Hey what is everyone doing for the Superbowl?
(If you read this you really should make a comment, no pressure to be funny or intelligent here)
Seems like my kind of website right? By the clever cross in the T you can tell that the Christians jumped all over this URL and most likely aren’t giving it up any time soon. The CEO says it is an open forum for theological discussion, so I uploaded videos from my favorite two theologians Dr Dino and Carl Sagan. Here is Carl Sagan’s Pale Blue Dot:
http://www.godtube.com/view_video.php?viewkey=abea3bd2717241ab4ca1 Oh wait, the site won’t show the video and shows, “waiting for approval” which I am sure it will never get. I tried to log in a day later and my account is gone, I can’t even get my password reset with my email address. The bastards. So its either because my user name was jesushchrist or they didn’t like my Carl Sagan video. Well too bad for them, because I also uploaded some good old fashion evolution debugging by Dr Dino, which would have posted right away if they hadn’t deleted my account already.
If you are wondering what is actually on the website, don’t bother going. Just watch this video of a guy proving God’s existence by peeling a banana while TV’s Kirk Cameron applauds. http://www.godtube.com/view_video.php?viewkey=3768875037baca5de6e2 *editor’s note: this video has been pulled from the site, but it is still funny so here is the youtube link The rest of the site is full of terrible Christian hip-hop, and a thousand Huckabee and Romney videos. This site is a piece of shit and loads really slowly. Probably because people like me are filling it all kinds of crap, but either way, I am pissed off at it and they have ruined what promised to be a perfectly good post on hoboboobies.
Lucky for me there is a jewtube, islamtube, obviously there is a pornotube, and my favorite would be beasttube but it looks like it has been taken down and probably isn’t even legal to visit.
|1||Joe Greenberg||1||Trevor Sparks|
|16||Tho Vo||16||Eric Levine|
|2||Josh Colwell||2||Ron Dale|
|15||Ian Hargus||15||Chris Delion|
|3||Mike Gawenka||3||Ryan Fandell|
|14||Dan Lawson||14||Peter Turschmid|
|4||Trevor Wade||4||Spencer Morgan|
|1||Nate Colwell||1||Travis Duty|
|16||Gary Fox||16||Bobby Palmquist|
|2||Beef||2||Sir Edward Coke|
|15||Paul Bonthias||15||Terry Adler|
|14||Dave Levine||14||Ryan Face|
|4||Parker’s friend Swamp Donkey||4||Corey’s friend Luke|
|11||Somerstein||11||Jake the Snake|
|10||Dave Baker||10||Zach McPherson|
What is the meaning of life? Why am “I”, what a fucking insane concept the idea of “I” is on its own when you really think about it, but yea why am “I” on this flying piece of rock in the middle of space? You ever just sit and think about that? It really fucking trips me to just consider that idea. Is there actual meaning for my life? I can see why people don’t really like to think about shit like that, it is a hell of a lot more comforting to just turn on “Prison Break” and let your life piss away in state of relative indifference. Well for some reason instead of turning on the TV or other such activities that would possibly allow for me to actually “enjoy life” I find some sort of weird sadistic pleasure in thinking about shit I will never actually understand. So yea why are we here?
I will start off where most of the fucking retards on this planet turn, GOD. To me the concept of God is incredibly comforting, if I could believe in God I would probably get some fucking sleep once and a while. Yet, to believe in God I would pretty much have to retard my brain to a level that I have not yet been able to accomplish, no matter what mixture of chemicals I have swashed it with. I don’t have the time or the will to go over all the contradiction and pieces of illogical nonsense you could find in the predominantly accept religious story books. Yet without even cracking a book this little retardism jumps out at me: Why the fuck would God give a shit what you are doing? Do you really think there is some all powerful egomaniac up there keeping score of your life and documenting all your failures and short comings? I don’t mean that in the “he would probably have more important things to do” sense, but in the why the fuck would do you think God would think like a human being. I know we as human beings are inherently limited in our scope of thought, but really just think about the mindset of God for a bit…After attempting to get in the mindset of God for 20 minutes I have resigned myself to the fact that it is fucking impossible to even consider what God’s train of thought might be. That alone is good enough reason to completely discount the idea of interpreting or attempting to understand God’s intentions, but just for a little thought experiment I am going to go ahead and put myself in God’s shoes. I won’t write out a full dialogue of what I as God would be thinking (I just did that and it was really fucking stupid). So what I will just go ahead and paraphrase what I think God might be thinking: “I don’t give a shit what you do. I am God and I already fucking know what is going to happen because, guess what, I created the whole fucking thing.”
Just a side note but also isn’t God suppose to be perfect in all these religions. By definition anything created by something perfect is by nature of its creator perfect also. Therefore all of us apparent pieces of shit are also perfect. Well what is wrong with that idea, to be honest probably nothing. If there is a perfect God (a big IF) and he created us then we would all be perfect. Well then where does all this sinning and judgment come in? To the best of my knowledge that comes exclusively from human beings going ahead and taking the liberty to create a God entirely in their image. By that I of course mean one who is just as shitty, small minded, judgmental, and fucking stupid as they are. I assume everyone realizes that all these religions were created by people, normal humans just like you and I. Well not exactly like you and I due to the fact that 2000 years ago people were about 20 times more retarded than they are today. All I am trying to say is that the people who wrote the original religious texts probably fucked a few things up and maybe you shouldn’t be following them verbatim.
I will end on this note. I don’t think people who are religious are inherently terrible or stupid. I know some incredibly intelligent and logical people who use a religion as a vehicle for faith and by doing so better their lives. I very much respect and in some ways am envious of them for this “faith” they speak of, probably due to the fact that I was born without a trace of the faculty used to comprehend “faith”. After an attempt to save a little face with my Christian friend I should probably end by saying how pathetically disgusting I find 99% of the religious people in this world who use religion solely as a way to needlessly judge other people to make them feel slightly less shitty about their meaningless lives.
Well that is pretty much all I can think of to say about that for now. Oh I should probably point out that this post started out as an attempt to write about my friends and I going snowmobiling at a cabin this weekend. She got a little off the point….
To be continued….maybe
(Hopper, Fonda, Nicholson)
I have been meaning to watch this movie for awhile and I finally did last weekend. If you’ve seen it then you’ll agree it is the classic road movie. Dennis Hopper produced and wrote the movie with Peter Fonda, who directed it. Basically the movie films them in a series of towns visited in between road trippin interludes with classic 60’s music.
The plot is that Dennis Hopper’s character Billy (a crazy hippie) and his friend he calls ‘Captain America’(Peter Fonda) smuggle drugs from Mexico, sell them once they are back in the US, and head to Florida (via Mardi Gras) to retire. They pick up Jack Nicholson along the way who delivers what turned out to be his career break out role. Unfortunately the movie ends before they make it all the way to Florida. Without giving anything away I will just say that the thesis of the movie is that red-necks are pieces of shit, which I whole-heartedly agree with.
I was talking about how much I liked Dennis Hopper the other day to Kevin, who said that he can only remember him as the bad guy in Speed. Though I couldn’t argue with him at the time, a little more research confirms what I expected. His work is bad ass – see:
Rebel Without a Cause, Cool Hand Luke, Apocalypse Now, some low budget Neil Young film, David Lynch’s Blue Velvet, Waterworld, and he read for the Gorillaz last album Demon Days on a little track called “Fire Coming Out of the Monkey’s Head”
I can only conclude that Dennis Hopper is my favorite actor and I’m not sure what took me so long to realize this. Of course, this takes the spot away from current placeholder Edward Norton, who reigned there for about 8 years, but has been somewhat disappointing as of late. Seriously he goes from American History X and Fight Club, to what, The Illusionist. No thanks. Not that Dennis Hopper’s Ameriprise Financial commercials have been kicking that much ass lately, but still, I don’t feel like his body of work gets enough credit.
I am curious where everybody stands on this. In my opinion, being gay is analogous to picking your nose. I don’t hate you for it, but it is disgusting. If you insist on doing it – at least try and hide it. Don’t pick your nose right in front of my face. I don’t think I should have to act like it is normal for some dude to act like a chick, just like I don’t have to act like it is normal for someone to eat their boogers. Am I off base on this?
A little more than a year ago I went through a series of experiences in South America that changed the way I view the world and my relation to it. It was the closest I had ever come to tangible spirituality with each event occurring at the exact time I needed it to. Yes, it involved psychedelic drugs, but it also involved much more than that. Anyways for the past year I have been slowly trying to put my experience into words and my hope is that if I post this first part it will push me to finish the rest. Let me know what you think, even if it is just that you would rather not have me write on this blog anymore.
What the fuck am I doing here? What the fuck have I gotten myself into? These were the thoughts running through my head as I sat cross-legged on a sleeping bag surrounded by five of the most eccentric people I had ever encountered. Admittedly, I have made some pretty poor decisions in my life, but this was clearly the worst decision a person could possibly make. I was completely convinced that the small cup of vomitesque “medicine” I just imbibed had given me the South American Bird Flu. I was seriously considering the possibility of death or at the very least long-term hospitalization. Why the fuck did I listen to a guy who referred to himself as Medicine Wolf?
I had met Medicine Wolf around two weeks earlier in a small mountain town north of Lima. I was enjoying some pizza with some fellow travelers when we overheard a curly-mulleted individual loudly and expressively telling a story about being in Alaska overlooking a river high on peyote when a “goddamned octopus arm with an eye on the end comes out of the water to greet me with a blink then instantly vanishes” (only about every fourth word is an attempted translation into Spanish despite the fact that the people being told speak absolutely no English). My friend and I immediately joined in the conversation and soon learned that after a few years of solitary shaman work in Alaska (during which he would consume a daily ration of mushrooms) Medicine Wolf moved to Peru, got a woman pregnant out of wedlock, and is now involved in legal troubles preventing him from leaving the country. Also, he had been running a Shamanic Tours Adventure Program for the past two years in order to raise child support money. So far he had given three of these shamanic tours but received full payment from just one. To get by Medicine Wolf does massage therapy and attempts to get bartenders to give him free drinks. He also tries to find peoples coke stashes on the logic that, “if I find it they have the obligation to share.” He wears a colorful poncho, and a tad too much patchouli oil, has a tattoo of a cartoon devil on his bicep and (as we soon found out) is not welcome in the majority of the small town’s bars. Throughout a long night of bar hopping we learned many valuable tidbits from Medicine Wolf but most valuable was that the bartender at the local pizza place had a bottle of his San Pedro brew (a Peruvian cactus containing mescaline) that he was trying to sell and he gave me the email address of a shaman friend he knew in Cuzco that made the mixture if that didn’t work out.
The next day my friend and I had lunch at the pizza place, discussed some details and walked back to our hostel the proud new owners of a large drinkable yogurt bottle full of a green, supposedly mescaline-containing liquid. I split the contents into two containers giving my friend her portion as she was leaving and went to bed giddy as a schoolboy. The next day I woke up fairly early and marched down to the closest store to buy some water and snacks. On the way back I ran into the bartender’s friend who told me how to get to the giant cross overlooking town at which I intended to drink the brew. Unsure of my navigational skills while on mescaline I invited him to come along. Luckily he had nothing better to do than watch some stupid gringo drink San Pedro by himself and agreed to accompany me. After arriving at the cross we climbed on an abandoned lookout structure that previously served as a hideout of the Shining Path guerrilla army. I decided to share the contents of the yogurt bottle with him then waited for around 10 minutes before concluding that it wasn’t going to do anything and smoked a joint. I spent the rest of the day in a weird daze, not really sure of what to do or what to feel. I was disappointed that the San Pedro hadn’t given me the desired hallucinations but was nevertheless content with my detachment from reality. Shortly after I hopped on a bus to Lima and forgot about my foray into the next level of psychedelics.
Soon enough I would find myself in an experience so crazy and profound that this “trip” would be rendered inconsequential. In fact, nothing I have since experienced (not even that time I did three Richards and looked at my hand through a kaleidoscope) has even come close.