Wednesday, August 30, 2006

RANT: Israel

I know what you're thinking, "But Wargolem, nobody wants to read about politics - especially not me." But do you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking, "Fuck that!" Followed by, "I'll write about whatever the fuck I want. I'm the goddamned caveman, this is my blog, and you're a goddamned pussy. That's why Jesus told me to hate you."

You see, Jesus was a bad Jew. He made trouble for the other folks that just wanted to maintain a low profile, dodge the fucking Romans, and generally not get enslaved again. Things didn't go according to plan because somebody couldn't stop using the secrets of quaballah to resurrect Lazaruses and walk on fucking water all the damned time. The way the Hebrews figured it, the fucking messiah should at least kick everyone's ass and get his people to be left the fuck alone. But no, the sonuvabitch had to go around dropping his dad's name all over god's green. Then the fucker went and got himself martyred.

This shit kept going for years until finally the Romans decided that this bad Jew must've been an okay guy. After some Da Vinci code shit, he's the son of god and the best thing since broken "this is my body" bread. Good news for the bad dead Jew, bad news for god's chosen people still alive and kicking. Many years later, founded on the premise that bad Jew worshippers with blonde hair and blue eyes were superior to everyone else, a failed Austrian artist got this bright idea to rant in a beer hall about rounding all the Jews up and taking their stuff. I think we all know the fucking zeig heil story that follows.

In the aftermath, the pissed off Jews of the world went to the holy land and wrecked some fucking shop. Much ass was kicked, and the Jews finally had a place to call their very own. A Jewish state, a Hebrew haven - Israel. It's a nation that's home to some of the most famous bits of history and holiest sites on the planet. I find the fact that it was founded on the premise of stomping a mudhole in anyone who fucked with it to be highly satisfying.

So when Lebanese guerillas fucked with Israel, Israel fucked back. If you look at the nation's history, you'll see that it's nothing new. Israel is like the scrawny kid that's scarred from so many fights that he just looks at bullies and makes 'em think twice. Sure, you may beat 'im up, but you'll get twice what you give. And that, dear reader, is why the international community pressured Israel to halt their retaliation against Lebanon. They knew that if you push the Lion of Zion far enough, you won't like how they push back.

But this wouldn't be a rant if I didn't disagree with something, so here goes. Fuck the international community. Most of them can head to the supermarket without worry of random rocket attacks. Most of them can pack their kids onto a schoolbus without fear of a suicide bomber ending their bloodline. Most of them don't know what it's like to make concession after concession after concession to parties they've already defeated in battle - only to have them returned with scorn and violence. Fuck them for judging the soverign nation of Israel. Hell, I'd be all for making Israel the 52nd state (Puerto Rico's waited like a trooper, so I can't give Israel cuts-ies in the queue).

I say, let Israel keep kicking ass. Hell, their staunchest ally is right next door in Iraq. It'd be the caveman thing to do.

Friday, August 18, 2006

RAVE: Hooters


So, that last entry was a pisser. I feel like a gotta follow it up with something cool to keep your attention, so that's what I'm'a gonna do. I'm gonna write about the greatest place on Earth. That's right, I'm gonna tell y'all about Hooters. No, not boobies (those're great too), the best place I've found to eat in a damned long time.

Caveman like!

Where else on god's green can you get wings, beer, millions of TVs, beer, and comraderie - all served up by a gorgeous young buxom lass. Hell, even if she ain't young, at Hooters, she'll damn sure be buxom. Cavemen like buxom!

It's not just the girls though. I got a great Cuban sammich, a bunch of brews (and a spectacular view of a metric fuckton of hawtness) for me an' Slander for less than forty bucks. (That's after a generous tip. Always tip your waitress.) I got to watch four different guys get singled out and humiliated by the Hooters girls just for aging a year. Hell, I even caught the ass-end of a Royals game. Heaven is a Hooters near you!

And it wouldn't be me without a little rant at the end. Slander got a plate of wings, and the waitress asked if he'd like them de-boned. He said no, and we lived to regret it. At the table right next to us, two guys with their sig-Os ordered a ton of wings and got them de-boned. The waitress actually got a rubber glove, peeled the meat from those deadly wing bones, and put the chicken on a plate in front of the guys. IT WAS AMAZING!!!!!! I watched in awe (and arousal) as our waitress heaped steaming meat drenched on sauce on a plate in front of our neighbors - peeled from the bone by her own delicate hands. I almost ordered some fucking wings after seeing that. Stupid me for getting a sammich.

So here's the rant part... while Slander and the guys at the next table are watching this beatiful spectacle, one of the sig-Os cast a look of pure disdain at the buxom young serving lass. I was hurt. I mean, how could she do anything other than watch in awe at what was going on? Did she think the server was demeaning herself somehow? Hell, she made good money for peeling meat off the bone and serving it up. In this era of liberated women and pussy-fied men, this was a spectacle to be cherished and enjoyed. Hell, maybe if she's served her man a plate of meat she'd de-boned for him, he'd look at her like that. In short, if you're the type of down-the-nose, stuck-up bitch that would dare look down on the buxom serving lasses at Hooters, stay out of Hooters. Learn to swallow after a blowjob and you might get those looks too. Let the man enjoy his chicken, dammit.

So yeah, caveman like Hooters. Caveman hate bitches what don't.

RANT: Going Home...

So, I gotta share one of my biggest secrets ever with you. No, I don't know who you are (but if you're reading my blog, you're likely someone who enjoys being offended), but I think I can trust ya. The secret is this: I never want to go home.

"Where is home?" you ask. Well, I'll tell ya. Home is the rat cesspool of a hamlet known as Coffeyville, Kansas. I think of the sulphur stink and the racism and the endless array of bad memories and I tremble. I hate the town.

Still, I've been dragged back there on more than one occasion. I had to do a stint at Amazon.com when times got tough, and I have to pay lip service to the time-honored tradition of visiting family. I drive down my old street, past my old schools, toward my old house, and I really want to turn the car around and go the fuck right on back to Manhattan. That's mostly the reason I won't be attending this thing.

It messes with me, 'cause I'm mostly fearless. I'm a goddamned caveman golem. I'm fucking invincible - the distilled elemental essence of 'fuck you!' Still, the thought of touching base with the three folks I used to run with that I'd actually want to see isn't worth the trip. My brain won't rationalize it. I can't make it click in my brain that I should want to see folks I went to highschool with because that's what people do after ten years.

In writing this, I think I might've figured out why. I'm not afraid that I'm not as successful as I should be, I'm not afraid that folks'll ask about shit I don't want to talk about and I won't have a good answer other than "Never marry a whore.", I'm not afraid that they'll judge Penner ('cause she's invincible too, fucking A right!). Nope, I'm afraid of getting swept up in that thing I used to be and those things I used to do. It'd be easy to fall into old molds, but they aren't me anymore.

So I'm not going home. I just got a big promotion and I can't afford the time away from work anyway. It's a good enough excuse for me, and generally an easier one to explain.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

RANT: So, you're a jackass?

I'm a bastard, actually. My biological father died when I was 16. Mom brought me the obit and said something to the effect of "I thought I'd tell you that he died, 'cause it wouldn't be fair to tell you later if you ever asked me." Yeah, my mom loves the run-ons almost as much as she loves me. I thought it was weird at the time because I'd never once asked her about the guy that knocked her up. Sure, my dad (actually my stepdad, but anyone who'd marry a 21-year-old gal with a five-year-old kid deserves the title way more than my sperm donor) and his best friend made mention of the dude when they were drunk and I was but a wee lad of 14, but I'd never said word one to my mom about the guy.

Turns out that the asshat had a kid before me and like four afterward with the gal he actually married. I imagine that a shotgun and an angry old man from rural southeast Kansas were present at the ceremony. I met my half-sister when the Arby's opened up in my hometown. She knew me, and I didn't know her. I still don't know her, because I wasn't interested in catching up with the firstborn of my deadbeat bio-dad from across the counter. Jamocha was just more important at the time.

Still, it's haunted me ever since, and it's started a trend most foul in my life. I remind everyone of someone. I talk to someone for a minute, and they know me from somewhere. Maybe it's my familiar face, my ascerbic wit, or the funny way I cover my fucked-up teeth with my lips when I talk, but everyone knows me from somewhere. It makes things tough for me, 'cause I suck with names. I don't know a damn one of these people who know me from somewhere. Maybe my evil twin (remember, I have four half-brothers that I've never met) has been acting all cool and me-like around folks. Regardless, I remind everyone of someone. I think I reminded my ex-wife of the first guy who raped her when she was six or somesuch melodramatic bullshit.

It's handy sometimes, I'll admit. When I met my present chick, I think I reminded her of someone she either really loved and respected, or just really wanted to make the sexings with. Either way, I made out like a bandit. If bio-dad could see me now, I'm sure he'd be real goddamn proud (or he'd have no idea who the fuck I was, since I'm almost certain he never saw me). I remind my baby girls (s'what I call my cats, no rugrats for the golem) of that guy who feeds them in the morning and lets them climb on him when he gets home from work. (Who is that guy, anyway?) So it ain't all badness and woe-is-me.

So, this is me meandering through a writing exercise. The idea is to answer some really defining question. I chose "So, you're a jackass?" because it seemed easy enough to answer. I hope it's been revealing, 'cause it's intended to set the tone for my entries from here on out. I'll either rant about something that pisses me off, or rave about something that makes me smile. Heck, sometimes I might bring in a guest to do one or the other for me.

That's just the kind of magnificent bastard I am.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Welcome

Hey cavemen / Sharpen up your sticks
We'll drive that wooly mammoth right off the cliff
Now cavemen / Gather 'round the flames
We'll eat the meat and divide up what remains
Rejoice / Cavemen rejoice
Rejoice / Cavemen rejoice

Hey cavemen / Now that we are a team
We'll attack those other cavemen across the stream
We'll sneak up / Ready for a fight
We'll steal their skins and weapons in the dead of night
Rejoice / Cavemen rejoice
Rejoice / Cavemen rejoice
Ay abuna!

Rejoice / Cavemen rejoice
Rejoice / Cavemen rejoice
Rejoice / Cavemen rejoice
Rejoice / Cavemen dahuh
Ay en e uh / Ay en e uh / Ay en e uh

- The Bags, Caveman Rejoice

So shit, here's my blog. I don't really have any high ambitions about reporting news or getting famous or any of that jackassery. I'm just looking for a place to put my thoughts and opinions to page, and maybe make some people think along the way. I'm a guy, and an unrepentant guy at that, so some of what I put here may offend or frighten you. If that's the case, exercise your freedom to click elsewhere.