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Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Being "PC"
Due to the climate of political correctness now pervading America ,
Kentuckians, Tennesseans and West Virginians will no longer be referred to as'HILLBILLIES.'
You must now refer to them as
APPALACHIAN-AMERICANS .
And furthermore
HOW TO SPEAK ABOUT WOMEN AND BE POLITICALLY CORRECT:
1. She is not a 'BABE' or a 'CHICK' - She is a
' BREASTED AMERICAN.'
2. She is not 'EASY' - She is
'HORIZONTALLY ACCESSIBLE.'
1. She is not a 'BABE' or a 'CHICK' - She is a
' BREASTED AMERICAN.'
2. She is not 'EASY' - She is
'HORIZONTALLY ACCESSIBLE.'
(Loved this one!)
3. She is not a 'DUMB BLONDE' - She is a
'LIGHT-HAIRED DETOUR OFF THE INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY.'
4. She has not 'BEEN AROUND' - She is a
'PREVIOUSLY-ENJOYED COMPANION.'
5. She does not 'NAG' you - She becomes
' VERBALLY REPETITIVE.'
6. She is not a 'TWO-BIT HOOKER' - She is a
' LOW COST PROVIDER.'
HOW TO SPEAK ABOUT MEN AND BE POLITICALLY CORRECT:
1. He does not have a 'BEER GUT' - He has developed a
3. She is not a 'DUMB BLONDE' - She is a
'LIGHT-HAIRED DETOUR OFF THE INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY.'
4. She has not 'BEEN AROUND' - She is a
'PREVIOUSLY-ENJOYED COMPANION.'
5. She does not 'NAG' you - She becomes
' VERBALLY REPETITIVE.'
6. She is not a 'TWO-BIT HOOKER' - She is a
' LOW COST PROVIDER.'
HOW TO SPEAK ABOUT MEN AND BE POLITICALLY CORRECT:
1. He does not have a 'BEER GUT' - He has developed a
'LIQUID GRAIN STORAGE FACILITY.'
2. He is not a 'BAD DANCER' - He is
' OVERLY CAUCASIAN.'
3. He does not 'GET LOST ALL THE TIME' - He
2. He is not a 'BAD DANCER' - He is
' OVERLY CAUCASIAN.'
3. He does not 'GET LOST ALL THE TIME' - He
' INVESTIGATES ALTERNATIVE DESTINATIONS.'
4. He is not 'BALDING' - He is in
4. He is not 'BALDING' - He is in
'FOLLICLE REGRESSION.'
5. He does not act like a 'TOTAL ASS' - He develops a case of
5. He does not act like a 'TOTAL ASS' - He develops a case of
RECTAL-CRANIAL INVERSION.'
(Loved this one!)
6. It's not his 'CRACK' you see hanging out of his pants - It's
6. It's not his 'CRACK' you see hanging out of his pants - It's
'REAR CLEAVAGE.'
If you can read this and NOT laugh, better check yer heartbeat!
From my inbox:
Lizard birthing story
If you have raised kids (or been one), and gone through the pet syndrome including toilet flush burials for dead goldfish, the story below will have you laughing out LOUD!
Overview:
I had to take my son's lizard to the vet.......Here's what happened:
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was "somehting wrong" with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room. "He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm serious, Dad. Can you help?"
I put my best lizard-healer statement on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do. "Honey," I called,
"come look at the lizard!"
"Oh my gosh," my wife diagnosed after a minute. "She's having babies."
"What?" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!"
I was equally outraged. "I thought we didn't want them to reproduce" I accuse my wife.
"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired. (I actually think she said this sarcastically!)
"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth together).
"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.
"Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know," she informed me. (Again with the sarcasm, you think?)
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. "Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience," I announced. "We're about to witness the miracle
of birth."
"OH, Gross!", they shrieked.
"Well, isn't THAT just Great! What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?" my wife wanted to know. (I really do think she was being snotty here, too, don't you?)
If you have raised kids (or been one), and gone through the pet syndrome including toilet flush burials for dead goldfish, the story below will have you laughing out LOUD!
Overview:
I had to take my son's lizard to the vet.......Here's what happened:
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was "somehting wrong" with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room. "He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm serious, Dad. Can you help?"
I put my best lizard-healer statement on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do. "Honey," I called,
"come look at the lizard!"
"Oh my gosh," my wife diagnosed after a minute. "She's having babies."
"What?" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!"
I was equally outraged. "I thought we didn't want them to reproduce" I accuse my wife.
"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired. (I actually think she said this sarcastically!)
"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth together).
"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.
"Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know," she informed me. (Again with the sarcasm, you think?)
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. "Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience," I announced. "We're about to witness the miracle
of birth."
"OH, Gross!", they shrieked.
"Well, isn't THAT just Great! What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?" my wife wanted to know. (I really do think she was being snotty here, too, don't you?)
We peered at the patient.
After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.
"We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted.
"It's breach," my wife whispered, horrified.
"Do something, Dad!" my son urged.
"Okay, okay." Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gingerly tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.
"Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know. "Maybe they could talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?)
"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly. We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap.
"Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.
"I don't think lizards do Lamaze," his mother noted to him. (Woman can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb, for God's sake.)
The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.
"We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted.
"It's breach," my wife whispered, horrified.
"Do something, Dad!" my son urged.
"Okay, okay." Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gingerly tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.
"Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know. "Maybe they could talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?)
"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly. We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap.
"Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.
"I don't think lizards do Lamaze," his mother noted to him. (Woman can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb, for God's sake.)
The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.
"What do you think, Doc, a C-Section?" I suggested scientifically.
"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?" I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.
"Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This lizard is not in labor. In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen. Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they um....um....masturbate. Just the way he did, lying
on his back."
He blushed, glancing at my wife. "Well, you know what I'm saying, Mr.Cameron."
We were silent, absorbing this. "So Ernie's just...just...Excited," my wife offered.
"Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood. More silence.
Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.
"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing but not believing that the worman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.
Tears were now running down her face. "It's just... that...I'm picturing you pulling on its...its...teeny little..." she gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.
"That's enough," I warned. We thanked the Veterinarian and hurriedly bundled the lizards and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you've done!, DAD," he told me.
"Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.
2 - lizards - $140 . . .
1 - Cage - $50 . . .
Trip to the Vet - $30 . . .
Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's Pecker - Priceless!!!!!!
"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?" I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.
"Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This lizard is not in labor. In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen. Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they um....um....masturbate. Just the way he did, lying
on his back."
He blushed, glancing at my wife. "Well, you know what I'm saying, Mr.Cameron."
We were silent, absorbing this. "So Ernie's just...just...Excited," my wife offered.
"Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood. More silence.
Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.
"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing but not believing that the worman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.
Tears were now running down her face. "It's just... that...I'm picturing you pulling on its...its...teeny little..." she gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.
"That's enough," I warned. We thanked the Veterinarian and hurriedly bundled the lizards and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you've done!, DAD," he told me.
"Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.
2 - lizards - $140 . . .
1 - Cage - $50 . . .
Trip to the Vet - $30 . . .
Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's Pecker - Priceless!!!!!!
Me: ranting. A bit windy, but the pictures near the end are gory as hell!
A year ago September 20th, I had a garden. It had tomatoes, corn, squash, beans, peas, carrots, lettuce, melons, peppers, luffa, and gourds growing in it. Today, its a lawn.
A year ago I had rabbits and chickens, and yes, rats, as a protein source of food.
A year ago, I had enough food in my house to last 3 months easy, and with my garden and animals, probably enough to last until ???
I had a pet Savannah monitor (which helped keep my rat population in check!) a chinchilla, a ferret, a cat, two small dogs,and a partridge in a pear tree and took in baby birds to raise because friends kept "finding" them and wouldn't leave the damn things alone.
I had a job.
A year ago September 20th, I got careless with a gun. I asked my wife to hand me the .12Ga, grabbed it by the barrel as she passed it to me, and when she let go, the stock landed on a box of toys from my grandkids. I swear to this day, Barbie reached out and pulled the trigger!
Flash forward to today: I have no garden. Sold rabbits and chickens when I couldn't afford to feed them. Used up my food. Monitor, ferret, chinchilla sold. No job. (My wife still works, but what used to be a fair wage is now MINIMUM wage, and she never got a raise to compensate. Thanks, Obama, you fucking piece of equine defecation.)
I realize I caused all my misfortune. My fault. I did it. OK? I'm not whining about that. BUT, I gave 12 years of my life to the United States in my service in the Navy. I have paid taxes on money earned since I was 8 years old working in fruit orchards and learned the hard way that money I earned didn't all go to me. Uncle Sam will have his share! I have never been out of work for more than a week and jobs I have had lasted. I have always had a good work ethic, (thanks to my Dad) and always believed that if you take a man's money, you do a man's work. You go in sick. You go in tired. You go when you're called and you stay until you're done.
Now I am disabled. I have had 5 major surgeries to reconstruct what they can, and have a metal rod in place of a shoulder joint. It is designed to allow movement, but you need tendons and muscle tissue to make that happen, and I just don't have any of the above. I'm in constant pain, and yes, I have applied for disability. I had to humble myself to apply. I had to admit that I am no longer able to provide for my family. Depression set in, yada yada yada... we've all heard the sob stories and I don't need to add mine.
But here's where it gets interesting: I am not eligible for disability. On my first applying for disability, they said I don't meet the criteria; Although I would not be able to return to my previous job, I would still be physically capable of doing meaningful and gainful work at other types of employment. And my injury was not expected to affect my life for more than a 12 month period.
I appealed.
On the second denial, they stated the reason I didn't meet the criteria was that although they realize I would not be able to do other work, I still should be capable of doing my last job of controlling teenagers in a drug rehab facility. This is the exact opposite of what the first denial says! And also, my injury was not expected to affect my life for more than a 12 month period.
Well, here we are 10 months and five surgeries later. I have virtually no use of my shoulder, although thanks to a great surgeon, I can use my hand and bend my elbow. And I am in constant pain. Being able to use the lower half of my arm is a blessing, but it causes amazing pain in my shoulder. Did I mention this is my right shoulder, and I'm right handed. Typing this one handed takes forever, but at least I get my thoughts in order....
My whole point in this rant is I know folks who are more physically capable than I used to be, who are on disability. I see people showing up at the welfare department, where I have to go to beg food stamps so we have enough to eat, driving fucking Mercedes! Most months I have to decide on if I pay the gas bill or the electric. Which one can I do without this time? I have a busted radiator in my fucking old POS that I have to put fluid in every morning. I can't afford the hundred bucks to buy a new radiator even though I know someone who can and will install it!
I am still not scheduled for the court case I have to go to in order to plead my case before a judge, and the earliest it will be is October, more than a year after my injury that should not affect my life for more than 12 months! There is a reason every third commercial on cable is for some lawyer saying "I can help you get your disability if you have been denied". Its because its easy fucking money for them! I am disabled. Period. They show up in court, say "See? he's disabled." I get my disability, and they get at LEAST 25% of what I am due in back payments. Even the clerk who told me when my court date MIGHT be scheduled for has told me to get a lawyer. WHY????? I have statements from my surgeon that I'll never use the shoulder again. He states that I will definitely be in chronic pain for the rest of my life. Medical evidence provided in pictures of the wound, surgery, and subsequent X-rays show the past and current damage. But I need a fucking lawyer to get money that apparently should have been going to me, just to satiate the greed of the fucking corrupt system?
I served this country. I love this country. And when this great country collapses from its own government, I will stand shoulder to well, metal thingee, with the III% who ARE patriots out there. I may be ashamed to ask for help from my government, but I've earned at least some fucking regard. I'm sick to death of our government paying immigrants and welfare dynasties that have been on support for generations, while creating new generations of welfare babies, while I, who served my country, who worked for a fucking living and never asked anyone for anything in my entire fucking life, get treated like I shot my fucking shoulder off just so I could sit and drink fucking Purple Drank, drive around in my fancy car, and piss on America!
Fuck Obama. Wants to make America a nanny state, but doesn't take care of those who really do need assistance.
And did I mention? Fuck Obama.
A year ago I had rabbits and chickens, and yes, rats, as a protein source of food.
A year ago, I had enough food in my house to last 3 months easy, and with my garden and animals, probably enough to last until ???
I had a pet Savannah monitor (which helped keep my rat population in check!) a chinchilla, a ferret, a cat, two small dogs,
I had a job.
A year ago September 20th, I got careless with a gun. I asked my wife to hand me the .12Ga, grabbed it by the barrel as she passed it to me, and when she let go, the stock landed on a box of toys from my grandkids. I swear to this day, Barbie reached out and pulled the trigger!
Flash forward to today: I have no garden. Sold rabbits and chickens when I couldn't afford to feed them. Used up my food. Monitor, ferret, chinchilla sold. No job. (My wife still works, but what used to be a fair wage is now MINIMUM wage, and she never got a raise to compensate. Thanks, Obama, you fucking piece of equine defecation.)
I realize I caused all my misfortune. My fault. I did it. OK? I'm not whining about that. BUT, I gave 12 years of my life to the United States in my service in the Navy. I have paid taxes on money earned since I was 8 years old working in fruit orchards and learned the hard way that money I earned didn't all go to me. Uncle Sam will have his share! I have never been out of work for more than a week and jobs I have had lasted. I have always had a good work ethic, (thanks to my Dad) and always believed that if you take a man's money, you do a man's work. You go in sick. You go in tired. You go when you're called and you stay until you're done.
Now I am disabled. I have had 5 major surgeries to reconstruct what they can, and have a metal rod in place of a shoulder joint. It is designed to allow movement, but you need tendons and muscle tissue to make that happen, and I just don't have any of the above. I'm in constant pain, and yes, I have applied for disability. I had to humble myself to apply. I had to admit that I am no longer able to provide for my family. Depression set in, yada yada yada... we've all heard the sob stories and I don't need to add mine.
But here's where it gets interesting: I am not eligible for disability. On my first applying for disability, they said I don't meet the criteria; Although I would not be able to return to my previous job, I would still be physically capable of doing meaningful and gainful work at other types of employment. And my injury was not expected to affect my life for more than a 12 month period.
I appealed.
On the second denial, they stated the reason I didn't meet the criteria was that although they realize I would not be able to do other work, I still should be capable of doing my last job of controlling teenagers in a drug rehab facility. This is the exact opposite of what the first denial says! And also, my injury was not expected to affect my life for more than a 12 month period.
Well, here we are 10 months and five surgeries later. I have virtually no use of my shoulder, although thanks to a great surgeon, I can use my hand and bend my elbow. And I am in constant pain. Being able to use the lower half of my arm is a blessing, but it causes amazing pain in my shoulder. Did I mention this is my right shoulder, and I'm right handed. Typing this one handed takes forever, but at least I get my thoughts in order....
My whole point in this rant is I know folks who are more physically capable than I used to be, who are on disability. I see people showing up at the welfare department, where I have to go to beg food stamps so we have enough to eat, driving fucking Mercedes! Most months I have to decide on if I pay the gas bill or the electric. Which one can I do without this time? I have a busted radiator in my fucking old POS that I have to put fluid in every morning. I can't afford the hundred bucks to buy a new radiator even though I know someone who can and will install it!
I am still not scheduled for the court case I have to go to in order to plead my case before a judge, and the earliest it will be is October, more than a year after my injury that should not affect my life for more than 12 months! There is a reason every third commercial on cable is for some lawyer saying "I can help you get your disability if you have been denied". Its because its easy fucking money for them! I am disabled. Period. They show up in court, say "See? he's disabled." I get my disability, and they get at LEAST 25% of what I am due in back payments. Even the clerk who told me when my court date MIGHT be scheduled for has told me to get a lawyer. WHY????? I have statements from my surgeon that I'll never use the shoulder again. He states that I will definitely be in chronic pain for the rest of my life. Medical evidence provided in pictures of the wound, surgery, and subsequent X-rays show the past and current damage. But I need a fucking lawyer to get money that apparently should have been going to me, just to satiate the greed of the fucking corrupt system?
 |
| Original wound, just rinsed. |
 |
| What I have in me now. "I am Borg" |
Fuck Obama. Wants to make America a nanny state, but doesn't take care of those who really do need assistance.
And did I mention? Fuck Obama.
 |
| What a NORMAL rotator cuff and shoulder look like. |
 |
| What MY rotator cuff and shoulder look like.... |
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