Michael Kindt's Blog, page 97
October 7, 2015
"It seems quaint now. When a former Marine ascended the 30-story tower at the University of Texas in..."
-
Killers among us (via azspot)
It’s pretty fascinating, even. If guns were actually the problem, there would have always been these mass shootings, an equal number of them a year. The anti-gun argument, when translated from emotionalism and hysteria into English is actually “We have become too sick as a society to have guns anymore. Well, except for cops, who are perfectly healthy and never racist, and…um, wait a minute. Guns. It’s the guns!”
America has always been great at treating the symptoms and ignoring the disease.
“Oh, you have a brain tumor? Here’s some aspirin.”
October 6, 2015
It doesn't matter that your thoughts and prayers are not enough because nobody thought or prayed about it once.
Maybe the families of the victims, but for the rest of us it’s just something you say as a pleasantry. It’s bullshit.
The ordinary internet dipshit who reblogs and shares other people’s thoughts in lieu of his own didn’t think or pray once. Instead he rubbed his hands together like a fly sitting on a big turd and immediately sought out his opinion on the matter so he could share and reblog it. If he was a gun control buffoon who thinks gun control is needed, he sought out his opinion on that and shared and reblogged it. It was scanned and liked and reblogged and shared by other gun control buffoons and together they all had a dandy ol’ time in their echo chamber, convincing nobody of anything. If he was a pro-gun buffoon, same shit, only more memes and less articles.
They’re both buffoons, but the gun control people think they’re smarter than everyone else, thus they have more article titles that they’ve read and agreed with and subsequently liked and shared and reblogged. They didn’t read the articles, mind you, because nobody really reads anymore, even though they insist they do. The pro-gun buffoons know they’re not smart, at least not in the snooty “I know better than you” liberal way. Subsequently, you see a lot more humor, a lot more crudeness, a lot more fuck you. It’s like the pro-gun buffoons don’t even bother to pretend to read articles they agree with (or maybe can’t).
Whatever. Nobody thought and prayed once, but everybody postured and here in a little bit it’ll all blow over until the next one comes along and then this Stupid American Life will fire up the carnival of bullshit once again.
Round and round we go…
Meanwhile, in Scotland…
Meanwhile, in Scotland…
"The fittest survive. What is meant by the fittest? Not the strongest; not the cleverest — Weakness..."
- Charles Fort, The Book of the Damned
October 5, 2015
After her Communism phase and her unshaven phase and her bad boy...
After her Communism phase and her unshaven phase and her bad boy phase
and her minivan phase, she lost herself in golf. Saturday and Sunday
she would hit the links with the bankers and the lawyers and the
doctors who escort us all to death by never taking enough
detours. She would smack that mute little ball around
that giant fucking yard, keeping score, an alien
in her own life. Like most people she mis-
takenly thought everything was sup-
posed to be good, and she thought that
maybe golf could give her that, could give
her that real good. But golf never gave any-
one anything except a spoiled walk and a metal club
too dangerous to carry in the rain. She was not young enough
for a new phase now, she thought, staring down the barrel of her
daughter’s second divorce. So she kept at it, kept smacking that mute
little ball around that giant fucking yard, smacking it harder with
every passing year till her joints gave way and her organs
were crushed with time done spent. Then one day, like
all of us, she lay dying. And the demons who
haunted her, who nipped at her very heels,
snickered evilly in their barren and
howling hell holes, where in the
darkness, they hide, eyes
glinting with glee like
flawed but beautiful
jewels of no value
whatsoever.
“Let go,” they hissed.
“Let go.”
Dukey home from the hospital. Pretty stoned and 7 teeth lighter....
Dukey home from the hospital. Pretty stoned and 7 teeth lighter. Boy was he happy to see me and get the hell outta there.
October 4, 2015
Story time! Have you been good little boys and girls?
About a week ago I went out of town for a night and when I got back, the door to my truck was open. Wide open. I have this old Ford sitting out back of the house in the alley. It doesn’t run well and someday I’m going to fix it up, just as soon as my mid-life crisis kicks in.
Where are you, by the way? I’m waiting.
I’ve had plans for my mid-life crisis since my early 30s. For a while there, I was saving to get a convertible so I could drive around in it and look like an ass, but, frankly, I’m a truck guy. A big truck guy. Nothing compensates for a tiny dick like a big ol’ truck.
The Ford isn’t a big truck, just regular, but it’s fifty years old. With the rust off and repainted and the engine rebuilt or replaced, it’ll be one sweet ride.
The culprit didn’t take anything because there was anything to be taken. Some garbage on the floorboard, was about it. I could tell they rifled through everything, though, because the glove box was open and the seat was forward.
My first inclination was to lock the damn thing up. I usually lock my vehicles, but it must have slipped my mind on the old Ford. Maybe instead of having a mid-life crisis, I’ll just head straight into Alzheimer’s.
Yeah, I thought about locking it up, but sitting there at the kitchen table drinking tequila, I had a better idea.
The next day, after a trip to the hardware store, I was out in the shed, rigging up what looked like a pipe bomb. It was a metal tube, about yea long, capped on one end, with a small hole in the cap. The other end was open, but sealed with an airtight metal plunger connected to a bar about as big around as a pencil. The mechanism was such that the plunger moved up and down inside the pipe, like a piston.
I uncapped it and filled it with water and was delighted there were no leaks around the plunger. I recapped it, gripped the bar and shoved and the thing shot clear across the shed, getting my fishing tackle all wet.
Basically, I had created the world’s sturdiest squirt gun.
Out in the old Ford, I rigged up a pulley system whereby the plunger would depress as the door was opened. I mounted it behind the seat, out of view, and refilled it with water. When I tested it, I was most delighted. Rarely when I’m being handy dandy do I get it right on the first try. Like clockwork, the plunger depressed when I opened the truck door and the pressurized jet of water hit me square in the face.
I stood out back there in the alley, soaking wet and grinning.
I brought the mechanism inside the house and disassembled it so it could dry thoroughly, then this afternoon I went back out to the shed and filled it with acid from some old car and truck batteries I had laying around. To make sure the acid was still good, I dunked a pH tester strip in a sample, but couldn’t get a reading because the strip dissolved.
A delightful sign.
The old Ford is all set up now and ready to go. It kind of looks ominous now in the dusky light, where before it didn’t really look like anything, just an old truck. I am sitting at the kitchen table again, drinking tequila and playing the waiting game.
By the way, to sweeten the deal I put a 12-pack of Keystone Light on the seat.
LOL.
October 3, 2015
So my minpin, Duke, has advanced periodontal disease and is...
So my minpin, Duke, has advanced periodontal disease and is going under the knife Monday morning to get half his teeth out.
Nine hundred bucks.
He’s a rescue dog. I got him, no lie, from a meth head lesbian couple who were told by the county they had too many dogs.
That was 2 years ago. He’s an old boy, 12 or 13, and a total sweetheart. He curls up to me every night.
The vet also noticed that his heart is murmuring, a sign of age, a sign of impending death. One day, likely, his heart will give out.
You know all those old people who pass away and we are told it was “natural causes”? Yeah, it was actually heart failure, which is, true, completely natural.
I will spend 900 bucks on this dog because I don’t want his last little while on this earth to be spent with a toothache. I’ve had a toothache.
Fuck that.
