers and getting them safely back to the Thunderdome. Two elephants were slaughtered by the man on that tragic day. The monocle and top hat have been turned into monuments in the arboretum.

B.B: “Now, Mr. Rothechilde, clearly you could see what a tragic series of…hey! Are you texting?”

Me: “Yes, you were boring me with that biased video footage. There was no mention of the nuns and their success at bringing this unpleasantness to an end. Not to mention you subjected me to having to witness the brutal slaying of the vainglorious Lord Phant, a pachyderm of distinguished character and with obviously superior fashion sense. I was consulting our legal team to be sure that my comments will not be taken out of context and that the video delay is sufficient for Foundation security personnel to edit out any sensitive information before this hits the airwaves.”

B.B: “What?!”

Blue Boy?

Me: “You know, like they do on awards programs to filter out the potty mouths. Anyway, about fashion. As I believe we were discussing briefly earlier I have been experimenting with making changes to my wardrobe. I have been adding color. Unfortunately, I do not have a picture of me in the lavender and purple, or gold-brown-black, but I do have a picture of me in blue. Ronald, show the clip, please. As you can see, instead of my trademark black and white two-piece combination, I am sporting a stylish three-piece suit. I even have on a blue tie. Blue! And took a picture that I did not insist be made black and white or some sort of old-timey sepia look. Eventually, I will have some photos of me in the other color schemes soon, and I may come back to your program to discuss them again at that time. However, thank you for the interview, it has been a pleasant…”

B.B: “Excuse me, sir! I tell Ronald what to do around here, and we weren’t discussing fashion. We’re here to talk about your reckless unleashing of elephants on our fair city and what exactly you plan on doing about it! You have some things to answer for sir!”

Me: “I do no appreciate your tone, little man. Now see here, if it were not for those stupid one percenters parading about in their diamonds and smelly perfumes, the elephants would not have gotten upset and that misfortune would never have occurred. The elephants were simply a part of a parade that The Foundation was sponsoring in support of the “Occupy Samurai City if You Want, But Stay the Fuck Away from the Thunderdome” rally. As you can see the rally was a success, the Thunderdome is untouched and still stands as a glorious symbol of compassion and beauty. And we are not even going to sue the city over our beloved Lord Phant. Although it has caused Sister Constance a great deal of sorrow. We had to give her an extended vacation, pay raise, and purchase a new elephant, monocle, and top hat to alleviate her lust for revenge.”

B.B: “Are you saying that the life of that elephant is worth more than the hundreds of people that were injured in carnage laid out by your elephant horde? Are you seriously equating humanity with lower animals?!”

Me: “Well, hypothetically, my statement would appear to be putting elephants above the rest of humanity, but then who needs to be splitting hairs here? Besides, no people were killed, and only a few were maimed or otherwise seriously injured. Further, the occupation business was horribly bad for the already weakened economy. Those people should have been out working and those one percent counter-protesters should have been out subjugating masses or otherwise managing some means of economic oppression. The fact is, those protesters were in all likelihood unemployed; do we need to show the world on the national news that we are a nation of corpulent, unemployed people? No sir! No, I say! If our impoverished looked like those pot-bellied Ethiopians, then maybe we would have something to bitch about. However, we are a corpulent nation that sits on couches and and gets to watch seventy-seven different versions of ‘Law & Order.”

B.B: “Mr. Rothechilde! That is completely reprehensible! Do you even hear yourself? Listen, the Vice President of The Rothechilde Foundation has even come out and said that mistakes were made…”

Me: “Yes! Mistakes were made. Many mistakes! Chief among them was letting that bastard out of the dunge…er, basement during the protests. Had he remained sedated and properly confined, our efforts to fix this bit of unpleasantness could have come to an end much sooner, and I would already be enjoying the adulation of the citizenry of this fair city instead of sitting here and subjecting myself to this horrid interview from a man with the fashion sense of a Mogwai.”

B.B: “What are you talking about?!”

Me: “Your suit is terrible. I know a guy, let me help you, baby.”

B.B: “You’re obviously out of touch. With me and the citizens of Samurai City. They don’t love you, no one loves…”

You are very welcome

Me: “Oh my! I ought to shoot you right in your ugly face! You smug son of a…excuse, what is it? Yes, I understand. Excuse me, that gentleman was one of our attorneys, he suggested, and smartly I should add, that by ‘shoot you right in your ugly face’ that I actually meant “write you a sternly worded note of disapproval, perhaps an email cc’d to your station’s management. As for the love thing, surely you are mistaken For example, take a look at this lovely bit of art; Ronald, show the picture please.”

B.B: “Now see here! Ronald is not one of your lackeys…”

Me: “Obviously, the artist appreciates me and felt that I was worthy of being immortalized in one of her brilliant creations. And then there is Sister Constance. For a nun, she really does go out of her way to accommodate my eccentricities (I am ignoring your lackey comment, by the way. Manthony with surely discuss that with you.) Then, and not the least, there is my personal secretary, whom does me an innumerable amount of service in great variety, and makes sure that I can function on a daily basis. And Charlotte! Dear Charlotte! Why just last night, we went out to a local titty bar…”

B.B: “You can’t say that on public television and this has nothing to do with the elephant incident.”

Me: “I believe I did just say that, and this has everything to do with the elephants. There is nothing better to ease the pain of a deceased elephant friend and huge publicity hit like going out to see some boobs. And this was a great night. There was s lady there named Suzie Malone. She did some classy burlesque dance, magic tricks, and she swallowed a sword. Man, that gave me ideas, I tell you! She even danced around with fire. Fire! Strapped around her waist and in the shape of hand fans she danced with fire. I even had my picture taken with her. It is a topless picture. I am not topless, she is, or else I would have brought it to show. I am not opposed to showing the boobs on television; I just do not want to share them with you.”

B.B: “That is all well and good, sir. But what does any of this have to do with the damage you have brought and the poor people that are suffering because of your mistake?”

Me: “You just really want to beat a dead elephant. Man. Fine. While it is unfortunate that a few people may have received a bump or two because of a few rambunctious elephants, we are not a bank, mortgage company, or publicly traded corporation with stockholders to rape and pillage. The government will not bail us out like they did the people who the occupiers are bitching about (is that what they are bitching about? or is it Obamacare, Afghanistan, gay marriage, or Rick Santorum’s tranny porn stash?). No, as always in these trying time The Rothechilde Foundation will rebuild the damaged property. We have already purchased some of the more severely damaged property and found locations for business owners to rebuild and relocate. We have even offered to allow these business to use the Foundation’s contractors for repair and construction and infrastructure at prices that are much lower than the local business clowns. We are hiring many of the disgruntled occupiers for this Samurai City Reconstruction, and all of this will benefit the local economy. Lord Phant did not perish in vain.”

B.B: “It sounds like all you are doing is making a selfishly greedy cash grab and attempt to increase your personal stake and interest here!”

Me: “And is that not the American Way? Thank you, Samurai City and good day. This is Xavier A. S. Rothechilde, signing out.”

B.B: “Hey!”

And the screen goes black…

Note: Mr. Rothechilde has always reveled in, and proudly proclaimed his status as being a hack writer. If you disapprove of the ending, then you were not paying attention to the original disclaimer. No refunds or apologies should be expected and none will be made.

Sincerely,

Rothechilde Foundation and Trust Legal

Missouri Loves Company

This post has nothing to do with the state of Missouri. At least I am not planning for it to have anything to do with the state of Missouri. To be completely honest, I have no idea where this blog entry is going, what the intent of this entry may be, why I decided to write this item, nor whether I will publish this article or not.

Before I go any further I have a question for any professional bloggers, internet geeks, and/or language freaks. I know that this whole deal that I am writing here on WordPress is a blog, but what do I call each blog entry? I mean, I switched between “entry” and “blog entry” above to see which one felt better. One seemed a bit long and dorky, the other seemed a bit clerical. Either way, the whole pseudo-alliterative, redundancy of that started to really annoy me. So, I switched to item, which seemed too short. Then I tried article, which, for reasons that elude me, does not seem to apply.

Earlier today, I was on my way to a local college where I am taking a nutrition class. With the mild temperature, sun and cloudless sky, it was shaping to be a pleasurable motorcycling experience. I would call it fahrvergnügen, only my motorcycle is Japanese…and not a car (however, there is an ironic “Axis” relationship here…). Anyway, I came to this intersection which is a four-way stop. As I began to cross the intersection, the horrible excuse for a bitch just turned out in front of me. She was just chatting away on her cell phone, not paying any attention to anything around her. Maybe it is the low profile of the motorcycle. Maybe she was just too concerned with her phone and where she had to go to think that she could have killed a person who was not paying attention. Whatever the case, I have learned to be even more attentive when out riding. It is a strange thing, it is: what you gain in freedom while riding in the open air, you almost have to surrender to paranoia regarding the big things in that open air being driven by people not in the same air.

The Republican party is complaining again. They are saying that this new proposal from President Obama is class warfare on the rich. Now, it is this sort of lunacy that drove me from my gun-toting, wealthy brethren long ago in favor of using my own clout to affect the local politics in my area to suit the Foundation’s and the Rothechilde Estate and Orchards benefit. I grew tired of the hypocrisy that they are spewing on near elephant projectile vomit proportions! They are crying class warfare because they are being asked to pay a little bit more in taxes. But, cutting social programs that benefit the poor is not? And, cutting funding for the public schools (which is where the poor tend to go to school if they want an education) is not? Smashing the unions, sending the “unfortunate sons” to war in foreign lands is not? Wow. I guess I understand. When it involves asking the rich for more, then it is class warfare. When it involves asking the poor and middle class to pay all, then it is sound economic policy. Jeez. That poor little picked on one percent of the population who has all of the cash better hope that the poor do not start listening to what dear old Jim Morrison said: “…they got the guns, but we got the numbers…”

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.

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.

Random Thoughts and Possible Week in Review

The last week has been a rather busy one. Between my daily tasks at the Foundation, preparing for what will surely be a horrid year for cherries and apples (maybe I need to reconsider the vineyards…), and my chemistry course at a local University. I barely have enough time to explore porn, post random tweets, or enjoy a bit of absinthe while playing the part of a tiny Lego Jedi in a Playstation 3 game. Oy gevalt! I need a vacation.

I agree with the Dead Kennedys. Kinky sex does make the world go around.

It was recently brought to my attention that when the link that indicates a page attached to this site (blog? blite? whatever this is…), a message is displayed stating that the page is not present. Well, it is there. Only, it cannot be seen by anyone yet. I know, I know…I could temporarily remove the link until the page is ready, but where is the fun in that? Just kidding. To be completely honest (which, by my indication could imply that I may not in fact be completely honest), I have been driving myself into a fit because of that page. You see, in addition to my charming sexiness, narcissism and occasional wit, I have Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Later in life, it was indicated that I also have ADHD. What does this have to do with my page? Well, I have not finished that one page and it has made it difficult for me to sit and write a blog until I can finish that page. That page is a humongous source of anxiety to me. Upon further thought, having to face the prospect of said page has made me really want a drink. Maybe absinthe is soon on the horizon.

I hate to write numbers. Unless I am doing math. If I am writing, I like to write the number out rather than the numeric representation. Mentioning the Playstation 3 because I am compelled to write out the name as it is rather than suit myself and write the number out gives me significant cognitive dissonance. This is what happens when one has conflicts in compulsions. …and people wonder while I like sedatives.

That last paragraph was difficult to write. I know what I wanted to say and now wonder if I was able to properly convey the message. If I was, hooray. If I was not, then obviously you are having trouble understanding me at such a distance. I recommend moving to an Eastern corner of the room, it may help.

What the Hell is going on with all of these people asking for the President’s birth certificate? Really? Have we really gotten so paranoid about immigrants that we have to ask the President of the United States to show us his papers?

Currently, I am watching WWE Smackdown while I write this entry. There are twenty sweaty, musclebound men fondling each other in a big playpen in their underwear. This is entertainment. We tell boys that this is how men behave. Then we are surprised when we find Tommy groping Johnny’s basket while making out under the pool table. Pray out the gay! Why is he gay? I never raised him that way!!! Well, if you give your little boy half-naked men to idolize, do not be surprised if he has a liberal approach to love.

People often ask me if I am gay. I never answer their question. At least, not outright. I typically answer by showing the person a porn video on my iPhone. If it is a guy, I will show him some hot lesbians. If it is a chick, I show her some hot lesbian porn. No one ever gets what I mean. They think I mean that I like hot lesbians in porn. Which is true, but not why I showed them that. Showing the other porn is more personal and like foreplay to me. If I share that, I may want to see you naked.

Well, I have gone on long enough for this evening, methinks. Tomorrow, maybe I will try to tackle that page and stop driving myself crazy about it. More than likely, I will not.

Frustrations abated…well, not really.

Greetings and Salutations! This may well be my inaugural entry on this here new blog. So far, I do not mind what I have going on here. However I am incredibly displeased with the text and page options. I guess I have to wonder exactly what it is that I expect from this particular venture.

Well, that is enough for now. Perhaps I will do a proper introduction after I have slept on this for a bit. Besides, I am missing an awesome history program on sexual behavior through the ages.

New App

 

So, here we have yet another test of a blogging app. This one seems to be pretty cool, however the text is a bit small.

Apparently, one van adjust the position of pictures and alter the layout of blog posts with this app.

I just attached a picture to my post. Unfortunately, the picture seems to go where it wants to go instead of going where I want it to go. I shall have to practice with this app a little bit more methinks. That or stick with the other app; I appreciate the arrangement of pics with that one a great deal more (although it is not much better than this one.

Addendum: If I want these pictures to have a format, I may have to add my pictures later, it seems. However, I am still unhappy with the “boxy paragraph”-ish look adding pictures seems to take. I guess I will have to spend more time on the formatting.