Caveman Rejoice!

RAVE: The Original Pitches

2011-06-30T23:31:00.000-07:00

Guess which one the group went for...

***In Her Majesty's Secret Service***

For years the elder Ghaele of Winter kept the surrounding lands in as much order as a fey ruler could. Peace was uneasy, but it was indeed peace. Now the Ghaele is dead and all hope for continuity of order rests with his young daughter, now the Ghaele herself. Vested with all the powers of fey winter, the young monarch is powerful, yet naive. The machinations of her court draw her attention from proper rulership and threaten to tear the land apart with unrest - or worse, weaken them enough that threats from without could rise again.

To drive her court to distraction, the young Ghaele petitions each surrounding settlement to send their heroes to her court, that they may serve as heralds for her new order. The myriad members of the Court of Winter have their own ideas, but the question of renaissance or ruin will ultimately be answered by those that heed the Ghaele's call.

Themes: Court, Intrigue, Arthurian Questing, Politics, King(Queen)-making
Characters: Any, the surrounding lands a deliberately vague. You'll get to define your homeland and assist with cooperative world-building.

***Larry Mason and the Warlock's Rock***

Boarpimple's School for Young Arcane Adventurers has a long-lasting legacy of producing some of the finest adventurers the world has ever known (mostly wizards, but we're integrated now). From the beginning, nascent doers of heroic deeds are trained, tested, trained some more, tested some more, and driven to the dual brinks of insanity and exhaustion - all to have their level best wrenched from them and presented on the shiniest plates of success.

You'll assume the role of first-year student adventurers and have, well, adventures. All the while learning the proper ways to adventure adventurously. You'll fight battles, attend classes, play games, make friends, interact with a staff of instructors beyond reproach (even the evil ones), make enemies and rivals (or be assigned them, if you are found lacking in this ever-so-important aspect of adventuring life), and eventually get caught up in a healthy dose of world-saving (but not until at least second semester, as World-Saving is an advanced course).

Themes: Learning to Play, Dry British Humor, School Uniforms, Not taking ourselves too seriously, Quiddich (or sports that aren't copyrighted).
Characters: At least one person will have to be an Arcane hero (destiny not included). Everyone else can either be an arcane peer or part of the entourage of "colorful integrated students" that are most assuredly not considered second-class citizens. An "All Wizard" party will spend a lot of time getting killed, so we won't be doing that.

***To Go Boldly***

Generations ago, life was what more folks would call normal. Somewhere in a far-away kingdom, the seeds of destruction were sown and the heroes of the age were unable to stop the harvest. Life as everyone knew it ended in fire, cataclysm, and the opening of seals never meant to be tampered with. But that was a long time ago, and life in the underground city of Leifheim has continued on normally since then.

Constructed by one of the last bygone heroes, Leif the Sequestering, Leifheim has all the amenities of a surface city and none of the apocalyptic dangers that lurk beyond its vaulted locks. Magical lights on the domed ceiling indicate night and day, a steady diet of indigenous fungi keeps everyone healthy, and the traditions of the ancient heroes survive mostly intact - as if a concerted effort was made to gather those traditions under one roof.

Unfortunately, the lights have started flickering and the elders believe that the enchantments keeping the outside world outside where it should be are failing. Rather than wait for the bubble to burst, they summon those with great potential to go out into the world and find out if the worst has passed. These brave souls are handed the chance to explore new spaces, get into fistfights with new civilizations, and go boldly where folks have likely been before.

Themes: Exploration, Sandbox Gaming, Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy, Survival, Think "Heavy Metal" meets "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" and you're tracking.
Character: Hale and Hearty Heroes that have (no kidding), lived their entire lives under a rock in the middle of nowhere (that means you can pretty much play anything)

***Bleak Iron***

The Library of Bleak Iron houses great knowledge and is sacred to its patron, the god Asmodeus. Housed in the library are tomes and rituals of great power - but also secrets best left buried in the moulded stacks. One such book draws the attention of the party - a tome containing a secret so dire that it could drive the most evil of men to heroic action.

Blinded by ambition and desire for power, the party follows the tome to the tomb of the forgotten exarch, where their entire world changes forever. Exposure to the last remnants of Amoth, slain god of Light and Good, awakens consciences long-repressed. Knowledge of Good and Evil can be a dangerous thing - especially when your home is in the Nine Hells.

Themes: Evil, Redemption, Scholarship, Heresy, more Redemption, some Intrigue, Morality
Characters: Everyone starts out evil, but will they (can they?) stay that way?

RAVE: The Pitch Meeting

2010-10-01T09:20:00.000-07:00

In August of 2009, my old campaign did this thing called dying - mostly because my son was busy trying to be born. The game was your usual "run some adventures and learn how to DM 4E" sort of affair anywho, so I didn't really mourn its' passing overmuch. The fact that I was busy not sleeping and trying to keep my work clothes from getting covered in yark (that's Harris-household for anything that comes out of a child's mouth) didn't make the loss any harder to take.

Fast-forward a year. I've got this jones in my bones to tell a story. I really don't care what kind of story, but I've got to do something. Unbounded and unfocused creativity is my bane. My muse won't stop meowing until I feed her. I started thinking about settings and stories, just knowing that my brain would latch onto one and I'd be golden.

My brain latched on to FIVE. Usually, when the brain gets to storming I can force it down a path. This time, it wasn't having any of my pesky focusing. Five ideas that wouldn't be denied swelled in the old brain. I had to pick one to sell to some players so I could get my fix, but narrowing the field proved impossible for me alone. I spent precious minutes trying to figure out a way to pare the list down at least a bit. Mash them together? No, too diverse. Run one per tier? Good, but they're still too diverse for that to be cohesive. Player-driven, interest-based steel cage match? Damn, that's a good idea.

So I sold my players with "I'm running D&D. Want to play?" and it worked. We dusted off the old Facebook group, added the new blood, and used the discussion board function to toss out ideas. I threw mine out there for the world to see and invited the players to do the same. Then we voted. It was one part virtual pitch meeting, one part brainstorming session, and many parts fun. As a DM, it also gave me a lot of insight into what my players want from a game. If you've ever got too many (or absolutely no) ideas floating around, give it a whirl.

How do you figure out what story you're going to tell?

Have fun,

-RR

P.S. If there's any interest at all, I'll post the ideas.

RANT: Racial Profiling

2010-09-24T10:36:00.000-07:00

So I've seen a lot of chatter lately about how the Essentials line of products is destroying the collaborative spirit of Dungeons & Dragons. The theft of our daily powers in exchange for higher raw damage output has left many in a lurch. Is it a dumbing down? Is it the nostalgia hydra rearing an ugly head at those who don't really miss it? I don't know. Frankly, I'd prefer to spend my time preparing for my next session rather than caring.

What I do know is that the Essentials line features compatible, fully optional rules (meaning they'll be the standard for future production going forward). Some of those rules are pretty neat (flexible stat bonuses for some races) , some are pretty crunchy (feats that are far less conditional for their bonus that their previous counterparts), and some I downright don't care for (changing roles for classes, essentially making each build a class by itself, etc.). Overall, they strike the same chord with me that edition resets in CCGs do. Is it necessary for growth? Probably. Does that mean I have to like/accept it? Since I don't play competitively, I sure don't.

The thing that's bugging me is that the Essentials line doesn't do much to really push the envelope. Sure, we're getting Heroes of Shadow later in the year, but there are lots of games that let us play badguys/antiheroes already. Fourth Edition did an awesome job of pushing the boundaries of what D&D was and how it was played. As a DM, I've got an amazing toolbox full of fun because the design math is finally transparent. As a Player, I've got one of those rare games where nobody has to sit and twiddle their thumbs while the combats happen - everyone gets to contribute. Heck, as a Fan, I've got endless stuff to read and write about.

But I want my new stuff to be new. I want to kick things over a notch and turn classic assumptions on their ears. I want my heroes to break rules and push boundaries. I want something like this:

Against the Grain
You are an extraordinary member of your race, possessed of unusual potential and faculty. Are you a mutation? Are you the future? Only time will tell how your talents shape your destiny.
Prerequisite: character creation only, non-human
Effect: You lose your racial bonuses to attributes and gain +2 to two different attributes of your choice. This feat choice may not be taken or retrained without DM approval.

Balanced, elegant, and above all else, game-changing - it's an expansion on the idea that any race can be any class, kicked up a notch so that now any race can be good at any class. I could finally make a decent half-elf ranger (or warforged bard or gnome barbarian or a dwarf wizard).

In short, I want groundbreaking. I want new. I want to see something I haven't seen before or to gain a new way of thinking about something I see all the time. I want enough of the old that I still feel like I'm playing a new edition of the game, but enough new that I still feel like I'm doing something better. D&D will be good no matter whether an edition or supplement improves it or not (and the results will be just as hotly debated by purists and edition campers and the like). That means the key to designing new stuff is to change things (as improvement or detriment will always be subjective) and see what happens.

Have fun,

-RR

[RANT] Yeah, that's somehow fair

2009-07-03T19:10:00.001-07:00

This is JR Smith of the Denver Nuggets. He's been sentenced to 30 days in jail because of an accident that resulted in the death of his friend. He didn't cause the accident, the death, or the friendship, but the weight of all three bears heavily on his shoulders.

I can't help but think about what I'd do if one of my friends suddenly fell over dead. I've lost some close friends and family members, but the causes have always been either freakishly surreal (Kelly) or natural causes (gre-Uma and grandpa). It's never been unexplained or accidental.

I suppose I'd pray about it, but I damn sure hope I wouldn't wind up in jail over it.

God's lookin' down on you JR. Keep the faith.

RAVE: Love

2008-09-22T14:36:00.001-07:00

Love is a many-splendored thing.
Love, exciting and new.
Can't buy me love.
Cannot kill my love buzz.
All we need is love.
Make not a bond of love.

Love, I have known it.
Beneath cherry blossom trees
'tis the wise lotus.

So, I'm feeling really really really good lately. I'm talking not-scaring-off-the-Mormon-missionaries good, just-had-a-big-dinner good, that kind of good that keeps you going when the day gets shitty. It's due in no small part to that elusive and oft-maligned four-letter word that we all enjoy so much.

No silly, not "Fuck!" but that's a good one too.

I'm talking about love. L-O-V-to the-E. I've felt it before, had it felt for me before, even been fooled into thinking I was feeling it before. I've developed a pretty good indicator for the fooling part, in no small way thanks to Guen, some good friends, and some past experiences. I gotta tell ya, even the fake stuff feels really good, but I'm here today to chat about spotting and experiencing the real thing. Here's some helpful hints:

Love something more than your lover, and make sure they love something more than you. I shouldn't say "more." I should say "other." I just need to drive home the point, and I really think more is better. My mistake in the past was making my partners the central figure in my life, or allowing myself to become the central figure in theirs. Love your children, love God, love your parents, love your cat, love your country, love something else. When you only love one thing or one person, it's easy to forget that there is so much more out there. The focus of your love becomes your sole source of validation, and it becomes easier to forget what's most important.

Love yourself. Seriously, you're useless, boring, annoying, needy, unattractive, petty, not pretty, and a myriad other bad things when you don't love yourself. If you're getting love from somewhere and you don't love yourself, then you're a parasite - pure and simple. If you can't figure out how to love yourself, get introspective on your own ass. Odds are, you're a pretty cool person or you wouldn't be reading this blog. If nothing else, follow circular masturbation logic: by masturbating, I love my hand, my hand is part of me, thus I love me. See? That wasn't so hard now was it?

Don't mistake frequent fucking for love. Sometimes we like to do things. Sometimes we do them more than once. That doesn't mean we love that thing, just that we like doing it. Sex clouds pretty much every issue. If you want to know if something is for real, ask yourself "Would I still feel this way if I were unable to give and/or receive hot dickings to/from this person?" If the answer is no, then you're not in love. You're either trading sex for affection, or you're chalking up frequent fucker miles. That's okay, just remember that there's a difference.

It's like faith. That tingling you might feel, that's hormones. If you're still fulfilled and on top of the fucking world when that tingling subsides, then you're on the right track. Power to ya.

That's all I've got for now. I really hope that everyone gets to experience this, 'cause it's awesome.

RAVE: Out of the Closet

2008-07-27T11:52:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I sleep
Sometimes it's not for days
The people I meet
Always go their separate ways
Sometimes you tell the day
By the bottle that you drink
Sometimes when you're alone
All you do is think...

I've gotten my fair share of alone time lately, and I've had cause to do a lot of thinking. I don't mind, really, because I enjoy flexing the old mental muscles. For the past nine months or so, I've had cause to think about my spiritual life. Since I've reached a sort of crossroads, I figured I'd spew about my progress for a spell.

First, I'm a bad person. The truth is, you're the weak and I'm the tyranny of evil men, but I'm trying real hard to be the shepherd. I know that a fearless, unrepentant bastard shepherd probably isn't what most people think would be a good thing, but it's who I am. Thing is, just like Mr. Wallace, I've got a gleaming beautiful soul in my briefcase. Lots of people look to me as an example whether I want them to or not. Bushido dictates a certain level of obligation to those who look up to you, and because I choose to follow those tenets I have to honor that obligation.

Second, I started this line of inquiry for all the wrong reasons. I fell really hard for a Christian woman, and our spiritual differences were going to become a sticking point somewhere along the line. I decided to look into some different things to see if I could find a way to reconcile bushido-driven metheism with her peculiar brand of Jesus-freaking. I left all of my other books at home while I was traveling and set out to read the Bible - desperately searching for something that said I could be a good person without Christ. I found a bunch, but they all kept coming back to this one really important point...

Third, God loves me anyway. He loves me so much that he sent his only son to die for the sins of the world - my sins. If you held a gun to Guen's head and said that I had to choose between her life and the lives of ten people in the next room, well, I'd ask who those people were and the decision would still be agonizing. God loves me like I love my cat, with a pure and faithful love that sees beyond foibles and the occasional wet spot of the sofa. Say what you will, but I believe that. In the long run, that's really all that matters.

So having said all this, I'm still faced with some challenges. I have a very personal belief system and code of conduct that I need to reconcile with my newfound faith. I have a badboy reputation to protect, and I'm still a fearless and mostly-unrepentant bastard. I still think science and mathematics are the purest expressions of God's thoughts. And I patently refuse to rest on my laurels knowing that I've got a place waiting for me when I die (meaning I still think that living for the afterlife really misses the point). My spiritual advice thusfar has been to read more and to seek out like-minded fellowship. I'm working on the first part and struggling with the second, and I'm absolutely convinced that I'll never figure everything out.

I'm okay with that, but that doesn't mean I have to stop trying.

RANT/RAVE: I'm Still Inside You

2008-06-29T01:55:00.000-07:00

I've got this thing with NIN (and with Tori Amos, but not so often) where I'll go months without listening to them. It's like being celibate for a time so you can remember how awesome sex really is (not that I've ever done that by choice, but sometimes the nookie just slows to a trickle). When I finally return to them, it's like discovering something new again. I liken it to shagging an ex or watching a movie I haven't seen in awhile but remember liking - you get to remember what brought you to it in the first place all over again.

The video above is a fan-vid for my current favorite NIN song. It's on the Wanted soundtrack and, for awhile, it was pretty much the story of my life. I'm sure I'm not alone in feeling like sometimes life is just droning on. Sure, the globe gets warmer and the rich get richer and the poor get poorer, but the average person just kinda keeps the ol' head down, learns the menu, and gets by. The thing to remember is that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I think Immortal Technique summed it up by saying "When you attempt to change the system from within, you find eventually that the system has changed you." You're keeping in step, in the line. Got your head held high and you feel just fine. 'Cause you do, what you're told, but inside your heart it is black and it's hollow and it's cold. (That's more Nine Inch Nails.)

I guess my point is that going through the motions is monotonous. It's a bunch of bullshit. Anyone who tells you different is a fucking lethargic devil. Sure, you may wake up every day at the same time, report to the same job, hang out with the same people on the weekends, but that doesn't mean that each day need be a carbon copy of the previous one. Change things up just a smidgen. Walk a different route, get lost and be late, relocate, explore, talk to different people, shag someone else, trade up. Just don't become your fucking khakis.

If nothing else, know that you can sell out and get what you're worth without becoming a cog in the machine or another fucking drone - even in the corporate world.

RAVE: For the Ladies

2008-04-10T00:46:00.000-07:00

I remember promising back when I wrote Zen and the One-Night Stand that I'd do something for the ladies eventually. Better late than never, I say. Now gals, some of this might offend you, so if you're the kind that takes things personally or gets offended easily - STOP READING RIGHT FUCKING NOW! If you aren't that kind of girl, take this for what you will and remember that I love all women and I'm really just trying to help. Now, on with the show.

Ladies, I am not your gay friend. I am a caveman. Not just any caveman, but a fearless unrepentant bastard of a caveman. I also think of myself as an educator and a public servant. Just like I used my talents late last year to help men do a better job of helping you scratch certain itches, I'm now returning the favor with some helpful hints on what men want and what you can do to give it to them.

FRESH BREATH: I'm serious, it goes a long way. If I'm talking to a girl and she's got a bad case of the assmouth, I'm not going to talk to her for long. If a guy offers you a mint, he's either got extra mints and is being polite, or he likes you enough to try and resolve an issue that's keeping him from asking to take you home. Either way, take the fucking mint. Better yet, carry your own (you have a frikkin' purse) and save him the trouble.

STAND OUT, REACH OUT, LOOK OUT: I shit you not, the girls that'll get the most action are the ones that don't look like all the other girls in the gaggle. If you're traveling with a pack of blondes, go red. Your girls are all in black? Be the one in white. Guys want the aberration because she looks more likely to be willing to part with her gaggle of girls. Parlay that uniqueness into something even cooler by actually initiating a conversation or two with guys. It'll intimidate the old fashioned ones out there, but those're the ones that just want you in the kitchen anyway. Don't fuck them. They're fertile.

LET US BUY YOU THINGS: I shit you not. Few things get on my nerves more than when I go to pay the whole ticket and somebody tries to stop me. The only thing that's worse is when you don't accept gifts. Guys have this weird biological imperative to provide. They feel valued and like they're contributing. Eat the free dinner, drink the free drinks, and express gratitude. We know that you're liberated and maybe a little insulted, but that's part of why we do it for you.

WHORE IT UP A LITTLE: Note that I said "A little." Show some skin, but leave the halter top for the outdoor music festival. Swear a bit, but leave the skank talk for later. Almost every guy wants a girl that looks slutty, but not too slutty; acts innocent, but not too innocent; gets drunk, but not too drunk; and will still likely put out. It's that strange dichotomy that keeps guys from ever doing anything right. We really have no idea what we want, but we want all of that and then some.

THINK ABOUT THE GYM: Ever hear the phrase "What we find pleasing to the eye and pleasing to the touch are seldom the same. 'Tis a shame." Well, that was written by a guy who preyed on women with poor self-image and who had never fucked a gymnast. That's right, it was written by a damned dirty lying predator. Don't become a slave to fitness or get all muscle-bound and shite, just get comfortable with your body and you'll be a thousand times hotter. It's also nice to be able to look at a girl and know that she'll have some energy in the sack. The prospect of having to do all the work all the time can be a real turn-off. While I don't subscribe to the anorexic standard of beauty, there's a reason you don't see a lot of lonely skinny pretty girls. Men're wired and conditioned to what that. It's better to know that and use it than to live in denial.

KISS WITH YOUR EYES OPEN: This goes for fucking, too. If I'm taking a girl to her happy place, I don't want her going to her imaginary happy place. Be present for that shit. Imagine Tyler Durden slapping the shit out of you after he dumps lye on your hand. Don't block that shit out. It's called intimacy for a reason. Fantasize while you're masturbating. Be there and involved and you just might find yourself not having to masturbate quite so often.

FUCK THE NICE GUY ON OCCASION: Got a good friend that's always been there for you? Remember that fella that held your hair while you puked, then made sure you got home safe and didn't molest you even once? Yeah. You do. Give him a reward toss or something - or at least hook him up with a friend of yours. Nice guys that finish last too often go out and learn from bastards like me and then aren't nice anymore. If you get to 'em before they get to that point, at least you can train them to do things you like.

CARRY PROTECTION: Condoms and mace. Seriously. Guys never think to bring that stuff, and if they do you have no idea how long it's been in their damned pocket. Better safe than sorry I say.

DON'T FAKE IT: I can tell. Most men can tell. Most of the time, we really don't care. What you do when you fake it is deny us the feedback we need to really get you off. That's just mean and unhelpful - and generally unfair to you because you aren't getting yours. If you're one of those gals that just can't, then patently ignore this advice and get yourself some therapy.

That's all I've got for now. If you've read this far and find my commentary inflammatory, I'd encourage you to go and read pretty much anything by Sam Harris (no relation). My social commentary is kindergarten stuff compared to the words this magnificent bastard strings together.

RANT: Right to Life

2008-03-30T13:52:00.001-07:00

Every day I spend at least a couple of minutes imagining myself torn apart by arrows, crashed against the stones by fierce winds or a crashing wave, or facing death in honorable combat. In making my death a constant part of my life, I master it and it holds no power over me. In thinking about death daily, I appreciate life and its' wonders that much more. Big problems become smaller and complexities simpler. All I really have to do is live and die, then journey from one end to another is just details.

Morbid? Probably, but it keeps me sane. It's also given me a unique perspective on death and loss. I've lost a lot of people close to me in the past few years, and while not all of them have died, some of them probably wish I would. Others don't wish for anything anymore - because they're dead. They don't get to make the journey anymore because they've done the final thing that they truly had to do. I don't know what happens to them, but I have a feeling that it's mostly good, stress free, and pretty peaceful.

Sure, I mourn them in my own peculiar way, but that's how I cope. I miss them when I think of them, but I also wish them the best. My favorites are the ones who chose how they went gently into that good night, but I still mourn the ones that, tragically, had their lives ended early. I'm sure that when the time comes and I want to die, it will be in a manner of my choosing, and I hope that folks will respect my wishes.

Think about this stuff the next time you're presented with options to keep someone lingering on, or to stop a life before it really has a chance to get started. Honor the wishes of the living, and respect the memories you have of the dead.

RAVE: The Poverty of Philosophy

2008-03-18T06:25:00.000-07:00

Listen and learn...

RANT: Corporate Raiding

2008-03-17T17:48:00.001-07:00

See that logo on the left there? Yeah. I've played the pen-and-paper version of that game before. I don't really mention the fact that I'm a gamer on this blog a lot, but I am. I only mention it now because lately I've been thinking a lot about one of my favorite sessions.

Our contact met us in your run-of-the mill dive bar and set out to contract us to kidnap a scientist from a corporate research facility. The money was right, so we took the job, completed the extraction, and got screwed in the process. Turns out our contact was working for the scientist, who had to fake the kidnapping because he wanted to change jobs. He worked for a company that kept you for life - and the only retirement option was a lead injection to the base of the skull with a high-caliber hypodermic.

It got me thinking about the lengths people go to when they want to avoid hurt feelings with their employer. They think of their company as an entity unto itself, something that hopes and dreams, lives and dies, and loves and hates. Since corporations are made up of people, that's sometimes true. Since corporations flow with the blood of money earned by the labors of those people, it's also not true.

Think about it for a minute. If you were costing your company money and not generating any results, would they keep you? Would they really worry about how you felt or how to protect those feelings? If their bottom line was in jeopardy, would they keep you out of fear of inconveniencing you or causing grief?

If the answer is yes, you should start looking for a new job, because your company isn't long for this world. For the rest of us, the answer is no. Knowing that, you take the offer that's best for your bottom line (whether that's happiness, job satisfaction, or monetary gain). Sure, some people will miss you, and some of your co-workers will be put out because they have to make up for the slack your absence generates, but if your company really wanted to keep you, wouldn't they make a better offer?

So, if you're thinking of moving on, solicit some offers, make your intentions known, and give everyone a chance to do right by you. Get it all in writing to cover your bum, and make the best decision for you. Look out for yourself, and trust everyone to do just the same for themselves. That way, whether you walk or stay, you'll be able to do it with a clean conscience.

RAVE: Sex

2008-03-12T18:39:00.001-07:00

Not really a whole lot to say about it, aside from the fact that it's really really really really good. I've rarely had bad sex, and even that was still pretty good. Still, I feel like I owe you loyal readers something for the really dry month of February. I know this isn't much, but I'm thinking about ya (and sex, 'cause I'm male).

So go out there and have some. I'm going to.

RANT: Strays

2008-03-10T20:48:00.000-07:00

I read a story awhile back about a father that couldn't handle his newborn son's crying anymore. He snapped. An hour later, his wife was dead and his son was left in a dumpster behind the neighborhood McDonalds. I'd link to it, but I can't remember where I read it.

It riled me.

Last week, someone dumped a perfectly domesticated American Shorthair outside the building where I work. When I say perfectly domesticated, I mean perfectly. We got her home, gave her some food, and she immediately went and found the litter box and did her business. We didn't even show her where it was. She lives with me and my roommate now, her name is Holly now, and she's sprawled out on my bed right now - button cute in that awkward not-a-kitten stage of her life. She's like that tall girl in fifth grade that everyone made fun of, but wanted to date once eighth grade came around.

How she came to live with us riled me.

Humans have a social compact with the defenseless. Children and companion animals depend on us to take care of them and fulfill our end of the bargain. We're allowed to get mad, get frustrated, and even to want to give up on them, but we still have to keep up our end. We have a duty to honor the obligations we accept for ourselves, and it pisses me off when I see folks that don't. I know it's old-fashioned, but I think it's been pretty well established that I live by an old code.

I need everyone who reads this to think before they take on responsibilities. Remember that kittens become cats, puppies grow into dogs, lizards need crickets pretty much daily, and, most importantly, babies aren't always going to be a walk in the park. If you take it or make it, be sure to keep up your end of the bargain - or at least have the balls to seek out someone who can.

RANT: Money

2008-01-27T11:19:00.001-08:00

So I'm staring at my w2. It's the document that summarizes the last year of your life into five or six orderly line items. There's your social security number, your gross income, your net income, and how much you've paid in taxes. Sure, there's some other data about your employer and the like, but those four lines pretty much define your value as a barcode citizen.

After selling back two weeks of vacation, getting a decent bonus, and working my ass off for a whole year, I did pretty well for myself. I have a decent place with a cool roomie, my personal life is as shitty as can be expected, I work too much, I bought another car to replace the one I lost in an accident without really breaking a sweat, and I didn't have to fob off any bills when my income was reduced for legal reasons.

So, why is this a rant? Well, money isn't everything. I'm pretty certain that four line items can't summarize a whole year's worth of life. Matter of fact, I'm absolutely certain that they can't. I've grown, my friends have grown, I've survived things that would've killed me in those fanciful years of old, I changed the first digit of my age, I found my stride as a single white male, and I'm better for all of it. Money was helpful and harmful to my progress, but the acquisition of wealth can't be what it's all about. Surely our worth as human beings with real thoughts can't just be a matter of numbers.

If I'm going to spend the next year of my life relaxing while they ease it in, I at least want my form to have a comment section that reads "Thanks for being a cog in our great economic machine."

RANT: Desperate...powerless

2008-01-26T16:06:00.000-08:00

There are days when I feel perfectly in control of everything. I like those days the best. I know it's an illusion, that nobody can control each individual variable in the equation of life, but sometimes just the feeling is enough to keep me happy... sane even.

The days when I don't have that illusion are coming more frequently as of late. I've let control of things slip away, decisions that were once solely mine fall to others, and I have to tell you that it's pissing me right the hell off. If I hear one more person talk about personal growth at my expense or in my absence, I'm going to fucking stab them.

In these situations, some folks ask "What would Jesus do?" but I can't. The wisdom of the carpenter doesn't hold a lot of weight with me. Instead, I have to ask "What would I do?" Were I free of emotion, feeling, outside influence, what action would I take. If there were no consequences, what course would I plot for myself. Part of the peril of metheism is that you can only turn to yourself at the end of the day. When I look to others for answers, I wind up with that many more questions. I have to say "Fuck them!" and figure shit out on my own.

You should try it sometime. I'm usually amazed at how well it works. The only problem for me is that I'd just do a bunch of coke, hang out at strip clubs, and make sure my cat gets fed if I were free from all external stimuli. I can't do that, because there's other things to consider, but it's a fun mental exercise. The fun part is, it really makes me feel better.

Thanks for reading. I'll kvetch about something with a bit more social context next time.

RAVE: Slacking

2008-01-19T18:33:00.001-08:00

So payday Friday has come and gone. I've been to the bar and found my way home. I got some good sleep and woke up in time to catch Legion of Super Heroes on WB. (Watch the show. It is the goodness.) It's Saturday now, and you know what I'm doing?

Nothing. That's right. Not a damned thing. And I'm not going to do anything unless I decide that I want to.

You see, sometimes we get caught up in all of this shit that we have to do. We forget that the only things we really have to do are eat, sleep, breathe, pay taxes, and feed the cat/kid/sig-o/whatever. Pretty much everything else is a want to do or a choose to do. Today I'm choosing to do nothing, and that's okay. Slacking is not some cardinal offense, some mortal sin. (Well, okay, it may be sloth, but who cares? God hasn't done anything for the better part of 2000 years and I don't see her starting now.) You won't go to hell for taking a day off and you can only really store up so much sick time before you become a zombie.

So hang up the club, stop dragging the cavewoman around by her hair, pull up a boulder, and take a load off. Take a break from the relentless pursuit of bitches and money (or dudes and money - depending on which team you're batting for). You've earned it, dear reader. You've earned it.

RAVE: More on Strippers

2008-01-03T00:16:00.000-08:00

Did I mention I'm a sucker for a good pole trick?

RAVE: In Defense of Strippers

2008-01-02T23:45:00.001-08:00

Now I've been all around this great big world (okay, just a few states, but life lived beats out geographic range any day of the week) and I've seen all kinds of girls (not an overstatement like the last one). By far, some of my favorite ladies have been those that take their clothes off for money to my favorite classic rock hits.

I've heard them called all manner of things: whores, sluts, exhibitionists, whores, prostitutes, call-girls, etc. But I'm here to tell you that female empowerment as we know it wouldn't exist without the burlesque. Since the Crusades, women have been shaking it for their men on the homefront to compete with the exotic ladies from afar. Throughout history, flashing a little skin has stopped wars, prevented murders, and kept the world safe for the occasional glimpse of nipple and the shallow hope that one of them might take you home.

They won't, but that's a subject for another blog. Today I'm here to speak up on behalf of one of my favorite segments of femme-kind. These girls are out there night after night shaking what their mamas gave 'em for a wad of sweaty bills. Their hard work and dedication keeps men from cheating, women from getting bored with the same old same old, and young boys hoping that they can one day sacrifice their dollars on the altar of stripper flesh. For the most part, they don't get much dirtier than a lap dance and they're usually working their job because the money is better than they could make elsewhere. In my brief career as a bouncer, I met women working to keep their kids fed, to pay their way through college, and some who just did it 'cause it got them off.

Much like smoking marijuana, nobody ever got hurt that didn't get frisky when they shouldn't have.

So go out and support your local strip club this weekend. Take your girl with you (if you have one), give her a stack of bills, and watch from afar. If you go solo, save some of that cash for a lap dance. Having it ground on your lap and slapped on your face might bolster your confidence enough to go out and find a girl you don't have to pay for. Just remember that strippers are people too, and be sure to tip your waitress (she'll be the one with her clothes on).

Ciao.

RANT: The Cabbage Patch

2007-12-19T22:28:00.000-08:00

I apologize in advance for this rant. It is the byproduct of not enough sleep and a farcical conversation during an otherwise-uneventful rehire committee meeting. Read on at your own risk.

America, you're really starting to piss me off with your solja boy dance and your one-two-step and your bumping and grinding. I think it's high time we got you back to your patriotic roots. For far too long, hips have been too close together or dance moves too choreographed. Not since the 70's have things been this lame. We need a hero, a saviour for modern times. We need something to ring in 2008 with a real dancing bang.

Friends and neighbors, we need to bring back the Cabbage Patch.

I know that you're scoffing, possibly laughing, at the return of such a ridiculous dance, but it needs to come back. WHITE PEOPLE CAN DO THIS DANCE. Hell, I can do this dance. It's easier than the Running Man, doesn't require any backspins, and it works for damn near any song. It also gives me carte blanche to use my fists to keep the skanks offa my junk while I'm trying to bust a move to the latest MC Chris jam. (If you don't know who MC Chris is, stop reading now and google him. His backpack has jets.)

So when the apple drops and the latest thing from rapper-o-the-day comes on, bust out some old school Cabbage Patch and get your groove on. Only you can help breathe new life into this dance.

Hey Macarena!

-The Caveman

RAVE: Bad Religion

2007-12-07T17:17:00.000-08:00

Watch and learn...

Seriously, just stop thinking. Put on the ol' blinders and move forward toward some unknowable goal. The world will be fine so long as you don't notice, and even better if you just don't think.

RANT: Manipulation & Subterfuge

2007-12-04T22:53:00.000-08:00

So, I'm a bastard. I know it, admit it, and live it. I've been okay with it for quite sometime. Born fatherless, it seemed to be my lot in life. In the intervening years between birth and now, I've gotten pretty good at getting people to do what I want. It's really not that hard, and it has served me well on this long and winding road that we call life.

The problem with being good at something is that you get that much better at noticing when other people are doing it too - especially if they're doing it badly. Since my revolution is one of the mind and of thoughts, I figured I'd help out and offer some tips rather than just bitch about how crappy and transparent people that don't have a natural talent for this sort of thing really are. Read on if you want, but I have to warn you that I intend to be ridiculously arrogant, unrepentant, and downright mean.

Have some fucking principles. I can't stress this enough. You'll sleep better at night if there are certain lines that you just won't cross. Learn the limits of your conscience and set your lines a few notches back. You'll be glad you did when you can look yourself in the mirror in the morning and not want to retch. Me? I use my powers for good: helping people, making bad situations better, getting folks to think and grow, and generally trying to better my lot in life. I've been called a "Nice Machiavelli" and I'm rather proud of that distinction.

Learn to shut it off. If you're constantly playing politics and analyzing people, they become tools rather than real folks. Stepping stones if you will. Figure out who you don't need to be manipulative with or, better yet, start out honest with everyone and only switch gears when your hand is forced. Friends and lovers should be off limits, unless shallow and meaningless relationships are what you're looking for. This piece of advice will help because you can't fool someone forever, and if you spend enough time working your magic on someone, they'll eventually get wise and wind up resenting you.

Get a cat. I really mean this one. Few creatures in nature are as manipulative as felius catus and fewer still are as nice to have around. Get your cat young and watch how they train you from the get go. Sure, you'll get them to pee in the box, but they'll have the last laugh when you're late for work because you just have to stop and pet them.

Recognize your betters. If someone catches you or you find yourself being manipulated by someone else, accept it and learn from it. Don't keep it up if you get busted, but continue to submit on your own terms if you find yourself on the receiving end. In the first scenario, you only make it worse for yourself. In the second, you change the game and can start playing on your terms. Either way, you'll be better for it.

Honesty really is the best policy. Most of the time, you can get what you want by just asking for it. If you're forthright and honest, your reputation will carry you (and make people less likely to question you when you really do need to be manipulative). When you can, tell the truth and be transparent in your motivations. When you can't...

Lie. Lie. Lie. Go big. Tell a whopper that's three tiers deep. Then believe it yourself. Lie with sincerity so that you seem honest. Defend the lie. Make love to it. Keep it afloat until it rots and falters, then try to resurrect it. Apply bandages (read: more lies) when it oozes the puss of untruth. As soon as you fess up to a lie, you'll never be believed again, no matter what a stripper tells you. If you've resolved to tell a lie, ride it out to the bitter end. A bad lie can die, but grudges born from untruths rarely do.

Remember what I said about principles and honesty. I wrote that for a reason. You need to stick to your guns whenever possible, or you're just another lying scumbag.

Pick your fights. Win some, lose some. Engineering a few losses along the way that don't really hurt you sets the stage for bigger things later. Knowing when to hold 'em, when to fold 'em, when to walk away, and when to run will help you look for win-wins that everyone really wants. Learning to lose graciously will set the stage for bigger wins in the future.

Don't step to me. If you're reading my advice on manipulation and putting some things into practice, then you'll remember to recognize your betters. I'm thinking three steps ahead and I'll usually see you coming before you even start wanking in my direction.

Good luck. You're going to need it.

RAVE: LARP

2007-12-02T12:46:00.001-08:00

So, last night I got together with a bunch of old friends and pretended to be an anarch in a classic WoD one-shot. We revisited the Convention of Thorns and reenacted it for the benefit of a friend's small tabletop group. Damn, it was fun.

It was the kind of fun that got me thinking about other games, ones I've been involved in executing and the ones that have risen up to replace it now that I'm no longer running the local live-action scene. Thinking on it even more (a welcome distraction from other stuff I've had to think about recently), I hearkened back to my days as a player in these games. In so doing, I came to a very important revelation.

Being entertaining trumps the accumulation of wealth and power, no contest.

D&D, the founding father of RPGs, has created what can best be deemed a hostile player-vs-gamemaster relationship. The players control characters in the relentless pursuit of points, power, and wealth while the gamemaster tries to inhibit those accumulations and (gods forbid) perhaps separate players and characters from some of the stuff they've accumulated in the name of challenge, story, and drama. Somewhere in there, the value of entertainment got lost in the shuffle, and the spirit of sitting around the campfire and sharing stories to entertain was corrupted.

As Bob Dylan would say, "Sure was a good idea, 'til greed got in the way."

I think back to all the times I've had the most fun gaming, and they all come down to those moments where everyone hated me or I was most assuredly going to die a horrible death - but someone was reacting to it and things moved forward. I've been the guy in the black suit curling his mustache and tying pretty Penny to the railroad track. I've been the shadowy manipulator behind the throne that everyone knew was really in power and wanted to usurp. Heck, I've even been the lone fruitbat human in a houseful of vampire - delighting in fooling them and making them figure out who I was, why I was there, and what I wanted. It never once crossed my mind that the points and powers I'd worked so hard to accumulate would go down the drain along with the character sheet when I died, because I knew that in dying I was making fun for other people. I've never been content to hunker down, keep my head low, and accumulate points so that I could eventually hang with the other people that had lots of points and get to play the "real" game. I marched into their meetings, challenged their right to be there, and sometimes I got killed for it. I always always always had fun, and I like to think most of the folks I played with did too.

So next time you're contemplating how many more sessions you have to ostrich through to raise your MC or buy that power that'll allow you to finally take your place in the danse macabre, stop and ask yourself where the fun really is. Challenge the people with the points to use their unassailable monstrosities to create fun for others. Point out that you can still roleplay and have fun without being unstoppable. Rub somebody the wrong way so they react in character. DO SOMETHING!

And remember, you can't win at an RPG, but you can't lose either.

RANT: National Novel Writing Month

2007-11-22T10:53:00.000-08:00

This is a guest rant from The Mad Hack. Anyone interested in writing for Caveman Rejoice! can submit rants to my e-mail address. Submissions must include the word "fuck" at least once if they fall into the Rant category, "fucking" if they fall into the Rave category, and with be ignored if they don't fall into either.

It's November. Around this time of year, it's important to take stock of our blessings, stuff our faces until we drift off into a coma, and arm our checkbooks for the diabolical Season of Giving that hits before we've even thought about making that first leftover turkey sandwich. This is also the time of year where we must take a good, long look at ourselves and admit the following universal truth:

Real writers don't do NaNoWriMo.

That's not to say I'm a quote/unquote Real Writer. The fact that I'm loathe to participate in such a vainglorious waste of time is only one of the few characteristics me and Real Writers have in common. (That, and the drinking. I'm really starting to catch up with them on that one.) No, I admit that I'm nothing but a Hack and a Literary Whore. I'm very in touch with my realities, so I hate to see so many people lying to themselves. So, maybe in the Spirit of Giving, I've taken it upon myself to shed light on a few of the most damaging NaNoWriMo delusions that have claimed many a hapless, amateur wordsmith.

Lie #1: I can finish my NanNoWriMo novel.

Truth: No, you can't.

If you've been sitting on your ass for the last decade of your adult life wanting to write a novel, with a few ideas for a novel, but you never seem to have enough time to get to it, then you will not finish 50,000 words in 30 days. (Not unless 25,000 of those are the word Fuck.)

The secret—and the only secret—to finishing a novel is to write Every Fucking Day. And, if you haven't been writing Every Fucking Day since Jan 1, you just don't have the dedication to get your word count. Writing Every Fucking Day is a hard habit to develop—you have to be so addicted to words that you're willing to shun social contact, stop feeding your family and your pets, forget how to surf the internet and skip Grey's Anatomy every now and then, even if it is the special episode where Dr. McSexisons humps the leg of the new Nurse McNipplesons or whatever.

Want to sleep in late? You won't finish your novel. Want to go out to that bitchin' keg party? You won't finish your novel. Want to make sweet, sweet love down by the fire? Well, you see where this is going. Anyway.

Lie #2: My NanNoWriMo novel will be good.

Truth: No, it won't.

To be fair, the makers of NaNoWriMo do not protest that anyone will come out of November with a publishable manuscript, but they're speaking in words, and words are so very hard to understand. Too many people just don't get it. If you're balls deep in chapter sixty-four and you've only got two hours left before December 1 hits, and you've skipped lunch every day and gotten up at five am just to plug out another thousand "Fuck's", and you're dripping sweat onto the keyboard and you haven't realized the phone's been ringing off the hook for a week because you're writing so goddamn fast…then you're not writing well.

Writing well takes several months. It takes thirteen drafts and that year you spent arguing with yourself about whether or not you should use "While" or "Whilst" in the second-to-last sentence of chapter ninety-two. Sorry to tell everyone this, but, really—writing a novel is not only difficult, it takes a long-ass time. Which brings me to the final, most destructive fallacy:

Lie #3: NaNoWriMo is good because it encourages writers. (Y R U So Meen 2 Me?!)

Truth: Fuck you.

But, you say, NanNoWriMo is about encouraging people to chase their dreams! It's about collecting a group of like-minded individuals in the guise of a contest to encourage them to attain their literary aspirations! Okay, sure, that's all very good-natured and charitable, but there's only one problem—writers shouldn't be encouraged.

Writers should be spat on, kicked in the shins, dragged through the mud and left naked and soiled in a back-alley corner sprinkled with broken glass. If you lie in bed all day with bon-bons at your fingertips and a throng of NaNoWriMo fucks cheering you on, then you're not going to get any better at writing than, say, Danielle Steele. (The world does not need more Danielle Steeles.) But take a fist to the teeth a couple times after reeling out of an all-night bender covered in your own wretched pain of existence, and all of a sudden its "Holy Shit, the asshole can Write!" Pain is art, people.

In fact, I believe in the benefits of Writer Abuse so much, that I insist that everyone who's ever put a word to page in the attempt at fiction go directly—and I mean now—to this site:

http://101reasonstostopwriting.com/2007/11/17/top-ten-reasons-your-nanowrimo-novel-sucks/

Take some time. Peruse through the archives. Memorize every passage. And, if you can make it out with your teeth and your resolve to write intact, then By God, you're ready for the royal ass-kicking that is Writing. You're ready to commit, man. By all means—go forth and wax poetical on the most recent pile of self-important blither that you dare to call a novel.

Just make sure it's over 50,000 words. And don't fucking wait 'til November.

The Mad Hack is a published autthor with entirely too much free time. She had the honor of being the Caveman's main squeeze for several years. She's also smarter than most of you and very pretty.

RANT: LiveUrinal

2007-11-18T20:05:00.000-08:00

Dear readers,

A long time ago I made myself a promise that I wouldn't use this blog as a place to talk about my day, what I ate, or how my home life is going. I vowed that even anecdotal bits I posted here would have some kind of social context. I swore that I would never piss away somebody's bandwidth with tripe that you either didn't really care about or probably shouldn't be reading anyway.

I've upheld that promise, but the temptation has been strong. I've been told that airing one's feelings to the masses and droning on and on about one's day slakes some folks' morbid curiosity. I've been told that it's harmless exhibitionism, and that nobody gets hurt. It has been hard not to succumb to the evils of online journaling. So tempting that I've given up the fight.

Have no fear, gentle reader, as I've given in by getting myself a LiveJournal account. Random crap about me, my car, and the meals I have each day will be restricted to that particular no-fly zone. No, I won't link to it from here (or from my MySpace). No, I won't cross-post things. But yes, I will occasionally post random daily drivel there to get it off my chest.

It's catharsis. It's liberating. It's drivel. And, yes, on some level it's sad. So why do it? The only answer I can muster is that sometimes chronicling our days and our feelings can help us remember them better. The reverie of recounting the annals of one's day (up to and including what tasty things we had for lunch) revitalizes us and provides encouragement.

It also helps me keep this place free for important stuff, like advice on hooking up and how to seek male empowerment at your local Hooters.

Peace,

-The Caveman

RAVE: I love my cellphone

2007-10-16T20:36:00.000-07:00

So over there on the left is my cellphone. It matches my car. It matches my iPod. It even matches a few pairs of shoes I'm pretty fond of seeing on the fairer sex. I'm really not all about color coordination or even accessorizin' (cause I never cared too much for the money, but I know right now, honey that it's in god's hands, oh but I don't know who the father is...), but seriously, I love this phone. It has a feature that nobody should ever be without - self-ringing speed dial.

Yes, that means that you can hold down one of the buttons on the side and the phone will ring as if a call were coming in. It even defaults to a pre-selected contact from your phonebook (I chose my Mother). Tonight, my cellphone saved my life. Specifically, this feature saved my life.

You see, I'm addicted to CraigsList, and I was ever-so-slightly hot and bothered after a near sex encounter with one of those special ladies in my life. CraigsList became my backup. I've been chatting up this gal I met there for awhile and I decided to relieve some stress by finally meeting up with her. I drive down to the little bar down the road from my house and look for this gal that's been sending me some really nice pictures of someone that I found out later was, most-assuredly, NOT her.

I ordered a beer at the bar, just like I said I'd be doing and up she walks (she got there fast). Turns out she's not even blonde, not all that busty, and either cleans up really nice for a boudoir photo or is some kind of lycanthrope that gets really not good-looking when the sun goes down.

Just so you know, I'm not completely shallow and a I was completely horny, so I decided to buy her a drink and chat her up - as if something cool would mysteriously happen or she was there to screen me for her actual hot friend that was waiting in the car for me. We open with a discussion of the weather and me establishing that I'm the most desirable male in the bar and that she's very lucky to be here without being insulting when it starts. Turns out she is the girl from the ad. Turns out she's coming off of a bad relationship and really just wants to fall into something. Turns out that she simply can't...stop...fucking...talking about said ex. Thirty minutes into this, I'm no longer aroused from my earlier exploits and I just want to escape.

So I hold down the .mp3 play button on the side of my phone through my pocket on the sly and "Woke Up This Morning" comes chiming through my jeans. I look at the front screen and, lo and behold, it's my Mother. "Well. I'm sorry. It's my mom. I have to take this." I step outside for a minute to get better reception and return a minute or so later with the sad news that my dog has died. I'm just sad enough to be convincing and I'm free from a night of finding out more than I ever wanted to know about just how much of a jackass some guy named Rob really is.

Thank you LG. I love you, your company, and the blessed and wonderful phones you create. You've got a customer for life.

RAVE: Zen and the One-Night Stand

2007-10-13T23:28:00.000-07:00

Sometimes we do things a lot of times, sometimes that leads to the belief that we've become "experts" in our field, and sometimes that really is the case. For me, that thing that's been happening with pretty good frequency has been the one-night stand. I won't claim to be an expert at hooking up (as there are plenty of those on the ol' intarweb that'd be happy to provide advice) and I'm going to just assume that you know how to acquire, perform during, and (hopefully) end a single-night encounter. I'm also going to assume that you're male (as most of my readership claims to be). I'll tack on some advice at the end for the ladies because I'm all about equal opportunity, but girls really don't need to be as prepared as guys do. All they really have to deal with is years of societal conditioning to believe that they're whores for not marrying (or at least pursuing a relationship with) whoever they decide to get freakly with - and that's more an issue for you and your therapist than for you and random guy writing a blog. So here's some helpful hints for the guys:

BE PREPARED. I can't stress this enough. Get yourself a messenger bag and stock it with the following items:

Condoms. Even if you shoot blanks or you're infertile or whatever, put a rubber on your willy before you go and do anything silly. Get a variety of types (ribbed, lubricated, non-lubricated, colored, flavored, warming, tingling, etc.) and make sure they're stored as close to room temperature as possible.
Lube. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that two fingers across the clitoris will part the red sea and you'll be swimming in the waters before you know it. Fact is, humidity is not a symptom of arousal, and some women take quite awhile before they start gushing (and some never gush - much love for nature). If you get around enough, you're going to regret not having some on hand. KY makes tingling and warming lubricants that double as massage oil, so it's a double whammy.
A scarf, and old necktie, or a handkerchief (make sure it's clean). Never underestimate the value of a good length of tie-able material. The average silk tie that you wore to forensics tournaments in high school can masquerade as a blindfold, a rope for binding or lashing down, and a convenient sweat rag. The one time she asks for light bondage and you can't deliver will teach you the value of just such an implement.
A travel alarm clock. If you don't have an alarm on your cellphone (or you don't have a cellphone), this'll be the lifeline that keeps you from missing that important meeting the next day when you fall asleep that night. It is ALWAYS better to wake up before she does because it spares her from having to wake you up and kick you out.
One change of clothes. I hate nothing more than driving home the next morning wearing the same socks I wore the night before. This'll also prove to be a lifesaver when you sleep through your alarm and have to borrow her shower so you can make it to work on time. If you wear the same clothes you wore the night before, your co-workers WILL know.
Something to leave a note with. If you're doing things right, you're up before she is and you're on your way out. Leave behind something handwritten that specifically references something you did the night before (not the sex) and how much fun you had. Include your number if you really enjoyed yourself - because sometimes these things evolve into regular booty calls. If she's awake already, leave the note somewhere she can find it when you're gone. If it wasn't good, leave a note anyway but omit your number. It's just polite.

All of this will fit in a standard messenger bag. Keep the bag in your car except during the summer months (so you don't overheat the condoms) and pass the thing off as something you still had packed from a business trip earlier in the week or something you use when you go to the gym. Don't get it out until you're certain that you're going to get laid. Bust out the toolbox too soon and they'll start thinking that this is something you do regularly (and they don't need to know that). Forewarned is forearmed, and it really sucks to have to break the rhythm to run to the convenience store for a lubber. Most of all, NEVER EXPECT A GIRL TO BE PREPARED. Wrapping it up is your responsibility.

HER PLACE, IF POSSIBLE. Honestly, you don't know how things are going to turn out. Do you really want her knowing where you live? Also, remember where she lives as it sucks to get kicked out a killer party by that girl who owns the house that you forgot to call after a night of world-rocking.

IF YOU CAN'T PUT OUT, GET OUT. Seriously nice girls will still want to roll around with you if you have a bad case of whiskey-dick. That's because they're being nice. Failing to become aroused after a gal has already agreed to let you have your way with her is about the most insulting thing you can do. If you can't think of some other way to make sure she gets her cookie that she's amicable toward, you're best bet is to retreat into the night.

NO MEANS NO. Sometimes a girl has talked herself into it, then gets the cold feet. Stop whatever the hell you're doing. Chew on her ear a little, and ask if she's sure. Forced penetration is rape, even if she did bring you home with her. She knows what she wants and doesn't want, and stopping when you're told to might at least net you a BJ.

For the ladies, be prepared. For the most part, my gender is lazy and used to being taken care of by women (we all had moms at some point). Be as straightforward as possible. If your husband will be home at nine, wake a brother up in time to get the hell out of dodge. Most importantly, warn him if you have roommates/children/pets, because I love nothing more than walking around a naked and conquering after the fact and bumping into your BFF on her way out of the shower is a recipe for awkward. If you're done, tell him to leave. If it sucked, call me and I'll help you out.

I'll talk about booty calls some other time, as this post is getting long.

RAVE: Creaky Insomnia

2007-10-04T02:03:00.000-07:00

I don't journal online. Most of what I write has some kind of social conscience, deeper meaning, or commentary on basic human nature. Sometimes I get anecdotal, but I'll never post something like "Today I ate food and it was good. Then I pet my cat for three hours while watching randomly televised drivel." You don't want to read that almost as much as I don't want to write it. With that in mind, I'm going to rave about my inability to sleep.

Why a rave? The answer is simple. Your friend and humble narrator is ever-so-slowly going mad from lack of sleep, and yet he cannot find the wrong in that. It has always been a dream of mine to die of some kind of brain-rot disease (syphyillis anyone?) that drives me batshit insane before I buck the ol' kicket. I like the ASC (altered state of consciousness) I get when I can't make myself rest. I like meditating in favor of crashing out. I like that people wonder if I'm okay because I look tired. Most of all, I like pushing past it and getting things done despite my sleep-hating brain.

I can't describe how liberating it is to walk around like everything is Fight Club, especially knowing that it'll only last a few weeks (a month, tops) before I crash out something fierce and things go back to normal. There's this weird sense of detachment, like very few things really matter. Sure, I pay attention when I need to, but I could very well be dreaming right fucking now. You probably have no idea how awesome that really is. If I could cut back on the smoking, I'd stay like this forever.

To end things off, I'll tell you about the other thing I enjoy about insomnia. That's fighting it. I can work out until I'm tired, fuck until I'm tired, or fuck for awhile and then work out. I can go out and find someone to do one of those things with me (usually the middle one). When I engage in strenuous physical activity, I sleep like some mystically contented baby (I know that real babies don't sleep all that soundly, hence the added mysticism). It's the best sleep ever.

Creaky insomnia please release me and let me dream about makin' mad love on the heath, tearing off tights with my teeth. (And don't get me started on the sex dreams.)

RANT: My Culture Doesn't Always Win

2007-09-12T00:25:00.000-07:00

I feel sorry for the earth's population,
because so few live in the USA.
At least the foreigners can copy our morality.
They can visit but they cannot stay.
'Cause only precious few can garner the prosperity.
It makes us walk with renewed confidence.
We've got a place to go when we die,
and the architect resides right here.

We've got the American Jesus,
overwhelming millions everyday.

Yup, it's another 9-11 blog. I'm sure you're sick of them by now. I'm sure you've been told a million times in the past six years about how 2974 people died during or as a direct result of the single largest terrorist attack on American soil since Woodstock. I figure if you've read this far that you're hoping I'll say or do something different.

Friends, I intend to deliver on those hopes. Instead of highlighting the tragedy and the loss of life or tooting the horn of my favorite political candidate (Cheney/Cthulu in '08 - why vote for the lesser evil?) I want to preach a message of peace and tolerance in a sea of "Never forgets" and "God Bless the USA"'s.

You see, the United States of America is the greatest country in the world. We enjoy a strength of diversity not found anywhere else in the world. Even living in Kansas, I can bask in the joys of a cultural melting pot - with nationalities, ideas, and ideaologies so varied even I can't keep 'em all straight. I can get that same level of culture and variegated ideals pretty much anywhere I go - 'cause the only culture truly indigenous to this mass of land we all walk on are the Native Americans.

Say what you will about how our freedoms have diminished since the attacks, but remember that is some places in the world you'd be executed for voicing those opinions. Harp on the tragedy of the attacks, but remember that is some countries incidents like this are practically commonplace. Just remember that, for the most part, those people that are different from you are Americans as well. Hate the folks that commit acts of terror, not the culture or country they come from.

America! Fuck yeah!

RANT: Bushido and the Strong Pimp-Hand

2007-09-06T17:27:00.001-07:00

I found myself wishing the other day that everyone who failed me would be inclined to gut themselves in shame. Fortunately, it didn't come true or there'd be a lot of dead sum bitches out there (me included). It did get me thinking about old codes and modes of behavior. I know that I wasn't around for any of them, but I find myself missing 'em nonetheless.

Most old codes of conduct were created to keep badass muthafukkas from just killing less badass folks and taking what they wanted. In Europe, rich guys with estates and armor and horses and mandates from richer guys with more estates and more armor and better horses followed chivalry to avoid solving everything with a strong sword arm.

In ancient (meaning before WWII) Japan, the baddest muthas of them all had to figure out a way to keep all of these hereditary-title warrior-caste badasses in line. I'm sure they had a big damn meeting where they fought a lot about what "Ways of the Warrior" were the most important. In the end, it came down to Courage (not being afraid to do stuff), Honor (doing stuff that is right), Sincerity (saying that stuff like you mean it), Compassion (being nice most of the time, especially to one's lessers and guests), and Loyalty (doing all of that stuff to honor your lord, clan, and ancestors). I imagine a lot of blood spilled on floors over whether or not "One Night Stands With Hawt Geisha" was actually a virtue. "Hatin' on the Ninja" probably came up as well. With the code in place, another samurai could still gut you if you stepped wrong, but he couldn't do it just 'cause you'd smudged his obi.

Flash-forward a little bit to the mean streets of major cities before guns came to the fore. I'm talkin' blacksploitation/Clockwork Orange-style. Whole new sets of societal norms came to the fore to keep folks from just up and killing other folks. It made (and still makes) good sense that you'd step lightly around other ultra-violent people, even if you were ultra-violent yourself. Fighting all the time just gets you dead. Sure, the virtues didn't have fancy names anymore, but there was still a Way. It might've been cane-upside-the-head-do or strong pimp-hand-do, but the Way was intact.

I'm sure there's some kind of code in place now, but for most of my adult life it's been either "avoid conflict" or "resolve with extreme prejudice and little regard for collateral damage." Maybe I'm just not seein' it, or maybe it's gone. Either way, I miss it.

RANT: Feeding Cats

2007-06-12T00:41:00.001-07:00

That's Guen. Yup, she's prettier than you. Yup, unless you're a certain Hack, it's very likely that I love her more than I'll ever love you. Kinda makes you feel bad for any kids I might have someday (or that I already had and don't know/remember), that I'll likely love this cat more than even my own seed.

But you see, Guen saved my life once, then later she was a catalyst (sorry for the pun) for saving it. Her and her sisters (RIP Kalibeta), form the basis for one of those clever mantras that I've lived by for a grip, that being "No matter how bad it gets, always feed the cats."

You're probably wondering how Guen saved my life (or you don't care, but I'm going to tell you anyway). Well, a long time ago, I did something dumb. I really wasn't strong enough to recover from the dumb thing I'd done on my own, so I sought escape wherever it could be found. I piled bad stuff on top of dumb stuff until I really didn't want to do any stuff at all. At that point, I tried to snuff it. I look back now and think What a fucking coward. but back then it made perfect sense to me based on how bad I'd let things get. I laid out a plate of Fancy Feast, took 30 pills that definitely weren't meant to be taken thirty at a time, washed them down with some scotch, and went to lay down on my waterbed one last time.

So I'm dozing off. At that dosage, I'd be long gone before anyone would notice, and there wouldn't be anything doing if they had. My eyelids get all heavy-like, and up jumps this little ball of grey-and-brown fluff. She sits down right beside my head and starts howling. It was the mournful kind of howl that made me get out of bed and let her and her sister out of the bathroom when they were too young to be sleeping with a big guy like me. I rolled my head to one side, reached over to pet her, and the delicate orientation that kept my body from purging (If you're going to kill yourself with pills, lay down on your back. Do not look sideways for any reason. The rationale being that even if you pop, you won't be able to expel all of it in time.) was thrown completely out of whack. I puked my guts out over the edge of the bed, and I lived.

I know she's an animal and she didn't mean to. She probably just wanted attention or was gripey that she couldn't eat food as fast as the other cats because she had a cracked hard palate (thanks, non-window-propping-open fuckers). Still, she didn't cry like that unless something was wrong. I don't know what she knew, but she saved me.

After that, I developed an entrepreneurial streak. Those cats were going to eat and eat well as long as they deigned to stay with me. I sold some things I probably shouldn't to some people I probably shouldn't and got into some scrapes and did some more bad shit I really don't want to cop to right now. Through it all (even the convincing of a random junkie that our house was, in fact, completely dry whilst said junkie waved a gun in my mug), the mantra of "feed the cats" kept me going. Hell, after while it even made me a better person (after all, if something happened to me, who would feed them?).

Now that I'm a responsible, new-car-owning managerial-type, I've sorta grown beyond this simple mantra. Sometimes though, I really wish I'd stayed where I was. The simple act of caring for something else was livening, and occasionally, I long for that simplicity again.

No, this isn't filler.

2007-01-26T13:58:00.000-08:00

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RANT: Evil Women

2006-10-29T12:06:00.000-08:00

I’m going to blame the Baroness. Yeah, you got me, it’s her fucking fault. Destro’s gal from GI Joe firmly displaced Penny from Inspector Gadget in my youngling brain as a primary object of childish lust. She had it all; dark hair; glasses; a skin-tight bodysuit that screamed “I verk for Cobra undt have gorgeous breasts!”; an agenda of her own; no shortage of brains; and, most importantly, she was fucking evil. That’s where I got my penchant. It’s why my characters make bad decisions when evil pretty faces come a’ calling. Evil women make me dumb, simple as that.

I know it’s not fair to blame all my past woes on a character from my childhood, but now that I’m past most of them I tend to get introspective. I wonder what it was that drew me to them so, that still draws me sometimes. Why do I rush in where a sane man would rush any other direction? I’ll tell ya. It’s ‘cause, way deep down, evil is hawtsome. S’why I crushed on the Baroness rather than someone safe, like Scarlet or Lady Jaye. Sure, Lady Jaye would never shoot me in the back, but she’d also never shoot someone else in the back to save my life. The Baroness would, and then we’d make sweet love over the fallen corpse. While Lady Jaye would likely shout warning, that’d be cold comfort at my funeral. At least with the Baroness, I’d get some sweet over-the-corpse lovin.’

I think that must be it. Evil is predictable while good is fickle. I know where I stand with a bad girl. I know they want something, ‘cause everybody wants something. While the good girls play coy, the Caveman finds he ain’t got time for that shite. He’s too old.

Now good girls, you take heart. I've got a cadre of friends I can refer you to, and I'll still look out for you. That's the Caveman thing to do.

RAVE: I still got it...

2006-10-15T21:52:00.000-07:00

After several years in a rewarding monogamous relationship, I'm still...

The Hornivore
Random Brutal Sex Master (RBSMm)

Don't ever marry, you're The Hornivore. Roaming, sexual, subhuman.

The Hornivores (you) are some of the most screwed up and naughty beings in the Universe. And their numbers are growing, mostly due to skipped or misused contraception. You care not. There's one thing you want, one sole need.

Half manly, half bestial, you act on instinct, and animal charisma smoothes the way. It's unlikely

Your exact opposite:
The Slow Dancer

Deliberate Gentle Love Dreamer

you're driven by much other than your own selfish, orgasmic requirements. Your appearance and personality have evolved for the hunt. Ass beckons, you oblige.

For the record, you can happily bang all personality types, however your match percentages might be low with the kinder, more sensible people of the world, purely because they all wish to avoid you. Good luck to them.

"One day, the villagers came with torches to the house. In the smoldering ashes, stray dogs looked for cooked flesh."

AVOID: The Priss, The Sonnet
CONSIDER: Half-Cocked, Genghis Khunt

Link: The 32-Type Dating Test by OkCupid - Free Online Dating.

I'm also a fucking corporate sell-out who missed two beautiful people who are perfect for one-another's day of matrimony. I tried to escape, but leadership requires sacrifice. Since I wasn't there to say it, I'll give it a whirl now: "Fuck yeah B&B. Have gorgeous jedi bebbehs!!!"

RAVE: Music

2006-09-29T23:28:00.000-07:00

I'm a savage, savage beast. Like any good savage caveman beast, few things soothe me like the sweet sound of music (or a blowjob, I love those too). Since it's been a grip since I last posted, I thought I'd share some of the sounds that make me in lieu of some kind of heartfelt life update or an apology for not sharing my wisdom with you, dear reader, for almost a month.

So clean your glasses and expand your mind with the eclectic sounds that soothe the savage, savage caveman.

Glory Pit: They're local, they're talented, and I always have a good time at their shows. The Glory Pit delves deep into the realms of slam rock, work rock, the guitar solo, human resources/recruiting, and the paintings of John Constable. Dig around enough on their site and you might even find a few pictures of me at shows (in addition to some good frikkin music). These folks co-hold the dubious distinction of being the only musicicans to make me cry this year, along with Kelly Clarkson. (If you find yourself wondering why Kelly Clarkson makes me cry, click here.)

Outkast: There's just something about rappers having fun that makes me smile. If you don't own Idlewild yet, go get it now. It's like Speakerboxxx/The Love Below smushed into one disc, and Big Boi's stuff is better this go-round. Someday, I'm going to swingdance to "When I Look In Your Eyes."

Anarchy Club: Yes, I know they were on Guitar Hero. No, I had never heard of them before Guitar Hero, but that's because I don't live anywhere near Boston. If I lived near Boston, I'd be at an Anarchy Club show right fucking now. They're that good.

The Bags: Okay, so it's another band from Guitar Hero. What can I say? Penner's been playing the game again in anticipation of the sequel (which is available for preorder from your friendly local game shoppe). I remember being at Slander's place and using his hard-earned credits to purchase "Caveman Rejoice!" from the list of unlockable songs. The song rocked so hard that I evolved. Sure, I was a savage before, but I became the savage caveman you all know and love (arguably, I was a caveman long before I heard the song for the first time, but the story is cooler if I evolve like some over-levelled pokemon). AC/DC solos meet Bad Religion/Cro-mags vocals, and that makes the caveman happy. How can a band this fucking cool not be mindblowingly famous? There's just no goddamned justice in the world.

The Coup: Google 'em. Boots Riley is one of the most stepped-over rappers in the game right now. He's got politics, flow, skills, and an ear for beats. "My Favorite Mutiny" has been rocking my player since March and I'm still not tired of. Don't ever let they punk asses ever defeat you. They got us on the corner wearing pleather and see-through. All y'all's goldmines. They wanna deplete you.

Tori Amos: Even the most savage of cavemen can't be angry all the time. Sometimes he has to calm the fuck down and listen to some Tori. She genius creativity unbounded by earthly matters (or the ability to make sense half the time), but her voice is balm on my weary muscles after a long day of babysitting too many trainees (and trainers and team managers and clients and other folks you don't care about). So long as the caveman can listen to Tori, all remains well.

So yeah, my playlists are eclectic. You probably already knew that (or had at least guessed by now). Sometimes, the music is all that keeps me sane. It's gotten me through the shittiest times in my life, and it's still with me now that things're going well. Talented people making noise makes the caveman smile. So does sleep, so g'night.

RANT: Israel

2006-08-30T21:16:00.000-07:00

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.

RAVE: Hooters

2006-08-18T19:25:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-08-18T19:04:00.000-07:00

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.

RANT: So, you're a jackass?

2006-08-09T21:10:00.000-07:00

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.

Welcome

2006-08-02T11:34:00.000-07:00

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.