Pejoratives and you: A fucking guide, goddamn it. (AKA "The swearing post")

From time to time, I re-read my own posts. I do this because I'm a narcissist, but also to review my own writing. In doing this, I discover three things about my posts.

1. I need an editor. It's obvious now that I like to "twist the knife", so to speak. I just drag out the posts needlessly with my reckless attempts at humor.

2. I'm not that funny. I think I am, and indeed, I smirk to myself when I write these posts. I have an interesting thing where I tend to be funny on accident rather than when I'm trying. It's unfortunate, then, that I really try when I write these entries

3. I've been swearing a lot in my recent entries. There's nothing wrong with that, and I believe good, hardy sailor-esque euphemism can really put the exclamation point on a thought. It particularly helps my posts, where the issues are hard-hitting things like ninjas and traffic. Look out, Sundae toppings, you're my next target. I mean, chocolate and rainbow sprinkles? What the fuck? (You'll notice that had more impact than if I said "What the hey?")

Swearing is what makes America great. We practically won both World Wars by calling the enemy "rat fink bastards". And it's so versatile- You can call one person a "cuntmonkey" and the next an "assmonkey". Who knows how many other "-monkey" predicated insults there are? Even our great heroes swore:

George Washington- "Martha, would it kill you to have the slaves do the dishes every once in a while, for fuck's sake?"

Abraham Lincoln- "OW! Son of a bit..."

Charles Lindbergh- "How long is this goddamned flight going to take?"

Neil Armstrong- "HOLY MOTHERFUCKING CHRIST, WE'RE ON THE MOON! SWEET JESUS!"

So, gentle readers, you can see that swearing is not just for the rich and famous, we all can do it and profit. Maybe not monetarily, maybe not spiritually or in any measurable way- but somehow.

We're on the Toll Road to Hell, driving in the diamond lane.

I'm back again, after a short hiatus. I was climbing the Andes, let's say. Yes, that will do.

Nobody seems to bat an eye at the name of my blog. At least, I've never had a question that runs along the lines of "Why... milk?". It's very true, there are other things that could be considered both silent and killers. Ninjas, for example.

I don't know if you expect me to go on some diatribe about how milk is harmful to America and the world, and if we don't cease milk production right now, well, we're colossally fucked. Unfortunately, I don't do crazy conspiracy theorist, so you're out of luck. Although you do have to question why the Dairy council spends so much on advertising. What terrible secret are they trying to gloss over? Think about it...

I have a long commute each day- somewhere between 90-120 minutes a day. That's two hours of sitting in a car in traffic. I usually refer to it as Fun City, land of ultimate enjoyment. I am also a sarcastic asshole. Fortunately, there are things to do to pass the time. The radio is a source of entertainment unparalleled by any other device. Certainly, there's nothing more enjoyable than hearing "I walk alone" by Green Day every 3.23 minutes, unless it's tuning in to "Angry McAnger" on an AM station rail at a caller about how the goddamned liberals are murdering babies to distill into sweet, sweet liquor to give to priests who will then allow same-sex marriages. I'm still waiting for some well-reasoned caller to phone in and convince the bile-spitting host that he's being unreasonable. I would give anything to hear him (and the outraged partisan lunatic is almost always played by a man) say "Oh, I hadn't thought about it that way." Then the radio would implode.

It's not to say that all radio is horrible. I often listen to Mr. Howard Stern, if for no other reason than he doesn't interrupt his program every 2 minutes for commercials. Likewise, Phil Hendrie is a good source of entertainment- the unique perversity of each individually warms my soul like a miniature butane stove.

Another fine pasttime is watching other people in traffic. These people are your compatriots in suffering. A truer vision of hell there never was than neverending traffic on a hot summer day. Ok, maybe fire and brimstone is a truer vision of hell, but you never know. Satan's a crafty guy, he could come up with something like that. You don't get to be the Lord of the Underworld by resting on your "pitchforks-and-accordians" laurels.

There are a number of different people in traffic. They are:

Person zoning out- this is someone who is lost in their own thoughts. It's kind of frightening that they're behind the wheel of a car, but at least they're not watching porn on their in-car DVD player

Person on cell phone- this is someone who has no idea that they're in traffic. In fact, you could bludgeon them to death with a table leg and they would still have their phone up to their ear.

Lane-switcher- This person is constantly switching lanes to "move forward". It's funny to watch them flagellete their cars, and it's okay to take a perverse pleasure in passing them.

Shoulder driver- is someone who decides to make their own lane by driving on the shoulder of the road. Often, they are trying to reach the next exit. Sometimes, they're trying to reach Minnesota.

The Blocker- This person's only job is to stop Shoulder Driver from doing anything. They maneuver their car in such a way that nobody will pass them using illegal means, including emergency vehicles. Also known as Uptight asshole.

The Crane- Can be found extending their entire torso out the window in order to solve the mystery of why all the cars are stopped. I'm not sure why they do this- even if they do find the cause, it's not going to help them. Does a secret path open up for those who find the reason for the traffic? I think not.

It's a curious amalgamation of folks, and I think we have all taken the place of one or more of these archetypes. It does prove, however, that we need cars that drive themselves while we sit in the back, sipping mixed drinks and watching strippers make out. Oh wait, that's called a limo.

Anyways, now you know why it's called Milk: The silent killer.

Looking Forward to the Past- A treatise on the present

I am what you might call a "historophile", if such a word existed. I love history. In particular, I enjoy learning about those periods that US history either glosses over or completely ignores. As all American people know, the history of the world stops only at the following stations: Egypt (first civilization), Greece (That whole foundation of Western Thought thing), Rome (Big Empire, also Jesus lived during this time), England (Americans with funny accents, and they're cool except for 1776 and 1812) and the United States (Truly the pinnacle of all mankind's efforts towards Democracy and Freedom. Once we're around, everyone else can suck it).

Some of the more accomplished readers might notice a few absences from these general guideposts on the trail of human history. Oh, a schoolbook might mention Columbus or Magellan, might touch on the French Revolution (which of course was much less important than that of the US). Particularly lucky students might have even heard of the Holy Roman Empire.

It's not hard to blame the teachers: history keeps happening all the time. It's very inconvenient to try and keep up, and while it's important for us to have those 2 extra pages to focus on September 11, something's got to be cut out: I'm looking at you Magna Carta.

More interesting to me was a trend that first began in high school. In previous history books, we learned about Thomas Jefferson, brave Father of our Country and all-around hero to the world. Suddenly, we were learning about Thomas Jefferson, that dirty motherfucker who owned slaves. Now, I'm not saying I prefer the former description to the latter, but let's have some balance. He can be a founding father as well as a dirty motherfucker. It never stopped me in my personal or professional life.

So I look for information regarding the temporal cracks in our otherwise healthy, balanced and robust history lessons. What exactly happened during the period from 1813-1861? Why were there Viking ships in the middle east? Who is this Mao Zedong person anyways? All questions that would render comatose most people are like sweet manna to me.

It's not just the dates and events that interest me. People interest me as well. What about a family living in Israel in the pre-Roman era? We can assume there was toil, but what did they do for fun? Was it some lesser form of toil? Instead of attempting to haplessly fertilize the arid desert, did they instead carry unimaginable burdens to and fro? These people didn't even have Scrabble for God's sake.

Sure, life sucked without digital devices, but quantify to me how badly it sucked. Were they begging for the sweet release of death, or just for the semi-sweet release of a high-ankle sprain?

I could tell you that History is alive and all around us and all sorts of other bullshit that isn't true. History is where it belongs- in the past. That doesn't mean we have to ignore it. All the people who lived before us had interesting lives- many had much more interesting lives than we do. I know there's a special kind of adventure handling tech support calls, but I wagering that sailing across an ocean of unimaginable distance to a land undiscovered by civilized men beats it- just by a bit.

Besides, if you start reading history and you decide you don't like it, you can always go back to the essential rules

1. If it came before the US, it's crap
2. If it came after the US, it's crap
3. If the US did it and it turned out badly, it's because we wanted to fail to teach ourselves a lesson.

And, most importantly 4. Canada = America Jr.

The Lottery- A guide on how to delude yourself into thinking you're going to win

In my last post, I mentioned Lottery Fever. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept of a lottery, it works like this:

1. You pay someone some amount of money for a little slip of paper with some combination of letters and numbers.
2. At a central location and specific date and time, they draw a combination of letters and numbers, which will in no way coincide with the ones on your paper
3. Your paper is ready to be recycled

In the event that your numbers do match with the ones drawn, then you should redeem your ticket to a lifetime of doing coke off of stripper's breasts and stop fucking around reading blogs.

Lottery Fever, by extension, is generally the period between steps 1 and 2, though in some cases where the jackpot is astronomical, it can precede step 1.

In my own opinion, the money you pay for a lottery ticket isn't so much for the miniscule chance you have to win (and really, you have more chance to be abducted by aliens that will give you a million dollars than actually winning)- you're paying for the opportunity to delude yourself into spending the winnings that you won't actually win.

I know what you're saying-why buy a ticket if you're just deluding yourself. Obviously, you have no chance to win without a ticket, so if you're trying to convince yourself that you're going to win a contest that you're not entered in, you either need professional help or instruction on how the exchange of money for goods and services works.

So you've bought your ticket with your numbers that won't be picked: how then do you catch Lottery Fever? It's quite simple- imagine that you've won. Really, the only thing stopping you from collecting your winnings is the fact that the draw hasn't been performed yet, and it's a foregone conclusion that your ticket and the draw will coincide.

First, imagine how you're going to avoid publicity. A fake name, phone number or wax mustache is a good place to start. Will you immediately cash your winnings and retreat to your newly purchased mountain fortress or underwater base? It's important to decide these things, because the media and other people will otherwise hound you for cash and interviews.

Next, think about how much you're going to spend on charity, because you're really a good person, much better than others who would be in that situation. Your generosity will put others to shame.

Of course, you can't avoid your family, no matter how hard you try because they knew you when you were 7 and remember your fondness for pirates. They'll discern that you'll be at you island pirate hideout and come there, so you might as well figure out how much each person will get. Try giving them an amount proportional to how much they mean to you, and don't forget to slight your stupid aunt that used to wash your mouth out with soap. That'll teach the bitch.

Again, remember how much you're giving to charity and how good of a person you are. Truly, your donations will change the world and your altruism will encourage the world to hold hands and sing, but more importantly, build statues in your honor.

The last step is to figure out what you'll get for yourself. Cars, houses, castles, ships, mazes from which there is no escape- the world is your oyster. Don't forget about the fancy parties that you'll have in your lakeside villa with adjoining helipad.

If properly done, Lottery Fever can last for a good 2-3 hours. Considering that a movie is approximately $10, for as little as one dollar you can entertain yourself for the same duration- it's far more economical.

Good luck, and if you do win, remember the guy whose blog inspired you.

How-to guide: Writing a novel (the Mahd way)

As a writer, I wouldn't say that I'm prolific. Indeed, I'm tied for the least published author with everyone else who hasn't ever been published. I don't count this blog as published material for two reasons:

#1. Nobody reads it.
#2. Nobody cares.

Those two items- stumbling blocks, if you will, are the bane of any writer. I'm sure there are writers out there who stroke their beards and adjust their monocles and, in between long draws of strangely-scented cigars, shake their heads and say that they don't write for the recognition- it is the art that counts.

These writers are filthy liars. Inside the heart of anyone who writes, from your 10-year-old child who has just composed a poem regarding the more toothsome aspects of chocolate ice cream to your everyday Twain or Longfellow (Even a Chrichton, if you must scrape the bottom of the barrel) is that yearning for their work to be read. To be loved and understood. Just as the musician sings to the hopes and fears of their peers, or alternatively belts out a post-production, soulless pop ditty, so does the writer scribble out a somewhat roundabout lesson on life. Orwell could have just made Animal Farm consist of "Hey, look out for the commies" and been done with it, but that defeats the purpose of literature.

I do occassionally have the sudden fury and appreciation to take up my pen (by which I mean by keyboard) and craft The Novel By Which All Others Will Hereafter Be Judged Against (and of course, be inferior to). If "Anonymous" can be such a prolific writer, why not me? I have a blog that nobody reads, and by God, if that doesn't qualify me, what does?

I have a rather long commute to work, and if the thought strikes me at precisely the right time, I can pass the entire time by entertaining myself with clever plot devices and situations, character development and other crap like that. It's not unlike the Lottery Fever, which has so far claimed over 5 million lives in the Southwest. In that particular affliction, one fantisizes about how to portion out winnings to family and friends. It's the subject of a different bl0g entry, in any case.

So to continue, the wheels and gears are spinning in my head as I drive, and the spirit of the thing has completely consumed me. Now I am the story, and when I arrive somewhere where I can but record those many thoughts, it will be like a whirlwind, and the story will leap unbidden to the paper. I will have to do naught but hold on and perhaps enjoy a cool drink.

In the reality of the situation, either one of two things happen. In the first situation, I arrive home to find things in disarray- the dishes need done, dinner needs preparing, there's a game which inexorably draws me in for several hours. The second is more positive- I am able to settle myself into a chair and prepare to write the great Novel. And indeed, I lay into it with the heart of a man driven. And then I check my work and find that I've written a page and a half in 3 hours.

What happened to the fire and passion? The thoughts shooting out of my mind, developing the story into what it should be? The problem, I've found, is that I have an excellent outline, and a very hollow story. Like a chocolate easter egg, the whole is a finely decorated shell, but the interior is hollow, or worse, filled with that Cadbury creme stuff.

These setbacks would daunt a lesser man, and so, occassionally, I'm daunted sufficiently. Sometimes, though, the drive to create is overwhelming, so I press on. I move to storyboard what I'm going to do, and lay it out, even to go so far as to determine exactly how many pages each chapter should be. It's very important to have chapters that are of proper length, due to the bedtime phenomenon. It's my own practice of trying to read books chapter by chapter. Short chapters beguile the reader into reading on, and then they get trapped in Sudden-80-page-chapter, from which there's no escape for those who read in the same way that I do.

At some point, whether it's when I arrive at home, or after a successful night of planning,writing and eating sugary snacks, I retire to bed. And forget everything I planned and thought about the previous day. I may even venture to open the story and give it a once-over. That's as far as it usually goes, though. Work or other necessary duties beckon, and when I return to the story all of the wonderful and imaginitive ideas I has have disappeared. All is not lost- at some point I will remember the story in traffic and think of all new (and remembered) ideas, and the cycle begins anew. By using this process, I estimate that my first book will be ready in about 33 years. Look for it on the Super Internet at a Hyperretailer near you!

You'll know it by it's title: "Hey, Look Out For The Commies"