Kids Will Be Kids Except When We Tell Them To Be Kids

Stories like this always frost my ass. Click here.

Now, bearing in mind that the article is an editorial you have to question it's authenticity just a little, but then again, everything I write here is editorial so I guess you're getting the actual facts of the story third or even fourth hand. Aw fuck, that's not good. I know. But still, when you read it don't you get the feeling that you've heard shit like this before?

You know, the story of the overzealous school officials going to great lengths to prevent some form of student media from dispensing with information that (gasp!) could lead to immorality. That's what this story seems to be a case of. A textbook case of. A textbook on the textbook in fact. It's like Degrassi Junior High except it's real life and some kids might learn about about birth control (shudder!). Why shudder, you ask? Because some kids might read an informative piece about birth control and think that because they know how birth control works it's all the license they need to go out and fuck. Oh. My. God.

Can you imagine that?

Teenagers having sex?

Protected sex?

The end of days are truly upon us, aren't they?

Okay, because I am opinionated motherfucker who feels it's his duty to keep people informed about the world in which they live I am going to share with you some information that will literally make your jaw hit the floor. You may, in fact, faint and I am writing these words now as a disclaimer against any form of injury you may sustain from me having to tell you this. Don't fucking sue me. I warned you. If you have a weak bladder or the nerves of a pedophile tripping on meth in an elevator filled with police officers then maybe you should click on the archives links on the sides and read one of my older pieces of cock tattoos, cum stains, or donkey punching. For the rest of you people who feel up to facing the harsh truth of the world, please read on.

Here's some truth for you...

Teenagers fuck.

You can faint now or piss your pants or whatever it is you do when you have been enlightened. I know. I know. I was the same way when I found out. Teenagers fuck. Now say it with me... Teenagers fuck. There? Now don't you feel better? No? Well, I suppose that's to be expected.

And since I've already pulled you through the rabbit hole already why not dispense with some more information? Teenagers fuck and most of them probably aren't very good at it because they're fucking teenagers. Do you remember what it was like when you were a teenager? Hell, I just about had to change my pants every time a cute girl just looked at me the right way. And I don't mean to let you in on more information than you want to be privy to, but that's just how it is. Most teenagers are horny, depraved fuckers, who, thanks to advances in technology probably know some of the sickest, kinkiest shit out there and many of them probably enjoy it. Sleep tight, parents.

Seriously, though, they know what Google is and they know how to use it. Furries and adult baby fetishists have to get their starts somewhere and those starts usually occur somewhere in the teen years. Being a teenager is all about discovering yourself as an individual.

But fear not, people. Now while it's true that teenagers fuck. You can take solace in the fact that, as it has been throughout the history of humankind, teenagers are socially awkward and probably couldn't even get laid by a hooker. On double coupon day. So while many teens would fuck at the drop of a hat most of them can't because they're losers. That's okay. A lot of famous adults start out as losers. Hell, a lot of them end up as losers too.

Now, knowing that teenagers are raging balls of hormones and are just aching to get off as much as they can, why not arm them with some information about the ramifications of playing dunk the admiral? How is information about the deed going to be all the license they need to do the deed? Just because they know some shit about birth control it doesn't suddenly give them social skills with the opposite sex.

It takes more than knowing what the fuck a diaphragm is to get play with the ladies, I can assure you.

My approach usually goes...

So, anyway, I mean, like, you know, if you're one of those women who uses the IUD that's totally cool, like, you know. And I'm the kind of, you know, guy, who believes in using two forms of, you know, protection, so the IUD and, like, a condom, totally makes two forms, and we'd be pretty safe. Do you want to, like, go do it behind that row of porta-potties or something.

At which point Paris Hilton would say something like, "I want to do it inside the porta-potty because that's hot."

But seriously now, if I were a parent of a teen I would much rather that teen know his/her way around sex safely than not know anything at all. The fact that a student newspaper was dispensing with some information would probably make me feel better because it would prove to me that they at least care about what they are doing with each other. As a parent I would know for a fact that I can't watch them 24/7 and no teenager wants some gawking overprotective parent looming over them that much anyway. So if they're going to plug holes at least do it safely. They aren't going to be kids forever.

And luckily for me any teenager of mine will probably inherit my social graces and I can rest assured a massive comic book collection, bad acne, and an underdeveloped sense of personal hygiene will mean no nookie to worry about.

Some People Just Don't Have The Right Idea

Click here.

That's right a Chicago man has been arrested, accused of kidnapping a young girl for the purposes of performing a demonic ritual, which would have involved carving a pentacle into her chest. Why would anybody do such a thing, you ask? Well, it seems that the accused was going to perform said ritual to get his ex-girlfriend back.

If you click the link you can kind of get a few more details as to how this foolproof plan of his fell apart.

But here it is...

Now I'll be the first to admit that I am terrible when it comes to relationships. Every relationship I have ever been in has ended with failure and I've failed spectacularly on occasion. So be it. I mean a man who didn't get his first actual kiss until he was nearly 24 years old (!) is probably not going to be the smoothest man when it comes to wooing the ladies. I can live with that.

Oh come on, Michael! You're a dreamboat! Women swarm around you! How could you possibly be bad with ladies?

No, I'm serious here. I always say the wrong thing. I'm not romantic enough apparently. I make a ton of mistakes. I don't have ES fucking P. I'm moody. I'm introspective. I overreact. In other words, I'm a man. So sue me.

But as bad as I am with the fairer sex I think this might actual be one instance in which I can look down my nose at somebody. I mean seriously, you were going to try to get your ex back by performing a demonic ritual on a small girl? Seriously?

Call me old fashioned.

You're old fashioned.

I just think that if you've found your way out of a relationship, as I have many times now, and you want to get back into the life of that ex special someone, the best course of action has been and always will be to talk. Like I said, I'm old fashioned that way. I'm wired to talk things out when I'm facing relationship troubles. Maybe I've lost touch with reality, though. I'll admit that
there are a lot of things in this world that have simply passed me by. Boy bands have risen and fallen and risen again, but then fallen. Premium ice cream wars have left millions dead of obesity. Reality television has ruined any credibility that the television medium has ever had. All this passed me by.

Used to be that when a man wanted to get back together with a jilted lover he could buy her some flowers, maybe a box of candy, recite some Elizabeth Barrett Browning poetry shit, and voila, instant make-up nookie! Kids today, though, they have all these demonic rituals and instant messaging clouding their techniques. You want to get back with a lover today? You have to send them a sad smiley and text them, I'm sorryz! LOL! WiLl u TaKeZ mE bAcKoRz??? DaT wOoD rOxOrZ iF u DiD! and then you carve a pentacle in some innocent little girls chest because apparently that's what the ladies are looking for in a man these days.

Fuck! What the hell am I missing here? Am I supposed to really buy into any of this demonic ritual approach to relationships? Is that what you ladies are after in a man? A good rugged, demonic sort of fella who can come up with good kidnapping schemes? Is that it?

I'm at a loss.

Seriously, though, demonic guy, does that shit ever work? How many ex-lovers have taken you back after carving people up?

Some people just don't have the right idea when it comes to love anymore.

Congratulations

Congratulations to the Edmonton Eskimos on defeating the Montreal Alouettes by a score of 38-35 in overtime and winning the 2005 Grey Cup!

I was only able to catch bits and pieces of regulation time as I was at work on Sunday, but I did get to watch the thrilling overtime. It was one for the history books to be sure.

Way to go, Esks! Do it again next year.

Walk The Line

On Friday night Jessica and I attended the late screening of the Johnny Cash biopic Walk The Line. This was a movie that I had a lot of high expectations for as I am quite a fan of the legendary Johnny Cash's work.

I'm pleased to say that all of the high expectations were warranted and met. It was an exceptional movie.

Joaquin Phoenix as Johnny and Reese Witherspoon as June Carter give what are likely the performances of their lives as they bring the story of young Cash's life to the silver screen. I think that the two of them would be cheated if their names weren't on Oscar ballots come the spring. In fact, not only was their acting top-notch, but all the singing? Yep, it was done by them too. It's uncanny how well Joaquin Phoenix, especially, can sound like the Man in Black. I'm almost of the mind that he should try releasing a few albums under the production of Rick Rubin since Johnny isn't around to do that anymore.

What I appreciated most about the movie was that it was a fairly well-rounded biopic. If you take a movie like La Bamba, which chronicled the life of Ritchie Valens, you'll see a movie that is more linear with its narrative. It was a good movie, don't get me wrong, but basically you have a story of a man who was afraid of flying and, through a tragic turn of events, dies in a plane crash, but it's very straightforward. Walk The Line was layered very well and presented a very dynamic Johnny Cash in the sense that it's not entirely a movie about his rise to fame, it's not entirely about his fight with Columbia to record and release At Folsom Prison, it's not entirely about his struggle with drug addiction, or the evolution of his relationship with June, or his dealing with the untimely death of his older brother and reconciling differences with his father. All of these little subplots seem to be woven together and present a good tapestry that was Johnny Cash's life. Mind you, some of these subplots are kind of underdeveloped, especially Johnny's reconciling of his differences with his father, but I would imagine some of the exposition had to fall by the wayside for time constraints and to keep a smoother flowing movie overall.

What this does, ultimately, though, is make me want to learn more about the man life. I think I should definitely check out his autobiography sometime.

If you're a fan of Cash or you're in the mood for a good rock and roll story, Walk The Line is definitely the movie for you.

Classic Michael Appleby

This time around, "Classic Michael Appleby" presents a poem that was inspired by one of Michael's fellow Toolarmy members by the name of Random_J, who, in a poem of his evoked the image of two lovers merging their veins as a sign of their love for each other. Michael was moved by that image and decided to take it a bit further. Talking about one's self in the third person totally kicks ass! Enjoy.


Marionettes
We’re each other’s marionettes
now that our limbs have been opened

by crudeness in dirty steak knives and sandpaper,
a serrated cut, jag slicing long slits
before wearing away the excess skin curtain
until all the strings exposed,

allowing the wiring of our veins
to be stretched out
and tied together,

bonded,

grafted by surgical staples and a scintilla of stitches.

Your heart thumps
and I feel your blood pumped
into me
before my heart bumps
and pumps it all right back into you.

Do I make you blush?

What an odd couple we are
connected like this.

I stretch my arms back and to the sides,
striking a messianic pose
to draw you nearer to me

for a kiss

and tasting my own body
in this flesh loop.

Who leads whom
in this postmodern dada dance?

Sometimes when I walk
you allow yourself to be forced to follow,
your feet mimicking my pace,
but when you want to
you can stand
and in my weakness

I fall,

trying to walk away,
but tethered helplessly to you.

Do you mean to drag me
to all your gynecologist appointments?
When you put your feet up in those stirrups
it’s also my legs that are being spread,
my genitals on a cold medical table,
not for examination,
but on display nonetheless.

Mealtimes are messy
because we can never
quite get the rhythm of our eating utensils in sync
I’ll try to chew on my meat
when you spoon some more of your soup
which means I am forced to shovel
even more chow into my mouth.

You choke me
and I choke you
when I manipulate

more soup into your gullet.

In simpler days,
we were still in love
and this commitment
of slavery to each other
seemed idyllic in every sense,
but it’s only gone to show
how out of rhythm we really are
and would it not prove fatal
to sever our connection,
let our spewing veins

retract

four ruby fountains
into their native bodies,
I would suggest scissors.

Now here we are,
stuck together,
two marionettes
and puppeteers,

two people who can’t agree
where the other should be going.