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The source of human morality: an email to my father.

Paul Wilson 23 December at 20:38
In your blog about the WBC protest you wrote;
“I personally don’t need a master to tell me what is right and wrong, and I think when people let go of their fear and look inside, they will realize that none of them need servility either. We can make the world better, but we aren’t going to get any help from an outside source, it’s up to us as human beings to fix it ourselves.”  Question: If you have no standard for your morality, then how do you define what is right and what is wrong?
What follows is my answer to my father, unedited. I had planned on looking into this further to form the best possible response to this question, but seeing as my blog is more a tool for me to articulate my thoughts in an orderly fashion, mostly for my own benefit, rather than an ultimate argument for my ideas, I think it is appropriate to address some of these issues as they present themselves. So here, only minutes after I sent the message, is my response at this time on the issue of human morality. All forms of support and criticism are welcomed and encouraged. Your scrutiny makes my view better when I accept it.

It’s interesting that you would ask me this particular question. It’s one that I’ve run into many times, especially lately. Actually I’m preparing to address it shortly as part of my next blog which is going to be a response to a catholic man with some rather extremist views on atheism. It was a question I had when I was first fully realizing my atheism, and I think it is a legitimate question, although it is somewhat insulting to atheists when you examine it.


The answers that I found when I looked into it are what pushed me to choose secular humanism as a moral platform for my life. You could say that in atheism (although certainly not with all atheists, because atheism is much like the left-wing in that it is more of a loose commonality of ideas held by widely different people, skepticism and the scientific method are the most widely accepted ideas comparable to your theology, and secular humanism is the most widely accepted idea comparable to your biblical morality.

In order to answer your question I first have to critique it. You ask how I define what is right and wrong if I have no standard for morality. This is what can be frustrating for atheists. The connection between religion and morality has been enforced, by the religious, for so long that they are culturally synonymous. But I believe that religion has very little positive impact on morality, and that morality is demonstrably a separate entity from religion. And the idea that people who don’t believe in a god are incapable of understanding morality is an understandable but annoying constant slap in the face for us heathens. When religion states that it is not only morally superior, but has a total monopoly on morality, I kind of roll my eyes and try not to be the arrogant atheist dick that constantly spouts off endless examples of immoral behavior being rewarded by or commanded by god in the bible. So it’s an easy question to answer, but it’s a difficult question to answer without coming off like a jerk, because in order to answer it I have to eventually point out why I believe that all religions are fundamentally unhealthy for not just human progress, but human wellbeing.

I think morality stems from two different things. First off it is a function of survival useful for most life and has been widely propagated among the species on earth through evolution. Second, it is one aspect of our higher cognitive function that gives us an advantage over less intelligent forms of life, and at the same time gives us a greater degree of responsibility for how we conduct ourselves given the ability to understand complicated and intangible concepts that affect the quality of life of our own species, as well as that of all other species on earth.

My first point is that morality is a survival tactic we received from evolution. We have the ability to empathize with other memberz of mankind, and their survival becomes a part of our survival. The most basic example of this in nature would be the tendency for almost all life to either sacrifice its own safety or its own food source for its offspring. Animals especially (as opposed to plants, fungus, or microscopic life) tend to be aggressively defensive of their young, putting themselves in much more dangerous situation than they would normally when a threat is imminent for their children. I think this is the root for our connection, and our behavior. At some deep subconscious level we instinctively understand that our survival is linked to every other member of our species. Humans are the most socially linked species on the planet, as far as I know, and so our social survival instinct would rationally be stronger than in other creatures. This survival link can be show even better when you examine other social or hive type creatures. Most species of cats and dogs work together in groups, and the group will work together for food and safety, and give up a portion of their own supplies to help feed other members of the group, say the sick and injured, or the young who can’t hunt for themselves. Hive creatures like ants or bees split the work up, so each member has its own purpose, but they all collectively reap the benefits. And so their own survival depends on the survival of their hive members, causing them to toil for the greater good and to sacrifice to protect the greater good.

And so for the most basic and fundamental aspects of morality, religion is totally unnecessary, since the ideas of not killing, stealing, or inflicting harm on members of one’s own social group, to the point of self-sacrifice for the well-being of others, are demonstrated by creatures far inferior to us. These attributes help us survive off of each other in a sort of symbiotic relationship, and are so simple and obvious to us that they don’t really need to be carved on stone tablets to be understood by all societies.

My second point was that we humans have a unique mental ability. We are by far the smartest creature in existence, at least as far as we know, and I would have to imagine that any other creature as smart as us would be capable of figuring out a way to communicate their intelligence. Anyway, that’s an irrelevant tangent, or at least a totally different debate about the possibility of higher beings. Our higher brain function allows us to grasp intangible concepts in a way that we don’t believe other life here can do. This is what gives us morally grey areas and allows us the ability to deal with them; the issues that can both harm and help life, such as how to define human rights, or how much speech should be allowed for whom, and what aspects of society should be mandated for the benefit of all, and which should be left to the individual.

This is where my idea (and I use the term “my” loosely, since most of the ideas I’m presenting here aren’t really my own, and the few that are have undoubtedly been argued better by someone else already) that religion is actually a hindrance to morality comes into play. If you assert that morality comes from your god and not from mankind and the laws that govern nature, then you will have a hard time excusing the teachings of the bible. And this is actually an issue that has bugged me from an early age, long, long before I rebelled and then eventually dismissed the idea of believing in a god. The bible has in it, especially in the old testament, but there are plenty of good examples of evil in the new as well, a plethora of commands to do things that we today consider extremely reprehensible. Abraham was made the father of all believers for his willingness to murder his own child when he heard a voice commanding him to. No normal Christian today would defend a parent who murdered their child and said God told them to do it. It’s right there in the ten commandments, thou shalt not murder. And yet Abraham inspired three completely different religions, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Not only did god reward Abraham for his willingness to murder his son, he also endorses and supports outright genocide and imperialistic warfare as a norm, in multiple situations. Believers in other faiths are routinely wiped off the face of the planet, and even for followers of gods teachings, fairly normal “wrongs” are responded to with outright bigotry and violence. For instance, a woman who was raped is commanded to either be stoned to death or to marry her rapist, as long as she was raped outside the city, if she were raped inside the city then she just has to die. The term sodomy even comes from the story of God wiping out an entire city of homosexuals, who he calls an abomination, a term poorly translated that breeds bigotry, but one supported by a story of merciless hatred. (I really don’t feel like looking up these verses, but I assure you they are in there, as I predict you will already know, and if you don’t think so I will gladly take the time to look up verses to prove my point)

And so I contend that most of what we consider to be moral, at least the moral parts I agree with, have stemmed from a secular viewpoint rather than a religious one. One common argument made by believers is that many aspects of moral improvement have been championed by religious people, and inspired by religious text. I do not argue that religious people have been instrumental in the positive changes we have made in society, especially in the last couple of hundred years, or that your bible may have inspired them to be better people. There are many passages in the bible that agree with secular humanism. Do unto others … Let him without sin cast the first stone … judgement is mine sayeth the lord; they all rehash the golden rule. Actually the first one is the golden rule now that I think about it, and I am not sure if that is in the bible or not. But it’s also the basis for all morality, which I already argued, and for example the first rule of Wiccan is, “Do what you will, so long as it harms no one.” My issue is that the rest of the bible isn’t so humanist. A famous example of morality being forwarded by a religious icon would be the civil rights movement and MLK Jr. Sure his faith was part of his passive campaign for equality, but the bible not only condones slavery, but sets out elaborate rules for how it should be done. Nowadays I doubt you can find many Christians who would admit slavery is a good idea, worthy of public support, but it’s still right there in your holy text. Likewise, few Christians would openly support a war with another religion without an excuse for it besides the opposing side being of a different faith. But again, plenty of examples of your god waging such jihads. And I don’t think I need to point out the obvious paradox of chauvinism versus female empowerment in your bible, since you and Mom have had, to my knowledge, some butting of heads with your church leaders in the past over what is and is not allowed for women by your bible.

So if we look at these things like civil rights, women’s equality, and the push for equal treatment of everyone, and you can point out examples of religious people, and the church in general, adjusting your morality to contradict your own divine scripture, then where have these ideas of right and wrong come from? I think that they are not natural to us. The simple forms of morality key to survival are natural to us, and this is what you have titled a conscience. But the grey areas of morality that we have worked out as a species are inarguably important, and the solutions to these problems, although sometimes accepted by the religious community, fly in the face of religious literature and teachings. So the question then becomes, where do we get and how do we define our system of morality. My answer, which is secular humanism, is that we should use our most successful techniques, those being skepticism, rational thought and reason, and the scientific method to constantly test our morality and determine where morality is working for our species and where it is hindering our progress. As we have seen with all areas of life with which we have applied the scientific process, I think morality will be best determined for our species when we put our greatest attribute in charge, that being our ability to think and use reason.

Unfortunately for your side of the argument, religion by its nature denies both reason and the scientific process. Any religion requires its believers to use faith in their lives, and faith by its very nature is the suspension of rational thought to accept an extraordinary claim without conclusive evidence, and often without using any logic at all. And when religion accepts faith, and claims that it’s scripture is the inspired word of god, it denies any application of the scientific method. Once you claim god said something, you aren’t allowed to challenge it until secular society comes along and forces you to adapt, and adaptation is the one evolutionary factor that is even stronger than our intelligence. By contrast, any theory or point of view on morality put forth by a secular humanist is open for rebuttal and debate by every other person on earth, and through this process of intellectual self inspection as a species, we can choose the strongest and most beneficial ideas for our future. I think any idea worth following should withstand scrutiny by the smartest minds available, and religion neither teaches this concept, nor demonstrates it, as evident by the extreme majority of scientists who are atheist.

One quote I hear a lot from the believers is that “atheists don’t believe in nothing, they believe in anything.” This is exactly why we are offended and annoyed. The entire premise that we are incapable of, or have never considered morality is ridiculous. Most atheists find the ideas of religion and morality almost all-encompassingly important, and have spent years or possibly all their life learning and thinking about it. Study after study shows that atheists are on average, more educated on matters of religion and philosophy than are the people who profess to believe in ancient scrolls. So it’s a valid question to ask where we nonbelievers get our morality, but in asking it you shine a light on the overwhelming cultural bias towards freethinkers and skeptics and atheists, and at the same time highlight your own ignorance of alternative beliefs while requiring us to have a deep knowledge of your beliefs. I’m not offended by you asking me this Dad. It was one of the first questions I went after when I realized there was no god, and so I can empathize with never having considered any other option. In fact I am glad that I get to answer it for you instead of some other atheist who may be less friendly with their world views. I hope this gives you some food for thought as far as moral alternatives, and if you have any questions for me, and I hope you do, hit me up. Remember, no idea worth following should be above scrutiny, even mine and especially mine.

Later gator,
Josh.


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Protesting the Westboro Baptist Church

Over the last year I’ve seen a big shift in my world view towards a more aggressive atheism and a much more liberal political view. As this witches brew of new ideals began to come into more focused views and opinions, I’ve been looking for a way to get more involved and try to make a difference in the world. One such opportunity presented itself last week when the conservative talk radio station my boss listens to announced that the Westboro Baptist church, famous for picketing funerals with their anti-gay hate speech, would be picketing the funeral of Elizabeth Edwards.

Elizabeth Edwards is the ex-wife of my former senator John Edwards, who ran as vice presidential hopeful alongside John Kerry when they (and pretty much everyone on the planet) lost out to G. Dubyah and Cheney. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a big John Edwards fan, but Elizabeth seems like a strange target for such animosity. Her first child died in a car accident at the age of sixteen. Her husband cheated on her, had a baby with his mistress, got caught covering it up, and embarrassed her in front of the nation. So she ditched him. And let’s not forget that she got breast cancer, and after a six year illness kicked the bucket at age 61.

So the never pleasant Westboro clan who, like all credible moral sources live on a compound in Kansas, announced they would picket her funeral. You can try to read their press release here, although I couldn’t make much sense of it. After spewing incoherent psychobabble for a few minutes, they mention she and her husband “decided they would show God who is boss, [after he killed their first son for reasons unclear] and meddled in matters of the womb, resulting in two more children”. Yeah, what a bitch. She wanted more kids after god killed her first one.

I'd rather play tummy sticks too.

God hates androgynous fags, unlike the hotties of WBC!

A few lines farther down the page Westboro somehow combines the words ‘smashmouthed’ and ‘Godsmacks’ in a sentence that doesn’t say, “Godsmack is much, much, much better than Smashmouth unless you are a thirteen year old girl, and even then fuck you and Smashmouth.”

Some of their other outrage comes from allegations that she was less than praise filled when talking about God stating that “God could not … protect my boy”, that she wasn’t asking god to save her from cancer, and possibly the most shocking, that god was “not the God I wanted”. I’m not sure exactly what the WBC expected after decades of intense personal loss. I think the god of the bible is a total asshole and I’ve never lost anyone, or had a wife who cheated on me, or gotten cancer. I don’t need that kind of reason to be pissed, because religion claims your god stuck my ass on a planet filled with jerk offs like the WBC, and that alone deserves a swift kick in the nuts. The fact of the matter is that after her death she relied on her church greatly for support and inspiration, and despite her religion was able to work through her cancer to support gay rights and oppose war.

Don't forget I used to be super hot.

So I got a few of my Friends to go with me, and I prepared for the festivities the night before. I spent a half an hour or so coming up with slogans for our signs, and let Tim and Heather pick which ones they would like to have. In the process I learned a few things about protesting. First of all, check the weather, because it would have been really nice to know in advance that it was going to be 37 degrees and rainy before I left the house with no gloves or head gear or umbrella. Second, if you make signs, use something sturdier than poster board. Ours might have held up better if it had just been windy, but with the rain added they were floppy piles of crap by the time we shivered our timbers back to the car.

As it turns out we were a few blocks down from the funeral, and there were only five WBC members there to protest, two of which were children. It was a bit of a let down, I certainly didn’t feel properly outraged. They held signs proclaiming “You will eat your babies”, and “Thank God for breast cancer”. Across the street we had about three hundred protesters, from all walks of life. In our group we had two Christian conservatives and a liberal atheist, and all around us you could see the diversity reflected as people of all colors and creeds came to give the extremists the middle finger. Every demograph seemed to be represented, from the young to the old, educated or otherwise, we all had a common moral bond, that the folks across the street were despicable, and that for a few hours at least, we could all stand together united under one purpose.

On the street itself a steady stream of protesters in cars circled the block, with the bikers flicking off the whackos while revving their Harleys, the rednecks blaring country music and waving american flags and POW/MIA flags, and the college kids dancing to macho man and house music, with hot lesbian coeds riding out of the sunroof and making out. Meanwhile in the crowd people were passing out pink ribbons to acknowledge breast cancer victims, and holding their own signs. Apparently someone hit a WBC member with a water balloon, which must have been miserable because of the cold, but I missed it.

For the most part the signs were lame. Our people had slogans ranging in boring-ness from “grace” to “hero”. I’m sorry, but this is a protest, not a Lifetime midday movie for housewives brimming with weepy Hallmark moments. But it seemed like most of the sappy stuff was at the other end of the crowd, directly across from the WBC pen. To give you a feel for our end of the barricade, I hadn’t been there for more than thirty seconds before a gothic kid with fangs (they looked really good, possibly surgically implanted) asked me if he could photograph me and my sign. One side of my sign read, “FSM (picture of flying spaghetti monster) FLIED FOR YOUR SINS” and the opposite side read, “THOU SHALT NOT BE AN A**HOLE”.

I focused my efforts on comedy because I think parody works best for me. I want to use humor to diffuse the anger in a tense situation, and simultaneously point out how ridiculous it is to believe in things like the Bible. I was surprised though, at how many people came out of the wood work to ask for pictures of our signs, and especially my spaghetti monster sign. Living in the Bible belt, and the deep south, and working as I do with almost entirely Christian conservatives, it seems most of the time like there is nobody around me who feels the same way. So it was nice I guess, to see so many of my people, the ones with died hair, facial piercings, tattoos, and the like. I don’t think that’s superficial, I think it’s just natural to want to be around people similar to yourself, and to feel more comfortable around people who look and talk like you do. And it was extra reaffirming to have so many approach me and show support.

I did have a few negative responses to my atheist views, but none were rude or offensive. In fact the one person who actually got mad wasn’t even mad at me directly, he was mad about the sign I made for Tim that read, “Zeus hates Baptists! Burn in Hades nonbelievers!” Because they had moved the protest a few blocks away from the funeral, we just so happened to be directly in front of another church. One of their members came over, and with his teeth practically clenched with anger said to Tim, “I get what you’re trying to do here, I really do. But that line of people across the street (there was a line of people going into the church, who weren’t part of any protest, but we didn’t know who they were or what they were up to) is full of poor families here to get their children presents for Christmas. There are 300 Baptists in that building right now giving away toys to poor kids and you are out here doing the same thing [the WBC] is doing.”

Wow, that was unexpected and awkward. Except not really at all once I had thought about it. The problems I had with the words that had come out of his mouth started taking shape and lining up to explode out of my mouth, but before I could get in a single word Tim, much to my surprise, had already told the man he couldn’t help him, and he had a right to have his sign, and had sent him back to his church. While my friend is an extremist conservative, he’s also a really nice guy to almost everyone, so I was surprised he had stood up for his right to make a joke. Except then I got to thinking about it, and I got mad at the First Baptist Church member who had addressed us. There were 300 Baptists in that building, and five outside giving them a bad name, and all they had to do was get up and walk outside to join us in protest. I’m sure they didn’t need 300 people to hand out toys. Not only that but this guy quite clearly did not “get” what we were trying to do. In order to get it he would have needed a sense of humor, which he clearly did not possess.

When all was said and done the WBC freak show packed up and everyone cheered, and then hurried back to their vehicles because we were all soaking wet and freezing from standing in the wind and rain for hours. I know that by going to protest these extremists, we only get them the media attention they want in the first place. But by the same token, if nobody stands up and says something is wrong, people probably won’t end up dealing with it. I would hope that by using parody to point out how ridiculous bigotry against the evil “fags” inherently is, maybe some of the more moderate religious people will realize that they are doing the same thing in a watered down way.

The fact is that the WBC doesn’t make this stuff up, their hate really is printed in the Bible, mixed in with the bits about loving thy neighbor, and reserving judgement for their lord. The more I am exposed to the LGBT community, the more ashamed I am that we as a society allow an entire group of people, who are amazing, and creative, and fun, and add vibrancy and spice to our species, to be systematically denied civil rights, and be bullied, discriminated against, and treated as hated, second class citizens by the very people who claim they have the monopoly on morality. I would hope that at least some of the people on the fence will see things like this, and lean a little bit farther towards secular humanist values. In my personal opinion, we will never see an end to this sort of religious hate no matter how hard the church tries to adapt to an increasingly educated world.

Unfortunately for the religious, the values of racial hatred, political and social imperialism, and a divinely commanded moral superiority are built into the holy books of  the Abramahic religions. As long as it’s still printed in those perfect, infallible fairy tales, people will still believe it’s right. The only way I see to cut out the root of this problem is to grow as a species past the need for ancient scrolls to tell us what to do. I personally don’t need a master to tell me what is right and wrong, and I think when people let go of their fear and look inside, they will realize that none of them need servility either. We can make the world better, but we aren’t going to get any help from an outside source, it’s up to us as human beings to fix it ourselves.

All The Live Long Day

So I got my ass a new job, and it’s friggin hard as hell. I can’t complain (even though I’m about to do just that) because I needed a job really bad, but let me go ahead and say that no matter how hard you think landscaping is, it’s about ten times harder. When you boil it down, I get paid just over minimum wage to grab a shovel and move dirt around for ten hours a day at a break neck slave speed. I’ve been working at this new job for about a month, and already I’ve lost fifteen pounds. And that’s not with a diet either, that’s pure-ass-hell-damn elbow grease. My diet consists of pizzas and dollar menu items from McDonalds, with the occasional gas station item. Do you have any idea how hard you have to work to lose fifteen pounds when your lunch is four McChicken sammiches, some beef jerky, and a two liter of Mountain Dew? My feet were covered with eleven (yes I counted them) blisters that still haven’t healed up yet after a friggin month of work. My feet look like a Vietnamese POW after a death march. And don’t even get me started on how many cuts I get. Just on the side of my left arm facing my head I can count twelve cuts. My farmers tan is so crucial I look like I’m wearing black face. And to top it off I think I’ve developed tendonitis because about half the time I loose all feeling between my fingers and my armpits.

But all in all it’s actually a nice job. I get to work with my hands, which I love. I get to be dirty all day, which I love. I get to cuss and sweat and bleed and tell dirty jokes. I’m re-learning spanish, picking up on the words and phrases I used to know back when I was living with Mexicans all week. Most of all I get to work with some really amazing people. I absolutely love blue collar people. We are bat shit crazy, and rough around the edges, but the most character filled, life loving, live in the moment people you will ever meet.

My direct boss, Tim, is a guy I’ve been friends with for about a decade. We go back to high school together, and we’ve done a lot of wild stuff. Now Tim is a funny guy, but before you even get to know him he’s just a funny looking guy. He’s skinny as a crack head, always has been. He might weigh 130 soaking wet. He’s got long curly heir that probably hasn’t seen a brush for years. And to top it all off he’s missing one of his front teeth. So anyone with a keen eye can pretty much size him up from a distance and know you’re dealing with a bit of a character. Now Tim isn’t exactly … how can I put this delicately … Tim and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of issues. We argue all the time, on just about every subject. Tim is kind of backwards on a lot of his views. He doesn’t like gay people. He’s very 40’s with his approach to gender roles. His actual reason for believing the Bible is true is because he want’s it to be true. And he spends most of his driving time soaking up the opinion of the day from Rush or Beck or Hannity.

Actually I really enjoy being around a stubborn, opinionated jack ass like Tim because it helps me solidify my own views. For a long time I couldn’t figure out why people like me and people like Tim disagree on such basic, fundamental issues. Take health care for instance. Me and Tim both want a similar end result, that everyone has access to health care. But we have such totally opposing ideas on how that should be put into place. And it just bugged me and bugged me until one day I had a bit of an epiphany. I realized that conservatives like Tim basically believe (erroneously) that the government got it right with our original constitution and that they shouldn’t do anything extra, while I believe that the constitution was a good start, but the government should change and grow as the world changes and grows. And so when I have to argue with Tim about seemingly obvious points, like for instance that only white property owning males could vote until they fixed that clearly unfair part of the constitution, it helps remind me of why I believe the things I do.

My boss one up from Tim is a yankee named Carl, who is hands down one of the wildest and craziest people I have ever met in my life. First of all he looks about ten years younger than he really is. He’s thirty eight and he’s engaged to a twenty four year old. So of course me and Tim give him pure shit for that. Asking whether she calls him daddy or grandpa in the sack, and suggesting that he’s on the edge of sterility. And it’s so funny because he’s so easy to get riled up. Even under perfect conditions he’s an easily agitated person, and he’s so hyper and his fuse is so short that it’s friggin hilarious to get him pissed off and just watch. He’ll get pissed off and just start randomly picking racial slurs to call people before he even knows what they are.

Somebody hit him with a car the other week, ran their mirror into his back pack leaf blower, and it spun him around. So he’s super pissed off, packs up and I end up in the same truck as him. He’s getting calls non stop, answering the phone screaming, and of course I can only hear half the conversation, but it’s hilarious. (Phone rings) “Holy shit if you see any n*****s on the way to the fucking park hit them with your fucking car! …. Some god damned spook just hit me with a car, fuckin bullshit, cause we’re working in the middle of coon town and none of these crack head mother fuckers can drive for shit! … (at car behind us) GET OFF MY FUCKING ASS YOU NO DRIVING SAND N****R! I FUCKING HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE RIDE MY ASS. … No I’m bringing my god damned pistol tomorrow and the first fucker who drives too close to me is getting a lead sammich. (Now driving no more than two feet behind an SUV) Hold on my mom is texting me. … What the fuck Mom! Look at this god damn shit! (hands me phone which has a picture of a cock and balls with a shamrock saying happy saint Patrick’s day) (calls his mom) What the hell is wrong with you, did you fall off the short bus or what? … Why would you think I would find a picture of a dick and balls entertaining? … Why don’t you go find me a picture of some hot chick showing her pussy?! …. I DON’T WANT TO LOOK AT A DICK AND BALLS! … Ok mom, I love you too, see you later.”

So that’s pretty much all day every day with Carl. If he’s not pissed off he’s just saying something totally off the wall. I believe he described his night thusly: “I was so god damned tired. Went home. Ate two bowls of cereal, and tried to knock the bottom off a pregnant lady.”

Of course, most of the labor is Mexican guys, and those guys always come with the crazy. One of our more experienced workers is named Compost. Seriously, a Mexican working in landscaping named Compost. I don’t think he understands the irony. Apparently the Mexicans like me. They told me I’m part Mexican because I work so hard, and they believe if I could drive I would make supervisor in a few months, which makes me feel good about myself and also pisses me off knowing that I can’t drive. But Mexicans are always easy to get along with. All you have to do is make sure you work as hard as they work, and try to learn a little Spanish so you can converse while you work.

The other notable weird people are the owners, who are a mix of Japanese and southern. So you have a couple of good old boys who are as anal retentive as a Tokyo accountant. It can be frustrating at times, but they are good at what they do.

And of course, like any blue collar job I get to play with all kinds of specialized power tools and heavy equipment. I get to use tillers and chainsaws and stump grinders and the lot. But what I’m most excited about is learning how to use the Bobcat and the excavator. They haven’t let me get on either one of them yet, but it’s only a matter of time before I get the chance, and I am stoked. I mean every boy grows up dreaming about playing with these kinds of machines, but so many people never get the chance. I think that’s what I am most excited about with this job. It’s all worth it. I don’t mind towing around explosives and getting my arms shredded and getting bit up by ticks and chiggers, as long as I get a chance to dig a hole with a back hoe.

And to close out this post I have a PSA. If you’re towing mulch covered in burlap next to the same chemicals that were used to blow up the Oklahoma City building, don’t throw your cigarette butt’s out the window while you’re driving down the freeway. There’s a good chance you will set it all on fire and unless you have really cool bosses who cover your ass you will probably lose your job.

Bat Out of Hell

Sometimes my life feels like one long ass practical joke on me. Like there really is a God, but he’s not that benevolent triforce they keep talking about on the 700 club. The God in my life is a teenage prick and spends all the time in which he’s not masturbating, sending unpleasant events into my life. Sometimes the bad events are traumatic, like going to jail. Sometimes the bad events are more a general sense of dread and failure, like my alcoholism. Or sometimes they seem like direct attacks, out of my control, like when I got laid off in July because I was the only person at my branch without children or a mortgage.

But sometimes, more often than I would like, these events take an incredibly literal form. The other day I went over to my parents house to visit with my aunt one last time before she left for Pennsylvania and I wouldn’t see her again for months or possibly years. I had a great visit, we talked about all the things that have been going on in everyone’s lives. Aunt Val is always a laugh riot, and my parents drink more when she’s around, so by the end of the night everyone is always feeling good and having a ball.

And so I headed out, feeling great and ready to get home so I could have a few drinks of my own. Normally I would put in my headphones so I could listen to my iPod on the drive home, but I was thinking about the ice cold beer in the fridge and completely forgot about my music. Instead I left my headphones tucked in my shirt collar, hanging down inside my shirt on my chest.

One of the bad things about driving a scooter (of which there are many) is that after you’ve driven one for a few years you tend to zone out a little bit while driving down familiar stretches of road. The roads in my part of town are all but empty late on a Saturday night, so I get to take up a whole lane instead of white knuckling the curb as angry motorists whiz past. And I already have every bump and manhole memorized anyway. I was relaxing, cruising along by myself and enjoying the cool evening air and the smells of cut grass and flowers.

All of the sudden a brand new obstacle flew into the meager shine of my headlights. With no time to react, I recognized it as fresh squirrel roadkill. I couldn’t swerve, I couldn’t respond at all. My only choice was to fly right over top of the ground-beef-like remains and hope for the best. Now this isn’t normally a problem. In fact I routinely hit roadkill because I ride as far over as I can so less people will try to kill me in their gigantic, impatient vehicles. Generally I won’t even feel a squirrel due to the compacting of repeatedly being ran over. Deer pose a serious problem, but I’ve even hit animals as large as raccoons and possums without incident.

This was not one of those times. Teenage God was sitting in the clouds watching and laughing his ass off like he had just left a flaming bag of dog crap on my front porch. This squirrel was fresh. As I heard the thump-thump of the corpse under my tires I saw what appeared to be a bat out of hell. A seemingly huge chunk of rotting meat flew into the air directly in front of my face. I watched in slow-motion horror as it spun forward, then slowed. As life slammed back into real time, the carnage before me lost forward momentum, caught the wind, and slung back directly into my chest.

It’s only in moments like this that you find out exactly what kind of man you are. Are you the kind of man who epitomizes chest hair and who drinks whiskey without making a stupid face, or are you a shrimp-dicked little girly man who sleeps with a night light and names his pet goldfish Lolly Pop? I am, unfortunately, the latter it would seem.

As I felt the thud directly in the center of my sternum, it took every ounce of gristle in my body to keep myself from completely losing control of my vehicle and crashing in a fiery blaze, leaving behind only a sad epitaph about how wimpy I am to remember me by. I swerved erratically and flailed wildly at my chest. Unable to determine whether or not mangled animal parts were hanging off me I pulled into the next shopping center parking lot.

Without taking my helmet off I started brushing my chest again. Unable to see my chest with my helmet on, I realized in horror there was a lump on my chest under my shirt! Holy shit, the meat had flown down my collar and was stuck to my bare chest, most likely teeming with ebola, rodent aids, and spina bifida. I don’t need to know what spina bifida is to be afraid of it. I’ve seen Fox News, I’ve watched Glenn Beck, I know freaking out before you know what you’re facing is not only good for you, it’s patriotic!

Ripping my helmet off I clutched at my chest, trying to dislodge the sickening lump of what can only be pure leprosy by now. And that’s when I remembered I had forgotten about my music and I was standing in the middle of a parking lot in suburbia frantically trying to dislodge my own headphones.

As some of the adrenaline started to ebb and my heart slowed down to the level of a small dog on meth I tried to gather my senses. Did I piss myself in terror? No. Good. Was the roadkill still on me anywhere else? … No. Good. Is my scooter intact? Holy shit the pice of shit that hit me is still there! Oh sweet lord it’s so big and disgusting!

Turns out the wad of deceased squirrel had bounced harmlessly off my chest and landed in between my legs. After grossing out for another minute or so at the thought of catching some zombie movie STD from roadkill near my dick I decided I had better just wad it up in an old receipt, throw it at a nearby Hummer2 and go get drunk. I may not have had the coolest head in my unexpected, stressful situation, but I can at least say I didn’t scream like a girl (I don’t think) and I did manage to stay on the road and upright. That’s close enough to a victory for me.

The Carport of Babel

There are times in a mans life where he takes on a task, nay, a mighty quest. This arduous undertaking consumes him, pushing him to his limits in the ultimate attempt to make himself a legend among men. A hero of sorts. And almost without fail, in the real world at least, men underestimate how impossibly fucking hard this task will be once it’s started and there’s no turning back.

My quest is building a place to live. My brother and I decided to close in his carport making it into a new laundry room and a large bedroom for me to live in, and after I move a new living room or possibly game room for their house. We looked at this old carport and said to ourselves, we know how to measure and cut things. We like using power tools. We’ve both worked construction and maintenance jobs for many years. This should be well within the comfortable bounds of our almost limitless knowledge of how to make things. So with our spirits high and our giant hairy balls swinging low, we started tearing shit apart and building walls. As it turns out, we only half way know how to build a house. And we most certainly don’t know how to build a house to government standards.

You see what happened was, we forgot one very important factor when evaluating our personal skills. Both of us have built a lot of crap, and learned a lot of things, but every job we’ve ever had has been some jack-of-all-trades bullshit, where the main focus was on *ahem* jerry-rigging the living hell out of whatever we were fixing. So I can guarantee I can build a functional house that never leaks or falls over, but when it comes to making sure the town of Garner building inspectors agree about my methods, well, that’s a whole different slice of pie now isn’t it.

But who needs professional or expert knowledge, we decided to wing it anyway, and have been met with nothing but trouble ever since. We spent an entire day moving the top of one exterior wall one inch so it would match up properly with the preexisting trim wood. We’ve found unbelievable things wrong with the house. A large section of the roof had the rafters completely unattached, possibly from a large limb falling on it. One corner of the carport was held up by nothing but a four by four, gravity, and paint. Seriously, we jacked it up to build a wall, and the post fell out, not attached in any way to either the roof, or the small cement wall it was sitting on. One man with a sledgehammer, or say, a CAR, could have collapsed the end of the house. And yet our inspection fails because we accidentally used 3/8ths inch bolts instead of half inch bolts. Suck a dick inspector man, you know good and well that wall wasn’t going anywhere. (shakey fist with extra !!!!!!!)

So anyway. Nobody besides us gives a crap about the details of our work. Let me just say that we’ve pretty much all been busting our collective asses in the middle of a very muggy summer to try and get this project done, and though our balls are still just as huge as ever, our spirits are all sinking a little lower as the weeks go by. We’ll get this bastard built eventually, but for now nobody has much energy for things like, oh, blogging regularly. Even my first love, pornography, has been seeing less of me lately. Oh yeah, and the woman too, don’t forget the woman!

(By the way it’s very hard to focus on writing when your woman is sitting next to your rough draft on the computer screen, deep throating a popsicle. Who am I kidding, I didn’t even try splitting my attention.)

So screw it, this is what it looks like.

This was the corner being frighteningly held up by one single 4x4 with no screws or nails whatsoever.

This was the corner being frighteningly held up by one single 4x4 with no screws or nails whatsoever.

No one was injured in my tool rage.

No one was injured in my tool rage.

This is called labor fuel, which weve been consuming in large quantities. Because, you know, power tools and alcohol are never a bad thing to mix.

This is called labor fuel, which we've been consuming in large quantities. Because, you know, power tools and alcohol are never a bad thing to mix.

This would be our former exterior wall, also the location of the rafters holding up the ceiling that were completely unattached.

This would be our former exterior wall, also the location of the rafters holding up the ceiling that were completely unattached.

You can only immagine how packed it is now that we also brought down everything in our attic to instal a new HVAC system.

You can only immagine how packed it is now that we also brought down everything in our attic to instal a new HVAC system.

Getting close to done. ON THE OUTSIDE! Mwahahahaha!

Getting close to done. ON THE OUTSIDE! Mwahahahaha!

After working it is necessary to cover your head with a liquor bag, and make your best preggers tummy.

After working it is necessary to cover your head with a liquor bag, and make your best preggers tummy.

At Last

So it’s been a full year since My woman and I have been able to see each other, and just when I’m starting to worry the internet has run out of porn, she flies down for a ten day vacation. Besides the sheer fact that I finally get to knock boots again, which was kind of blowing my mind, but on top of that I haven’t had ten whole consecutive days of not-working for many many years. It was really nice, to say the least. By the end of the first weekend I was all rested up and ready to go back to work, and I figured by the end of another week I would be going stark raving mad from boredom. As it turns out though, by the end of my vacation I was ready for another vacation to rest up from the first vacation, and cursing every minute of work all day Monday. Apparently I get spoiled easy. I hope I can retire one day because laying around all the time doing whatever you feel like is fucking awesome. It was like if a damn Jimmy Buffet song mated with a Bob Marley song.

I deserved a break though, because I had been working fourteen hour days for the last few weeks, coming home from my daytime manual labor duties and spending the evening working on my brother’s house until ten or eleven every night. I want a new place to live so I decided to build one with him. We’re closing in his carport and making it into a big ass bedroom and a new laundry room. And let me tell you, nobody loves playing around with power tools more than me, but even I get burned out when I work too much. (more on the project in the next post)

So we rented a hotel for the first few nights, so we could have plenty of privacy for the explicit section of our time together, and let me tell you, I friggin love Hotels. The only thing that would have made it better would have been if I was off probation and could toke up on some of the dank ass ganja we had, and if they had smoking rooms, because trooping my lazy ass downstairs and outside every time I wanted a stoagie was kind of lame. I had to put on pants and everything. We also discovered that boobs do float in water, as long as they are natural.

Why is it that people on vacation always eat the most unhealthy shit ever?

Why is it that people on vacation always eat the most unhealthy shit ever?

I gave Emerald some of the good old southern treatment, making sure some of our activities exposed her to life in the dirty south. I took her grocery shopping at the Super Walmart, the Mecca of white trash. I absolutely love Walmart, it’s like heaven but with more fat people, but she’s not such a big fan. In fact she hates Walmart. But with me as her sherpa she didn’t hate it so much, and even had a little bit of fun. I guess America really does have more fat people than other countries, cause she was a little shocked by this whale of a woman we saw with her two Fatty McFatfat offspring in IHOP. I told her southern people are fat cause we have so much good food it’s damn near impossible to stay in shape. Besides, I love a little extra cushion for the pushin’. That and we have a lot of buffets. I guess buffets are another American thing, cause she told me they don’t have that many in Toronto. WTF?!! That’s one of the coolest things a restaurant can do. It’s cool as hell to be able to eat all you can, and it’s common practice that if you pay for all you can eat, you have to eat as much as you possibly can until you feel like shitting and ralphing at the same time, and you waddle out of the store like some engorged mongoloid.

I didnt know they even served rolls at IHOP.

I didn't know they even served rolls at IHOP.

So in general we had a real blast. I took her out for an official date night, with dinner and a movie. We went to a Japanese steak house, you know the kind with the crazy knife wielding chefs and the fireballs. It was pretty cool, except for the huge black family the got seated next to us and were on their phones the entire time, except when they were interrupting our conversations with a bunch of stupid ass bull shit. If you insist on being a pain in the ass, at least do it on your side of the table. It was kind of funny too cause I’m pretty sure our chef was Mexican, which I found amusing. We also saw the Hangover which is fall down hilarious. My only gripe about the whole movie was that Heather Graham played a hooker and didn’t show her tits, which is complete bullshit, you all know how I feel about boobies. Still though, go watch it, it is worth every penny, unless you are some kind of douchebag who thinks grown men who make infants pantomime masturbation isn’t funny.

Seriously, I fricking love bosoms.

Seriously, I fricking love bosoms.

Fire inside is cool.

Fire inside is cool. Almost cool enough for me to skip the little black Sambo joke this picture makes me think of every time I see it. (Ooooh lawd! Eeessa fiyah suh!)

The other big event we had that week was Going on my favorite morning radio talk show, Bob and the Showgram. Every Friday they have the free-for-all, which is where they have the studio audience in to tell stories and play games and such. I’ve wanted to go on the Showgram for years, and I may not have another chance before I move to Toronto, so this was a real treat for me. We got there super early in the morning, and waited for the interns to come down and take us up to the studio. Then Sweetness, the gay intern came out and helped us through the whole waiver process, making sure none of us can sue the station if we end up losing our jobs or families over anything we say on air. Sweetness by the way, was fun as hell in real life. And they fed us all free Bojangles, which for those of you who aren’t from dixieland is a fried chicken and biscuit place with fucking delicious food. And of course Em is a vegetarian, and there was another gay dude there who was also a vegetarian, so I ended up with a triple meat biscuit, with ham, fried chicken, and sausage all slammed together in a triple meat spectacle. They should have that on the menu, cause it was awesome. Sweetness was even getting a little excited with all that meat pressed together, and wanted a triple meat sandwich of his own, but like a true gentleman I stayed faithful to Emerald.

They took us back to the studio after a little while, and I was of course the very first one in the door, so I got seated right next to the big man himself, Bob Dumas. I never ended up on the air to tell any stories, which kind of bummed me out, but I was so high on everything else that I didn’t really care. It was weird though, because all these other people had stories that sounded like they would be interesting as hell, but they kept being soooooo boring. How do you make a story about being knocked into a coma because lightning hit you on a jet ski uninteresting? How do you take a story about banging a chick in a porta-john at a Nascar race boring? It was like these people were trying to suck extra! And I’m there next to Bob practically jumping out of my seat like, “Pick me! Pick me! I have a story about skinny dipping with a bunch of Mexicans and some fat chicks we met at a gas station!” I did however get to shock Weird Creep John with a cattle prod in the armpit. He was an annoying little pussy in real life though.

I met Sinbad. That was pretty cool, cause I’ve never met a celebrity before except for at signings after shows. It was cool, I shook his hand and we talked about how cool iPhones are. He’s a pretty big dude in person. Em however did make it on the Showgram, they pulled her up to play a game called horseshoes and hand grenades, which is basically just a bunch of random ass trivia questions with cool prizes. She CREAMED Mike, with a landslide victory. I was worried for her because Mike is usually pretty good, but the score ended up five to two, and one of his two was only because they both guessed the same number. I’ll try and ge the audio from the show and edit it together in a sound clip you can listen to, but not right now, cause I’m ass tired from working all weekend.

Bob Dumas on the left, Mike Morris in the middle, and my sexy, sexy woman, Emerald, on the right.

Bob Dumas on the left, Mike Morris in the middle, and my sexy, sexy woman, Emerald, on the right.

All in all it was a really great vacation, and I can’t wait to see her again. I’ll leave you with a few more pictures. For now I’m going the hell to sleep, cause I have to keep myself alive long enough to move up there so I can live like this every week.

Em making breakfast, french toast and coconut battered fried plantains.

Em making breakfast, french toast and coconut battered fried plantains, with a side of white trash bra showing.

Photobombed by my brother Nate. It would have been a really cute picture asshole. Go die in a fire.

Photobombed by my brother Nate. It would have been a really cute picture asshole. Go die in a fire.

Putting the ass back in classy.

Putting the ass back in classy.

Her words say no but her eyes say hell yes. Sloppy wet time sugar!

Her words say no but her eyes say hell yes. Sloppy wet time sugar!

Just so you all know, there are pictures of her filling out a very sexy rebel flag bikini, but she wont let me put them up, so you get this crap instead.

Just so you all know, there are pictures of her filling out a very sexy rebel flag bikini, but she won't let me put them up, so you get this crap instead.

Call me Bob

I’m not an easily bummed out guy. While there have certainly been a few roller coaster moments in my alcoholic life experience when it comes to self image, for the most part I feel fairly confident with who and what I am. I’m certainly not dreaming about inventing a time machine so I can jump back and forth through the time continuum making love to myself (don’t think I haven’t thought about it though) but I don’t normally get too down on my appearances either.

I have bad skin, and I’ve made my peace with that. I have an average dick, and you know what, average is good enough for me. I brandish that mediocre dick like I’m Zorro, and if you don’t believe me ask you mom. (Ooooooh, lame burn!) I completely gave up on styling my hair in any sort of way and just cut it short so it dries and styles itself with absolutely zero effort on my part. I never match my socks, I get dressed in the dark, and almost all of my pants have paint all over them. Zoolander I am not.

But the other day I had one of those moments where you see something new about yourself and it freaks you the fuck out. I was changing clothes at work, and I just happened to glance at the mirror as I was bending over to drop trough, and I saw the sight. It stopped me in my tracks and I had to go back for a second look. The second look was certainly no more encouraging than the first glance, in fact it was even worse than I had originally surmised. I’m sorry to say ladies and gentlemen, I have moobs.

I have big, sagging, gross ass man boobs, and I am not the least bit happy about it. When the fuck did my once tight pecks turn into moobs? More importantly, how the fuck am I going to turn them back into pecks before the middle of June when my woman comes down to visit and I have to be seen neked a lot. (that is to say, I have to be seen neked a lot by a woman, seeing as I weekly endure correctional officers conducting strip searches on my person) I am ok with having a gut, I am ok with the bad skin, and the farmers tan, and the stretch marks on my cracker ass. But moobs cross the fucking line.

So now I’m on a working mans diet, and am trying real hard to do push ups and maybe even lift a weight or two so I won’t have tits the next time I have sex. A working man’s diet consists of changing nothing about my diet except I put one less spoon full of sugar in every mug of coffee, I stop eating candy, and I skip breakfast. Also I will try working harder while I am actually getting paid, that way I not only get in better shape and get a free gym, but I also impress my boss for the non existent raise my company would have given me if they had not frozen all raises indefinitely because of our cock gobbling economy. (legalize pot Obama, you know you want to make sure the first black president not only spends more money than any president ever, but also pays for it with weed)

For now I am estimating myself at a solid B cup. Wish me and my tits luck.

PS – I have named them Brutus and Hagar, (left and right respectively) please address them as such in your prayers.