Thoughts on the Lawn Sign War on Alcohol

It would be imprecise to say that some days everything pisses me off. That's entirely untrue. What actually happens during these dandy times is that the same kinds of things piss me off, but they piss me off a whole lot more than normal.

Today is one of those days. And it's not that I'm having a bad day or anything. Quite the opposite. I'm having a wonderful day. And what's making it even more wonderful is the fact that whenever I'm apprehended by one of these super-pissy fits is that it is always accompanied by the ability to find the exact words I'm looking for. And many of you may know that one of the most frustrating things in the world is being super-pissed and having no way to express it.

So today I'm walking down the sidewalk between classes at WOU, completely unaware that something is about to catch my eye that will cause me to start writing my next blog internally for the next twenty-five minutes.

I see a series of picket signs stuck in the lawn-- hundreds, it seems-- and this already puts me on guard because picket signs, especially in multitudes, usually are the product of Highly Motivated People. And as George Carlin once cautioned, these people are the ones that are making life real shitty for the rest of us.

George: "I think motivation is overrated. You show me some lazy prick who's lying around all day, watching game shows and stroking his penis and I'll show you someone who's not causing any fucking trouble."

So I approach the signs and the first thing that catches my eyes are a bunch of photos of mangled, twisted steel: Automobile accidents. I'm not sure what fallacy these signs are about to committ, perhaps that wearing a seatbelt makes you drive better, but by now I've already got my guard up.

So then I get close enough to read the text. The first sign says something like, "Contrary to what you may think, EVERYONE WILL HATE YOU IF YOU DRINK ALCOHOL." That may not be the exact wording, but that's pretty much the gist.

And then I see this winner. This is the one that really gets me all fidgety. "The perception that alcohol use is socially acceptable correlates with the fact that more than 80% of American youth consume alcohol before their 21st birthday."

This one is word for word, and because it is word for word, I am compelled to discuss what a pile of shit this series of words is. Do you see how it starts? "The perception that alcohol use is socially acceptable."

Here's what this is saying. "Look kids, you might think that other people are okay with you drinking, but this really isn't the case. Nobody wants you to drink. In fact, people think you are an asshole when you drink..."
Do you see the manipulation?

Then it goes on, "... and the reason people think it's okay to drink is because they drank alcohol for the first time before their 7,665th day on the planet. And the reason we know this is bad is because if there is one thing modern mathematics and physiology has taught us, is the mystic correlation between alcohol and the number 7,665."

Do you see the bad logic here? The first part of the sentence has nothing to do with the second half! It's like saying, "The reason adults operate under the faulty perception that it's okay to shit their pants in public is because they shit their pants a lot as an infant." NO CORRELATION.

And nevermind the silly attempt at linking alcohol and 21 years. There are morality and ethics, sure. But there are also laws. And just because all three attempt to govern our behavior does not mean they are one in the same. Laws are in place because people put them in place, and they need not be credited with some sort of supreme authority, especially when a simple majority can rewrite what's right.

But here's the biggest problem with this sign. It suggests that the "everybody is doing it" reason is a bad reason to drink. And I totally agree. "Everybody's doing it" is a stupid reason to do anything. But if we apply the same logic, the counter-argument that they are imposing, "Actually everybody's not doing it" is just as bad because it draws upon the same social coercion.

I think what needs to be banned here is not the alcohol but the notion that people should or should not do something because a supposed majority is acting a certain way, and screw anybody who tries to accomplish what they feel is a "good cause" by employing such evil, manipulative, anti-individualistic logic.
And there's thousands of these signs. And they all say some of the goofiest damn things I've ever read.

Here's another fine piece of American literature: "Alcohol is the number one date rape drug."

NO IT'S NOT

When is the last time you and your buddies said, "Hey, wanna meet up for some date rape drugs after work?" How about this one: You're watching the big game and a commercial comes on saying, "Budweiser. Crisp. Clean. Refreshing. America's finest date rape drug, since 1872."

Folks, there's only one date rape drug. It's free, natural, and some people have too much of it. It's testosterone. And when it's in a cocktail mixed with anunbridled ego and a severe power trip, it causes problems. People have been getting raped by this type of guy for years, and it's not just women. Because rape isn't a sex crime, it's a power crime. And if you don't think that power crimes don't happen in places other than dorm rooms and bachelor parties, see: Patriot Act.

At the bottom of the sign I saw a footnote. It was a website url, www.brad21.org.

I just went to the site. Here's the breakdown. Brad21 is a website devoted to a guy named Brad. Here's Brad in a nutshell. "Bradley was a Michigan State University Junior and Clarkston High School graduate. He was majoring in parks and recreation management... He worked with young children... He spent two summers as a day camp counselor... He loved to play soccer year-round... He had many and varied friends, made friends easily with his fun loving nature and love for life in general..."

Basically an all-around nice guy. Then guess what happened. He turned 21 and went out drinking. "When he had finished 21 shots and knowing that the record among his friends was 23, he drank three more for a total of 24 shots of liquor. He drank them in about 1-½ hours. Because he drank the liquor so fast, his body was still catching up and his blood alcohol count was still rising when he left the bar. His friends took him home and put him to bed as he passed out. His BAC continued to climb to a lethal level of .44 g/100ml, as the depressant did its work. His breathing stopped and the coroner estimates that he died at approximately 4:30 AM. He died on his 21st birthday, November 5, 1998."

It's very sad. I don't want to undermine the sadness of the situation. But there should be a few more websites about Brad, like www.duh.com and www.brads-friends-are-dickheads.com.

I wish it were possible for me to be simultaneously funny and serious, but at this point in my blog I simply can't commit to one or the other, and I think it's because this Brad thing us sucking the humor out of me. And so were the thousands of signs in the lawn. And so are the Motivatards that put them there.

The Blog to End All Blogs
This really gave me a good tickle:

So I was surfing around online when I found a website called "No Slang." (www.noslang.com). It's a website put together for the purpose of allowing parents to decipher what "the kids nowadays" are saying. Directly from their website: "Parents praised us for helping them understand what their kids were saying."

Sure enough.

Most interesting is the place on the website devoted strictly to drug slang. It's pretty nifty. You go there and there's a little spot for you to enter text, and you hit the "translate" button and it will provide the definition for whatever slang you enter.

What's really nifty is that you can enter an entire phrase, sentence, or paragraph, and it will translate the entire amount so parents can understand *exactly* what the kids nowadays are saying.

When you go to the site, it gives a sample phrase so you can try it out.

Sample: "Abe was in a fix when his check for a sandwich and some tea totaled over twelve dollars but he only had two fives."

Translation (word for damned word): $5 worth of drugs was Connected with drug suppliers LSD To inject a drug when his Personal supply of drugs for LSD Two layers of cocaine with a layer of heroin in the middle and some Marijuana;phencyclidine totaled over twelve dollars but he only had two Amphetamine.

Ahahahahaha I love it. What a precise science.

So I decided to test this thing. I entered what is perhaps the most cryptic language ever: The lyrics to Louie Louie. Now, nobody knows what the hell The Kingsmen are saying, so it was hard enough to find a fairly logical translation of their slurring and giberrish. But from what I can tell, the Kingsmen's incoherency is so drug-saturated that no matter WHAT an artist is singing about, it's really about drugs.

Here's a verse-by-verse translation.

Actual verse:

Louie Louie, oh no
Me gotta go
Aye-yi-yi-yi, I said
Louie Louie, oh baby
Me gotta go

Translation (LITERALLY copied-and-pasted):

Louie Louie, oh no Me gotta Amphetamines; methylenedioxymethamphetamine (MDMA) Aye-yi-yi-yi, I said Louie Louie, oh Marijuana Me gotta Amphetamines; methylenedioxymethamphetamine (MDMA)

Next verse:

Fine little girl waits for me
Catch a ship across the sea
Sail that ship about, all alone
Never know if I make it home

Translation:

Fine little Cocaine; Crack Cocaine; heroin waits for me Catch LSD ship across the sea Sail that ship about, all alone Never know if I make it home

-----------

Folks, I'M SHOCKED. I've been senselessly blargling along to the lyrics of Louie Louie for years not knowing that I was propagating such heinous drug-related messages!

So I decided to do a little more hunting to see what I could find.

"Somewhere Over The Rainbow" from the Wizard of Oz:

Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high.
There's a land that I heard of Once in a lullaby.
Somewhere, over the rainbow, skies are blue.
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.

Translation:

Somewhere, over the LSD, way up high. There's LSD land that I heard of Once Connected with drug suppliers LSD lullaby. Somewhere, over the LSD, skies are Crack Cocaine; depressants; OxyContin. And the Opium that you dare to Cocaine Really do come true.

"A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes" from Cinderella:

A dream is a wish your heart makes
When you're fast asleep
In dreams you lose your heartaches
Whatever you wish for, you keep

Translation:

LSD Cocaine is LSD wish your heart makes When you're Methamphetamine asleep In Opium you lose your heartaches Whatever you wish for, you keep

"Baby Baby (Heart in Motion)" by Amy Grant:

Baby, baby
I'm taken with the notion
To love you with the sweetest of devotion.

Baby, baby
My tender love will flow from
The bluest sky to the deepest ocean.

Stop for a minute
Baby, I'm so glad you're mine, yeah
You're mine.

Translation:

Marijuana, Marijuana I'm taken with the notion To Crack Cocaine you with the sweetest of devotion. Baby, Marijuana My tender Crack Cocaine will flow from The bluest sky to the deepest ocean. Stop for LSD minute Baby, I'm so glad you're mine, yeah You're mine.

First Book of Nephi 3:16, Book of Mormon:

Wherefore, let us be faithful in keeping the commandments of the Lord; therefore let us go down to the land of our father's inheritance, for behold he left gold and silver, and all manner of riches. And all this he hath done because of the commandments of the Lord.

Translation:

Wherefore, let us be faithful Connected with drug suppliers keeping the commandments of the Lord; therefore let us Amphetamines; methylenedioxymethamphetamine (MDMA) Codeine coughCombination of marijuana and cough syrup to the land of our father's inheritance, for behold he left Marijuana; Crack Cocaine; heroin and silver, and all manner of riches. And all this he hath Methadone because of the commandments of the Lord.

Preamble of the U.S. Constitution:

We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

Translation:

We the people of the United States, Connected with drug suppliers order to form LSD PCP perfect union, establish justice, insure Locally grown marijuana tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

And finally, and MOST SHOCKINGLY:

Mother Teresa:

Everytime you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing.

Translation:

Everytime you smile at someone, it is an action of Crack Cocaine, LSD gift to that person, LSD beautiful Cocaine; Crack Cocaine; heroin; main drug interest at the momement.

Mormons, robot hands, and ass tattoos. Nobody has ever written that title, EVER.

During my exodus from campus this afternoon I was driving down Main St. in Monmouth and saw that a pub & eatery had replaced the crappy trendy coffee shack that had been there for the last two years. Because I wanted to show my support for the eradication of designer coffee, I stopped in and ordered a beer and did my homework. (They had Guinness!)

I was doing the required reading for my Introduction to Mysticism class. I was reading about how the roots to Mysticism date back to the time of Paul (in fact, his convert, Dionysus, is thought to be one of the founders of Mysticism) and how Mysticism is founded on the unknowable, that which is beyond our grasp, how God in his fullness is incomprehensible for humans, how many theologians believe that Mysticism is at the heart of every religious experience, and how the nature of a religious experience greatly expands beyond that which modern language can convey.

I finished the beer and grabbed a Vitamin Water for the road. As I was walking out the door, I got that strange feeling you get in your pit whenever you suddenly see a cop pass you on the highway. You know, that brief moment of manic panic when you sense an inevitable, patronizing, convicting confrontation.

I knew by their black pants and short-sleeve white button-up shirts that the cut-and-paste figures that stood like statues around my car were Mormons.

I tried to fake them out by walking a wide pattern initially in a different direction and then swoop in from behind, hop in my car, and take off, but with the tenacity of a pan-handling street-juggler one of them popped up in my face and cut me off in my path.

"Excuse me sir, I know you're on your way to your car..."(HOW THE HELL DID HE KNOW THAT!?!) "but can I ask you a question real fast?"

Of course the bastards hang outside of bars. To them, it seems like a great place to pick up "lost souls." I was hoping that my Vitamin Water would cause them to give me a break and distinguish me as Not A Typical Bar Patron.

If they had asked me, I would've suggested they try my Intro to Creative Writing class. They would have made a killing there this morning, what with all the Lost Souls in attendance. The professor read a quote by Ernst Hemingway that went, "For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn." He explained how Hemingway called it his "six word autobiography." Then he uttered the famous last words, "but what does it mean?"

Instantly, an athlete from the back row said, "He's got small feet." Then a cute blonde marketing major on my right said, "He's trying to appeal to the new-parent demographic." Then the first guy tried again, "He's got baby feet... um, he's taking baby steps." When the guy to my left finally spoke up and said, "He was deprived of his childhood and forced to grow up to soon," it was too late as everyone else had put on their caps and gowns and were on their way to shaking hands with the Dean and walking away with their liberal arts diplomas.

So the Mormons.

He offered a handshake, but when I accepted, my palm was met with a cold, black glove. It reminded me of Terminator 2 when Arnold dissected his left hand to prove to an unbeliever that he was actually a robot, and how he had to wear a glove for the rest of the film because CGI was a bitch back then and they would've gone waaay overbudget to animate in a robot hand for the rest of the film.

Because I had just moved from academic-mode and was still pondering, with an open mind, the perplexities of a deity so great that it eclipses our ability to grasp it, I felt I would be taking a big step back if I stonewalled the guy after he said, "Do you know anything about the Mormon church?"

"I do."

I've gotten a lot better at pulling my punches since I quit going to church. I figure he has a lot more to gain by me letting him finish his spiel than I would by being an asshole. By the way, it's not so much that I Quit Going To Church in the formal sense. It was more a passive move. One day I went, and when it was over I bought a bucket of chicken and went home, and the next Sunday I just didn't show up. And the same thing happen the next Sunday. And the next, and the next, and the next.

"How about the Book of Mormon?"

"I do know a few things about it."

"Do you know anyone who is Mormon?"

The truth is, I did, but he died last week as his parents walked in on him committing suicide by stuffing his head in a plastic bag filled with household intoxicants. That wasn't a joke. And I didn't put parenthesis around that part because I didn't say it to him, because I couldn't disrespect my former friend and classmate by allowing this fool to strain bad parenting and dangerous occultism through his theology-filter in a desperate attempt to make his quota.

Finally I said, "Can I just have a book of Mormon."

He winced and said, "Well I just have my personal one that I carry with me." Then as he pulled it out of his pocket and gave it one long, last Old-Yeller goodbye stare, his parter said, "No bro, the car's parked just around the corner. We got tons more."

I yanked it out of his hands but he held on to it, saying, "It is a holy scripture, you know."

I didn't mean to but I ended up saying, "Even this one-- the paperback version?"

Then he said, "You know, there's a verse in there that explains that if you pray to God and ask him if the Book of Mormon is real, he will tell you that it is."

This is a total 180 from the God-is-beyond-comprehension stuff I was formerly digesting. I wanted to tell him that just because it's written in his paperback doesn't make it any more true than it would by tattooing it across my ass cheeks.

I nodded and said, "Indeed."

He let it go, and as I turned to my car and began walking away, he said, "Do you have any friends who might be interested?"

I started to say, "No, so you can keep your stuffed pony," but instead I chose, "Yeah, and I'm sure you'll make it there soon enough."

Whopped.

Everyone's apparently got their knickers all twisted around and seized up on account of a new Burger King ad in which people from Overseas (you know, the mythical land where people drive on the left side of the road and despise capitalism) who have never eaten a hamburger before are forced to choose between a Whopper and a Quarter Pounder.

Here is the ad:

Now, because we recognize Burger King as the bastion of journalistic integrity and a reputable academic foundation for studying sociology, we can assume that when the ad states that everyone chose the Whopper, you can bet your ass that every damned one of them not only shit their pants over the Whopper, but they probably fed the Quarter Pounder to their cat, and then kicked their cat's ass for eating such a horrible sandwich.

At least that's what I got out of the ad.

Apparently people are all huffy over the ad, entitled "Whopper Virgins." I'm not sure why it is offensive, because after all, it's a hamburger ad, and if you feel your calling in life is to advocate for more wholesome hamburger ads, well, don't anticipate anyone writing any songs about you any time soon.

Apparently the folks at Burger King traveled to a foreign country, found some innocent bystanders minding their own business and then the Burger Kings opened up their trench coats, exposed their Whoppers, and deflowered the townsfolk.

Again, that's what I got out of the ad.

"Hold the mayo on mine." Jeez I don't know why I write these things.

But I must come out of the proverbial closet.

If these people are Burger Virgins, then I am a Burger Slut. I have been with a lot of burgers. And not just one. I'm not monogamous. I'm not faithful to the Whopper. I've done the Big Mac, the Quarter Pounder, the Big 'n Nasty. One time in South Carolina I ate one called The Thickburger, and it came slathered in butter-flavored shortening.

I've done weird things with burgers. I've taken pictures of them. I've had two burgers at a time. One time I had some friends over and we all had burgers right there in the same room, together. On the kitchen table no less.

That having been said, I would like to suggest that if someone's first time eating a burger is a bad one (for instance, if their first time is with a Whopper... seriously, when they call it "Whopper" it says one thing to me: overcompensation), it will likely leave a bad taste in their mouths and they will not look forward to having burgers again.

Folks, having burgers is a glorious thing. It should be fun. You shouldn't feel guilty. And you should never let anyone pressure you into having a burger.

Especially if you are a Burger Virgin.

Do any of you ladies know which way is the gym?

I recently started working out. I've started working out so many times in my life that working out would almost seem like a regular activity in my life if it weren't separated by so many expansive periods of inactivity. I think that if you were to chart out many times I've started working out, and how many times I've gone between working out, I would have to be 70 years old for it to all work out mathematically.

I'm always looking for a new motiviation to work out. I hate working out so much that if I cannot put together a solid argument that will hold up in the court of my mind, I simply cannot make myself get on the treadmill. Obviously health would be the prime motivation, but if I had an accurate view of health, I wouldn't be in the position I'm in to begin with, so in order to circumvent logic, on that charge I plead insanity.

In the past, I've used many motivations: Fit into my wedding dress, look like the kind of guy that can really kick somebody's ass, stupid things like that. But then I realized that with the help of a seamstress I can fit into anything, and all I need to look like an ass-kicker is a snazzy haircut and a pair of fingerless gloves.

One time I found motivation from a Nike commercial where a middle-aged man was running across the Brookly Bridge. In a voice-over, you hear a woman, presumably his wife, say "Bob doesn't do it for pride. Bob doesn't do it for glory. Bob does it for Bob."

This resonated with me because, when I saw this ad, every effort I made thus far were either for pride or glory. I had never done it for "Bob." So I put on my Nikes and hopped on the treadmill.

After five minutes it began to sink in that a Nike commercial not only motivated me, but made me strap on their product. I immediately stopped the workout.

Surely Bob wasn't dumb enough to fall for this ad either. Maybe when she said, "Bob does it for Bob," she meant he was running across the bridge to go get a burger at Bob's Restaurant. Or maybe he's cheating on her with a man who is also named Bob, and he just tells his wife that he's going jogging when really he's just running to Bob 2's house for some afternight gaylight.

Then the ad ends up being for a new line of Nike's For Women, which feature metal treads and a steel toe. "Nike for Women. Plant one in his ass today."

Later on I saw another ad where a middle-aged man was running on another bridge but this time we found out that after the workout he likes to cool down with a low-carb beer. I would like to see this asshole go for a jog after he has about twelve of them.

So then, what is my new motivation?

Simple. I learned something about target heart rates.

I was brought up, by virtue of basketball practice, that if, at the end of a workout, you do not have someone else's vomit in your hair and shit running down your legs, you haven't worked out hard enough.

Modern science has found that this is what some call "overkill."

Apparently, all a 25 year old has to do to burn fat is maintain a heart rate of 125 beats per minute for a half hour or so. I can do this whilst making a sandwich.

You see, if you work out too hard, you stop burning fat and start burning glucose. This causes your blood sugar to drop, which makes you feel hungry. So you work out like a wild man for thirty minutes, burn twelve calories, then go to McDonald's and eat deep-fried dog squeeze (kudos to Rick Lloyd for that one) and ultimately you find that you've gone up one rung on the ladder only to go down two rungs, and then you break the rung because of your fat ass and then you fall off and break your ankle.

So now when I work out, instead of strapping my washer and drier to my back and running the stairs for thirty minutes, I just go sit on the exercise bike for thirty minutes and go for a nice little stroll while I read a book or listen to music. The bike has a little heart rate monitor which allows me to make sure I'm not busting my ass.

Apparently this whole "target heart rate" thing is no new secret, but I'm so ecstatic over it that it's like finding a miracle drug. Or one of those electric belts that you strap on your gut or your ass or your double chin and it supposedly shocks the fat off of you while you jack off in the kitchen.

I know I've dropped my workout routine before, but I really feel like I'm going to stay with this one, mostly because it's so damned easy to work out now that it actually takes more energy to concoct a reason not to work out than it does to just go think about it while I pedal away.

So everything is working out great.

(By the way I haven't lost any weight yet and now I'm hungry all the time because my metabolism is supercharged.)