”Can I Get an Amen”

I am not trying to be sacrilegious and/or crap on anyone else’s beliefs with the things I am about to say, so put away your holy water and bibles, I am basically just sharing my feelings and outlook on established religion as a whole. I consider myself a God fearing man…I just don’t like what man has done with that God I fear…they have made him into more of a plaything for their own personal agendas, he has become a pawn in their evil games.

To each their own, if you’re happy and not hurting and/or condemning anyone else to hell for being sinful when you yourself are just as sinful and/or trying to recruit everyone you see to your religion of choice just like as if you’re a scout for a major league baseball team then have at it…enjoy yourself and I wish you many blessings.

There are many decent God fearing people in this world, who don’t go around hating and/or condemning others, regardless of which God they serve. The only reason it seems like the reverse is because the minority have bigger mouths and want all the attention, whereas the majority are perfectly fine just serving the lord they so choose to without making it into a spectacle.

And for the record, you don’t need a religious faith to be obnoxious…there are plenty of Atheists who go around throwing their stink and condemning others to the land of dunceville because they believe in a higher power…acting as if they are smarter than everyone else because they don’t have a faith.

So just remember people, it’s not your faith or the lack thereof that makes you an ass…it’s who you are as a person, it’s in your genetic makeup.

Now for my rant…

I grew up Catholic, went to church on Sundays, said my prayers and even avoided eating meat on Fridays so I am speaking from experience here, not just from what someone else told me and/or something I saw on TV.

1. I used to believe that I wasn’t good enough to speak to God directly; that I had to go through one of his boys like as if we were in the mafia or as if he was some sort of famous rapper. When it came to prayer it felt as if I lived in Florida and was trying to get to New Jersey but I had to go through California to get there, it just didn’t make sense and felt like I was going unnecessarily out of my way.

2. I wondered if they called us sheep because we were mindless and easily led, was the priest and the altar boys laughing at us (of course while they weren’t having sex with each other…sorry I know low blow but I just couldn't resist) behind the pulpit while partaking in some Jesus juice…I can only imagine the “people watching” stories they must have.

3. I didn’t see the point of the pope either…is he like some kind of religious godfather or something…is he the pimp and the rest of us his bitches…I really just don’t get it. Why is he any better than everyone else…does this man have information that he is using to blackmail God…did he catch God coming out of a hotel room with a female deity?

4. I don’t understand how people can believe that the bible is living but doesn’t evolve…they believe that what is between the covers is all he/she is…like there’s nothing deeper to him/her. I believe that the bible is a blueprint for how we should live our lives, but just a blueprint not yet the finished product. The bible gives us the foundation…but just like with building a house there are always changing laws/requirements that need to be respected and additions that need to be added on as the times change.

Speaking of the bible…I can’t stand when people take little tidbits of passages and use them as weapons to hurt/condemn others…when in all truthfulness there is more to the story…and in most cases a whole lot more. Tell the whole story or don’t say anything at all…the bible isn’t a cafeteria where you can pick and choose what you want and disregard the rest.

5. Why do people believe you have to go to church to serve God…doesn’t it say in the bible that he is omnipresence…so if that is the case I can spend time with him right in my living room and even the bathroom if I so choose to.  Now I know going to church is a great way to be around likeminded people and to be fed God’s good word…but if I never step foot in a church it doesn’t mean I just bought myself a one-way ticket to hell.

6. People who condemn others to hell…what gives them the right…who made them judge and jury over your soul. The people who go around beating on their chest proclaiming their self-righteousness and damning others to the fires of hell remind me of the dudes in the locker room who would go around bragging they banged more chicks than anyone else, when in all reality they never got out of the starting gate…all talk and no show.  Most of the people who do this kind of thing are the ones who would be considered the grand marshals of the hell parade…more fire than halos in their closet.

7. Truthfully to me Catholicism felt more like a workout regimen with all the standing, sitting and kneeling then it did a church outing, and with me being lazy I just wasn’t feeling it. Instead of “Sweating to the Oldies” with Richard Simmons, it was “Sweating to the Hymnals” with Father Bob…and just like with health club dues they made sure to collect your membership fees (aka tithes) every Sunday, and if you didn’t pay you were “exorcised” from the church.

End of rant...

I decided that after my dealings with Catholicism then I would leave the religion…but not my faith…I have found I can serve God and live my life as he would want me to without sacrificing the person he made. We are made in his image…and he doesn’t make mistakes…so who am I to tamper with his work and tell him he messed up.

I know it will seem to some that I am directly attacking Catholicism by the bulk of what I have to say, but that is not that case, it is how I was brought up and all I knew for a good part of my life so that is what I am speaking on. I’m sure there are other people, from other religions who have their own stories to share, so if they so choose to I am willing to listen. I don’t have an issue with the people who are genuinely serving God and do so under the umbrella of Catholicism…it just wasn’t for me because of the reasons I’ve listed prior.

God gave me these thoughts and the sense of humor I used to present them…so I refuse to believe that he will smite me as a result of it, so if you plan on attacking me for my words then please keep moving along because there’s nothing here to see.

Stop hating…put down the stones because there isn’t a single one of us without sin…and love thy neighbor as thyself as God has so commanded! The world will be such a better place if everyone abided by this philosophy.

You’ve just been churched…God bless,
MJM

“Blogging, What to Expect”

Writer’s block…one of the side effects of being a blogger;

There are times we will brainstorm until smoke comes out of our ears…but unfortunately the skies are bright and sunny…there aren’t even any clouds in the forecast.

Sometimes the thoughts run free and wild like a streaker at a sporting event…then other times we have to play hostage negotiator with our thoughts...our fingers have to talk our brains into releasing them. It’s not always easy…and sometimes the end result is a bloody massacre but we as bloggers must fight through it.

We eventually get something down…is it our best work, probably not…but at least it’s something…right?

Wrong…we are perfectionist and strive to do our best…so subpar just won’t do…not at all. So now we’re stuck dwelling on it, trying to polish a turd if you will…which in some cases works out for the best and then other times ends up still being a stinky turd…only now nice and polished.

Self-doubt…it’s all part of the game…unfortunately;

When it comes to having confidence in ourselves and the things we do we’re our own worst enemy, we will make ourselves believe we suck…and suck really bad…like getting a BJ from a vampire.

Unfortunately it’s just human nature…it is par for the course…and all that other cliché stuff.

Being a blogger is no different, as we are writing our so-called “masterpieces” we are on cloud nine, we think our poop doesn’t stink and that we can conquer the world. Then once we hit the “submit” button our confidence quickly fades, we become the worst thing since liver and onions…at least in our own eyes.

It’s the before and after affect…like what you see in all those diet ads…in the “before” picture the person is all round and out of shape, then in the “after” picture they are all skinny and all buff looking.

Well for us bloggers our “before” picture is us writing the next Harry Potter, securing our spot atop of the New York times bestseller list…and our “after” picture, well that is not too pretty…we start second guessing ourselves, start thinking we made the biggest mistake of our lives by hitting that submit button.

We are on pins and needles until we receive the first comment to our blog. We anxiously wait…like as if we are up for an Academy award and the presenter is about to announce the winner. When we see the first comment come through it is like the envelope is being opened…our fingers are crossed as we wait to hear who the winner is…us or our self-doubt.

We are a material girl/boy…living in a material world;

Everything and anything we come across becomes potential material…not necessarily good material…but material nevertheless. Instead of just relaxing and having a good time we find ourselves dissecting every situation we’re in…wondering if what we’re experiencing would make for a good story or not.

We have become investigative reporters…but not for something classy and tasteful like Time or People…we work for something like the National Enquirer. We find ourselves talking about Bigfoot, space aliens and possibly even Elvis sightings.

Money for nothing…and the stress for free;

We find ourselves busting our tails…doing all the work of the pros but not getting any of the money. We all have hopes of one day being discovered, being the next big thing…but unfortunately that never happens. The only people who know of us are the other bloggers who are in the same situation.

After a while it becomes more of a club than anything else…we do eventually make it big, but not in the way we wanted to…we end up gaining so much weight because all we do is sit at the computer, come up with crazy stories and eat food that is bad for us.  

Okay blogging isn’t all doom and gloom…it’s actually a lot of fun…but just make sure to keep your feet firmly planted on the ground and your head out of the clouds and everything will be alright.

MJM

“Peace…Love…and Porn”

Porn…why do so many people fear it…and look down on it? If you ask me I think it’s a great thing…and no I’m not just saying that because I’m a dude…I really do believe it’s a good thing.

Think about it…if we as a society were a little less tight-butted about the whole thing, maybe sexually based crimes would decrease. I mean if one of those nut jobs could stop in a porn shop and get their rocks off just as easily as it was to go to the grocery store and pick up some beer and cigs then maybe they would be less inclined to attack someone…just a thought.

I know what you’re all thinking…having porn shops on every corner would trash up the place…and unleash the dregs of society on the masses. Well, I got news for you…the scenery is not all it is chalked up to be (at least not where man has been involved) and the masses are already partaking in porn, they’re just ashamed to admit it because of all you self-righteous closeted porn junkies out there who would shun them like as if they were lepers.

If consenting adults…of age of course…want to get it on and bang a gong for your viewing “pleasure” then what’s wrong with that. If these people want to allow us to watch them participate in the naked Olympics…of course the event depends on the viewer’s personal preference…then who are we to stop them.

Look at it this way, porn is like the adult version of Mister Rogers Neighborhood…with an off the chain sexually charged Land of Make Believe…and the Mister Rogers here is hung like a horse and banged more women than Wilt Chamberlain.

I mean c’mon you didn’t really think that so-called “amateur” who’s handling her business like a bull rider and pulling off moves like a professional wrestler was brand new to the game…or that the eighteen year old babysitter with the giant floatation devices on her chest was really eighteen and/or a babysitter and/or born with huge funbags that were so perky she could rest her chin on them…did you?

In this version of the “Land of Make Believe” there is no King Friday or Trolley…just dudes named Dick Hardwood or Buck Naked and toys that shake and bake baby. Also, there is no changing sweaters and shoes…only bed sheets and under garments.  So won't you be my neighbor…just please keep it down and don’t disturb me when I’m “reading” my Playboy **wink wink**.

So take the stick out of your booty…shake off all the haters like a bad case of fleas…and start enjoying some good porn. Trust me…not only will people be less inclined to sneak around and do something naughty…they would also be a lot less stressed and uptight.

Now I know this movement…the free porn movement (by free porn I don’t mean without cost, I mean just let the porn flow like the love did back in the 60s)…could possibly leave us in a “sticky” situation…but I have faith it would work out for the best. Oh yeah…before you let anything flow…please make sure to use protection…like Hefty bags and duct tape kind of protection…wouldn’t want everyone catching STDs.  

For gosh darn sakes…playing with your fun parts while relaxing with some porn isn’t going to send you to H E double hockey sticks…I mean God gave us those parts and told us to ” love thy neighbor as thyself”…so get to loving people.

MJM

“I Need a New Drug…of the Pharmaceutical Kind”

We live in a crazy world…as if you didn’t already know that. I can’t believe what things have come to…this place is a can of mixed nuts…and not a classy can either; you know the kind with almonds, cashews and macadamia nuts…this can is full of just plain old peanuts.

I went to my local drugstore the other day…just to buy a drink…and I noticed a lot of things behind the counter that seemed out of place. Things like Sudafed, Krazy Glue and the most surprising Chore Boy. So of course me being the busybody that I am, I figured I would inquire within to see what was going on.

I was told these products…plus some others…where being used for drugs…and to purchase any of them you needed to show identification. They also told me that a record of your purchases were kept on file and depending on how much you purchased of one product or the other a red flag would come up and the proper authorities would be notified.

I just couldn’t believe what I was hearing…and honestly after speaking with the sales representative I started feeling all creepy and paranoid…thinking that they thought I was a drug user and/or dealer because I was asking these questions. I quickly dropped the subject…paid for my drink…and left with a quickness.

Stupid druggies…because of them we normal people can’t even buy things without feeling as if we’re doing something wrong and/or without having all our purchases scrutinized.  We should start a revolution…we need to take back what is ours and stop feeling like a prisoner…especially when we did nothing wrong.

This is what I propose (and no I’m not talking about your typical pot smoker here…but all those other crazy druggies out there, including alcoholics)…we need to lock them up (possibly somewhere in Washington D.C. so they can be around all their other criminal buddies aka politicians) and beat them all silly with Nerf baseball bats and other assorted accessories.

We need to show all these criminals…politicians and druggies alike…that we are not going to take it anymore. We are not just going to roll over and play dead…we are not going to just do as they tell us…we are going to do something about it for gosh darn sakes!

Well okay…we are going to take it…because of course there’s really nothing we can do about it…but it sound good didn’t it. We don’t have to be happy about it though…and to show my disgust I may just go loiter outside of their establishment…that’ll show them.

All in all I think it’s kind of funny…you can’t but Sudafed, Krazy Glue or Chore Boys from a pharmacy without being carded and recorded…but on the same token these are the people who are shoveling out “prescription” pills like as if they were candy. I guess they are just trying to eliminate their competition.

So what did we learn…crack, heroine and meth are bad…but Xanax, Percocet and Oxycontin are all okay…that is of course if you have a prescription.

MJM

“When Animals Attack”

Most people are stupid by nature…we all know this…and for those of us who can actually put together an intelligent thought without the aid of a shepherd…watching these stupid people in action is a great way to entertain ourselves.

One of the funniest things these people do is mess with wild animals and/or attempt to keep them as pets…it’s like watching Wile E Coyote set a trap for the Roadrunner…you know it’s going to blow up in his face (sometimes quite literally) so you just sit back and wait for the fun to happen.

Now first the pet thing…I never really understood having a pet that you couldn’t really…well um pet…and also kill you if they so decided to…like spiders, snakes and scorpions (which kind of sounds like the marshmallows in an evil version of Lucky Charms if you ask me).  Also monkeys…what in the poop flinging primate are these people thinking…if you want a small human like companion then adopt a kid…you’ll be doing the world a solid.

Next, incorporating wild animals into your show…not really a smart thing to do…just for your information, that bear you are about to sit down and interview…he wasn’t just stealing picnic baskets with Boo Boo at Jellystone Park.  That tiger you’re trying to get to balance on a ball…well he isn’t the spokesperson for Frosted Flakes…he will eat you if he gets the chance…all the while thinking to himself, “people…they’re gr-r-reat”.

Another stupid thing people do when it comes to wild animals…they invade their personal space then get all perturbed when these animals treat them like a piñata at a fat kids birthday party or as takeout. For example…the ocean…there are sharks out there…big dangerous hungry sharks…and we know this, we all saw Jaws, yet we all still go swimming…then get annoyed with the shark because he sampled the menu. The shark is not the one at fault here…it’s not like he came into your house covered in tartar sauce…you came into his house just asking to be bitten…just like a human vampire groupie.

I know this may sound harsh…but I don’t feel sympathy for anyone who messes with a wild animal and gets the stuffing beat out of them and/or killed dead…if anything I’m in the animal’s corner holding up a sign which reads, “I got jungle fever” and screaming like a little girl when Justin Bieber steps out onto the stage.

I also can’t stand when these “wild” animals go all normal (not crazy because they are just following their instincts) and kill and/or severely injure these fools and they kill the animals…I say screw that…kill the morons who were trying to play with them, who were keeping them as pets and/or invading their personal space…they’re the ones who deserve to be put down.

Where’s that crazy, “leave Britney alone” guy…the one who was crying like a beotch on YouTube…we need him to release a new video…this time telling all the freaks to leave the animals alone.

MJM

“The Truth About Cats and Dogs”

Victor Cruz (the cat) and Mulan (the dog)

I recently got a puppy and a kitten…and I must say I now know why I’m a cat person…this freaking puppy is driving me nuts…all the biting, whining and pooping/peeing all over the place…it’s like having a rabid old timer living with me. The kitten on the other hand…no worries…showed him the litter box and now he’s taking care of business...like well…nobody’s business.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I don’t love them both just the same…but dogs are a H E double hockey stick of a lot of work…way more so than cats are. I find myself yelling at the puppy all the time…just like as if I was Archie and she was Meathead…and just like with Meathead, she does do a lot of things just to aggravate the crap out of me.

I find wires all chewed up…I find her eating the cat food…and of course her nasty little surprises left all over the house. I’m running around chasing her all over the place…like as if we were playing tag and I was “it”. There are times when she is it…and she’s right under my feet…nipping at my toes and ankles just like as if she was Kujo and my feet were covered in barbeque sauce.

I don’t know what to do…when she’s calm and relaxed she’s so adorable and sweet…but when she hopped up on goof balls she’s the devil on four legs. After a day of dealing with that I need a little bit of that “hair of the dog that bit you” if you know what I mean.

Sometimes I just feel like calling it quits…and no I don’t mean by killing myself and/or getting rid of her…what I mean is packing up my hobo bag and hitting the trails. I can’t do that though…because I’m not a quitter…and I know with my luck if I did leave my girlfriend with the puppy and took off I’ll be stuck paying doggie support…which I cannot afford.

Why can’t she just be more like Scrappy Doo and just rock some puppy power…but no…I have a cross between Scooby Dum and Hong Kong Phooey on crack. I’m hoping when all is said and done I’m left with a Lassie who will one day save my life…or even a Brian Griffin (from Family Guy for those not in the know) who goes to college…or maybe even Snoopy aka the Red Baron…but I can tell from my short time with her I’m going to end up with Scooby Doo.

I guess I’m just stuck with her…who knows maybe she’ll grow on me…like a wart or something…but only time will tell. The moral of the story…dogs maybe be cute and all but they’re as dumb as a dog bone and a lot of work…while cats are cool, self-sufficient and very intelligent…so say no to dogs (just like drugs) and yes to cats.

MJM

"Love and Cookies"

In a cookie jar, far, far away...before they were a computer term and the reason so many people are fat...cookies were a yummy delicious treat that filled many hearts with warmth.

They were left for Santa to express our thanks for a job well done, our favorite muppet on Sesame Street enjoyed them immensely and they brought the family closer together as we baked them, ate them and licked the bowl clean of their batter.

 

Now however, within the society we live in, where people look for reasons to blame all the worlds problems on anything other than themselves, cookies have become the enemy. Santa is no longer greeted by the tasty treat, Cookie Monster is now a vegetarian and has been replaced by the annoying little red devil known as Elmo and the kitchens are now desolate and the members of the family are all off doing their own thing.

 

Cookies are not the problem and they shouldn't be used as the scapegoat for our lack of self-control and laziness...they have done nothing but make us happy and bring us closer together.

Think of how many altercations could have been solved without blood shed and/or hurt feelings if we just brought cookies instead of harmful words and/or weapons. So brush the "chip" off your shoulder and next time you're caught with your hand in the cookie jar take responsibility for your own actions and don't go looking to blame someone else for your mistakes...because that's just the way the cookie crumbles.

Now go and enjoy and nice warm cookie with a stranger...the world would be a better place for it.

So give peace (and cookies) a chance.

MJM

"The Cockroach, Such a Disgusting Little Bugger"

I was born and raised in New Jersey, where we had our fair share of disgusting bugs (and people).  Surprisingly, our cockroaches, as nasty as they were, weren't really all that bad.

They were small in size, hid when the lights came on, and, for the most part, only frequented dirty places.  When stepped on, they blew up like little jelly and cream filled donuts. A nuisance, yes . . . disgusting, yes . . . but nothing that a can of Black Flag or Raid couldn't handle.

Then, in the mid-90s, I moved to Florida. It was the land of palm trees, beautiful beaches, and the industrial size cockroach. Florida doesn’t want to scare people, so they call it a palmetto bug, but trust me. It's a cockroach.

The first time I came across one of these monstrosities, I had to do a double- take because I thought I was seeing things. The thing was the size of a freaking peanut butter jar and looked just as crunchy.

I kept my distance from it while trying to find something to smash it with, believing that I was fine, as long as I kept an eye on it. Boy, was I wrong. As I was scurrying about, trying to figure out what household item I should choose to become the bringer of death, the bastard started to move.

Being startled, I jumped back. Keeping my eye on it, I thought I was safe, as long as I could see where the little bastard was. Then, all of a sudden, the creepy brown bug of doom opened up its wings and took flight.

I stood there in awe, as if I were witnessing the second coming of Christ, while not moving a muscle. The nasty thing flew right at me and landed on my chest. I did what all grown men do in that situation. I ran out of the room screaming.

With that freakish critter clinging to the center of my chest as I ran, I looked like a white-trash version of Superman . . . Cockroach man.

It finally fell off of my chest and landed on the floor. Now, with tears running down my face, trying to catch my breath, I went into the kitchen and grabbed some roach spray. I was done playing around.

I came back to find it still sitting in the same spot on the floor, as if it were taunting me and telling me to make my move. It was like we were in a Wild West standoff. I unloaded, spraying nearly the entire can on it, the whole time laughing maniacally like a mad scientist and feeling vindicated. I got the last laugh!

The can was about empty, the cloud of poison was settling, and I was ready to see the dead body lying there so that I could pick it up, flush it down the toilet, and send it to its watery grave.

When all was said and done, it was still alive and kicking; staggering like it had just come home from the bar and had too much to drink. I couldn't believe my eyes. I was freaking out trying to kill this thing, and it was living it up. Partying like it was 1999.

I now had an intoxicated roach on my hands, who was no doubt getting a good laugh at my antics. I must say, I now know how Wile E. Coyote felt . . . stupid Road Runner.

Finally, having had enough, I decided that I was going to step on it and end it all. I didn't have shoes on, so I thought about dropping a piece of paper on it and then jumping on the paper with it under it, but I had a bad feeling that I would jump on the paper, he would take off, and leave me on a roach-powered skateboard. I wasn't having that.

I figured I would do the next best thing. I called the cops and waited outside until they showed up.  I had the officer go inside and kill it for me. The moral?  My tax dollars are working.

MJM

“The Heart of the Matter”

Mine has been broken…and even burnt (especially after eating spicy food)…but now it also beats to its own drum. I found out a few years ago that I have a fib…and at first I was scared…but then I realized maybe it’s not all that bad. Sure it’s not good by any means…but it’s also not the worst thing known to man.

A fib…also known as atrial fibrillation…and unfortunately a condition I suffer from. Basically all that means is that my heart jumps out of rhythm…for no reason whatsoever…other than just being a real pain in the donkey.

I can be lying in bed…not doing anything fun and/or exhilarating (get your mind out of the gutter)…and my heart will start beating like I just ran a marathon. Sometimes it goes real crazy…just like Ricky Ricardo on the bongos…and makes me feel like a cartoon character in love, where their heart is beating out of their chest.

Thankfully it doesn’t last too long…most of the time only for a few minutes or so…but I must admit, sometimes it does get a bit alarming. I was told it could be fixed with surgery…something about cutting a hole in my heart to make it beat regularly…which by the way, doesn’t sound fun and not really something I want to do.

I was also told that it could be shocked…yes you heard right…shocked back into a regular rhythm…using a defibrillator. Unfortunately this method doesn’t last; eventually my heart will jump back out of rhythm…it’s kind of like those girls on the playground playing double dutch, waiting for their time to jump in a join in on the fun.

There may be some other ways to fix the problem…but after hearing the first two options…the two options they so nicely decided to share with me…I didn’t stick around to hear anything else. Actually to be honest…I ran out of the hospital screaming like a young girl at a Justin Bieber concert…because that’s just how I roll.

I know a fib puts my at a higher risk of stroke and heart attack…but I guess that’s just par for the course…something I have to live with. I just have to take better care of myself and hope for the best…it’s the only thing a man can do.

Now I’m not complaining…because I know there are others who have it a lot worse than I do…but I just figured I would share. I have never met anyone else with a fib…I know I’m not the only one…but it does seem to be a pretty rare thing…at least here in my neck of the woods.

Well my friends…me and my crazy heart…(or as I like to call it my meth head heart, because just like a meth head when the bastard is sober he is nice and mellow…but once he gets some of that junk in him he’s bouncing off of walls)…have to go, so see you next time party peeps.

MJM

“A Side Effect of Getting Older”

As I write this I am sitting here in pain…I threw my back out and it is hurting like a mutha fracker. This is why I hate getting older…things just don’t work like they used to. Things snap…crackle…and pop like crazy now…sometimes I don’t know if I’m a person or a box of Rice Krispies.

When I was a kid I could get hit by a car…which by the way happened many times…and just get up, shake it off and go about my business like nothing ever happened. Now however…I bend down to pick something up…which was not heavy by the way…and my back goes out and leaves me looking like Hunchback of Notre Dame.

I really wish I could tell you I hurt my back doing something cool…like wrestling a bear…or even while having some wild and crazy adult fun…but unfortunately I can’t, I would be lying…I hurt my back bending down to pick something up…something that weighs probably as much as a case of soda. I know I’m lame…but what can I say…things popping out of place and hurting yourself while doing absolutely nothing at all is just a side effect of getting older.

  I should probably just go out and get myself a walker…and not the kind with the tennis balls either…I’m going to get a motorized walker…kind of like a cross between a walker and a scooter…a wooter if you will. This wooter will also have to be part forklift…that way I could pick stuff up without feeling as if Mike Tyson just punched me in my back…so I guess now we have a wooterlift.

For the record, when it comes to back pain…pain relievers do not work…not at all…at least not the OTC brands.  All that crap you see on TV about two pills and the pain is gone…that is such bullcrap… I’ve been popping them like M&Ms and nothing…not even a buzz.  I have so much of the garbage in me that if I was swallowed by a whale I would probably be its recommend dosage.

I thought about going to the liquor store and stocking up on some high octane alcohol…and just drinking my pain away…but with my luck I’ll probably get drunk and fall down a flight of stairs or something…sobering up to find myself even in more pain then when I stared.

I don’t know…what am I to do… should I head to the shady side of town to see if I could score some of those “good” pain relieving drugs…or maybe ever just lay in bed with an alcohol IV…or I could just man up and endure the pain and stop whining about it. Well obviously the latter option isn’t going to happen…no big surprise there am I right…so I have to figure something out…I’m just not sure what.

MJM

“Difference Between White-Trash and Redneck”

I am sick and tired of hearing people misuse the derogatory terms redneck and white-trash! Believe it or not there are differences; they are not simply interchangeable as one would think. Granted the differences are few and far between, but nevertheless they are still there.

Yes there are also some similarities between the two, for example the mullet, using automobile parts for lawn decorations and of course Walmart, but even with that said they are not one in the same.

I feel as if I'm an authority on the subject because my family is as white-trash as they come, and on the flipside to that, my girlfriend's family is as redneck as the Clampetts from the Beverly Hillbillies. My credentials speak for themselves as you can clearly see.

Now for all you ignorant laypeople out there in cyberspace, here are a few of the differences between the two to help you decipher just who is who:

Most, if not all white-trash are poor, however, you can have rednecks who are tiny like Tim or large like Trump. Wealth, or the lack thereof, does not signify a person being a redneck.

When it comes to sisters, white-trash are typically known to beat theirs, while rednecks on the other hand, are typically known to sleep with theirs. That’s why people say a redneck’s family tree goes straight up, no branches what to speak of.

Rednecks attend NRA meetings, white-trash attend AA meetings. Rednecks worship their firearms, white-trash worship the alcoholic beverage they happen to have enough change to buy at that moment, or steal when times are really tough.

White-trash wash laundry in the sink and hang it out of their window to dry, rednecks just cover their dirty clothes up with a fresh pair of overalls and go on about their business as usual.

Rednecks almost always vote Republican, white-trash doesn't vote at all, that is unless it's for America's next Idol or for a new flavor of potato chips. It’s not necessarily that white-trash wouldn’t vote, but unfortunately their massive criminal records are keeping them from doing so.

White-trash know the American flag flies high above the building where they go to pick up their government assistance, rednecks live and die by the Rebel flag, even though it was for a war they lost. Rednecks take pride in that thing, and they don’t care what it symbolizes, they plaster it all over the place like bumper stickers on a jalopy.

The outfit of choice for white-trash is normally a T-shirt with a rock band or derogatory expression on it and a pair of stained up sweats. Rednecks love camouflage, it doesn’t matter what it is as long as it’s camouflage.

When it comes to shoes, rednecks love cowboy boots, even when wearing shorts. White-trash don’t normally worry about footwear, because their feet are protected by a thick black crust that has formed over them due to may years of walking barefoot outdoors.  

Rednecks drive pickup trucks, normally with fake testicles (but I’m sure if it were legal they would be real ones from their latest kill) hanging from the bumper, or while sporting mud flaps with either Yosemite Sam or Calvin on them. White-trash normally don’t have cars, at least not ones that are safe and/or environment friendly. Most of the time their vehicles are parked on the front lawn on blocks, and they are left taking the bus or walking.

Well there you have it...

These are just some of the differences between the two, which should show you that they are in fact not the same thing. I mean you wouldn’t call an Irish person a Guinea, or an African-American person and honky, so why call a redneck white-trash and vice versa? Come on people, if we’re going to do this, let’s do it right.

So please, the next time you're about to call someone a redneck or white-trash, evaluate the situation and use the correct term. Think before you speak, hate is not good, but when it’s done wrong it’s even worse.

Forget "Ebony and Ivory" by Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder, we need someone to sing a song about Rednecks and White-Trash, maybe we could get Larry the Cable Guy and Tommy Lee of Motley Crue to sing it…what do you think?

MJM

“If I Were Stuck On an Island, I Would Like to Have…”

Well this question is not as easy to answer as one would be lead to believe…there are many ways you go could go with this…you could always choose the responsible adult direction and say something mature and well thought out…or you could go all out and party like it is 1999…like as if you were Ferris Bueller and this is your day off.   

I could say I would like the Professor from Gilligan’s Island and zombie Bob Vila…to help me turn the island into a place where people could live and prosper and live in peace…or they could help me build my lair of evil…where you would hear conversations such as this…

MJM: We must prepare for tomorrow night.
Zombie Bob Vila: Why? What are we going to do tomorrow night?
MJM: The same thing we do every night, Zombie Bob Vila - try to take over the world!

I could always turn the island into some wild and crazy beach resort…where we could have a “Weekend at Bernies” style good time with Elvis and Tupac…we could be jamming out to  “Don't be cruel…or I’m gonna cap yo ass”…a good old Elvis and Tupac coloration…while we’re rocking the place like a hurricane.

 

I could go the route of a prepubescent boy…and take with me the Swedish Bikini Team and The Baywatch girls…that way we could play team beach volleyball of course. They would all also have a bad case of irreversible laryngitis…and there would be a nasty clothes eating bacteria on the island…which I guess would have us playing skins vs. skins when we get our volleyball on…but for the good of the island I would be willing to ref every game…and rub sunscreen on all the contestants (boi oi oing)…we couldn’t have the girls getting sunburnt now could we.

I could bring with me all the supplies necessary to turn this island into the next Disney World…where people from all over the world would come to visit…leaving me piles of money and children’s puke. I would come up with my own cast of colorful and annoying characters to roam the park and scare the children…I would have people dressed up as all the classic horror movie characters like Freddy Krueger and Jason…wouldn’t that be adorable…and oh so much fun.

But knowing my luck…what will most likely happen…is I’ll be like Tom Hanks in Castaway…spending my days losing my mind and playing with my good friend Wilson. We would never get off the island though…we would die there…only to find out in the afterlife that we were actually in Hawaii…just on one of the empty side of the island.

Some screwball tourist would find my skull…and with it being all enormous and stuff…think they stumbled upon the remains of a bigfoot or the elephant man…so even in death my bad luck would continue and instead of being buried and set to rest…my bones would be on display for people to ohhh and ahhh over.

I tell you...just like Rodney Dangerfield...I get no respect. I’ll probably end up on an island the size of a manhole cover…surrounded by a bunch of homosexual cannibalistic Chippendale (and I don’t mean those cute little chipmunks either) dancers…and I would just so happened to be wearing my barbeque sauce scented cologne that day.

 MJM