Essa Alroc's Blog, page 17

Reopening Comments

A few months ago, I elected to shut down comments. My goal in shutting those comments down was simple. I wanted to stop worrying about idiots showing up on my page, quickly scanning my article, and then posting eight paragraph opinions on my article WITHOUT HAVING READ THE DAMN THING. I was certain by making myself less accessible, idiots would be less likely to post after their 16th beer, telling me the ‘Lord was going to smite me” or some equally retarded bullshit. I figured they would just read and move on.

What really happened was that they started filling up my email by using my contact form page instead.

I have an email that I use solely for comments. I transferred all my comments to the email about two months ago, after my old AOL email (yes, I am aware that using AOL for email is the equivalent of wearing high tops or feathering my bangs) got hijacked.

Today, I signed into my email. There were about 100 comments in there from morons. I deleted them like I always do. But as I was going through my email, I ran into one from one of my friends, his name is Mike. He had his own information to give on my “You Never Consent to a Search” article. His information was incredibly valuable and helpful. But instead of being where anyone could see it, it was hidden in an email I never check.

Then I started to wonder “how many smart comments have I lost in an attempt to filter out the crazies?”

The fact is, the nut jobs and trolls will never stop. They’ll find me. They’ll find me by email; they’ll find me on Facebook. Hell, they’ll find me on Pinterest and send retarded pictures instead of retarded comments.

But the smart people, my long time followers, my fans and the people who have reason based arguments to share on what I’m writing lose out. Hell, my readers lose out. Don’t get me wrong. I’m still always right and I always will be right. I’m never going to back down when it comes to my opinion and this page is still my universe. I will still always win.

But when it comes to the idiots that send hate mail, it doesn’t mater if I’m deleting comments from my email or off my wall. They’ll find me.

But it’s not fair to punish the people that still have valid arguments and actually have something valid to say.

So comments are open again. It might take a few days for the changes to apply, but when they do, feel free to comment. Please keep the following in mind;

I’m already convinced I’m right. I wouldn’t have written an article about the topic in the first place if I wasn’t convinced I was right. As a result, it is very unlikely that your opposing viewpoint will convince me that I’m wrong.
Troll comments will be posted on Craigslist with a request for cock pics.
I am an immature loudmouth who likes to drink, and can on occasion get absolutely fucking furious for no reason. Don’t complain when I respond to your comment that I’m being ‘unprofessional’ or some other bullshit. This isn’t an accounting firm. This is Essa on Everything. I will be mean to you if you piss me off. I’m terrible at dealing with people. That’s why I’m a writer and not a social worker.

Anyway, feel free to comment again. Honestly, Essa on Everything was starting to get a little boring for me without the comments.

What’s Your Ideal Man?

I’m working on something for one of my clients right now. It’s a bit emotional, so I do what I always do when I need to get emotional. I get shitfaced and pray for the god of ‘beer tears’ to help me out. Unfortunately, sometimes, I go a bit the other way and get kind of snarky when I drink. This is one of those times.

This article is kind of one of those ‘power of the universe’ type deals. In it, my reader is supposed to picture her ideal man in her head. The more complete a picture she paints, the more the universe knows what to deliver.

Because that’s how you get what you want in life. You sit around and wish for it.

Anyway, I decided to see how accurate this ideal man thing is. Here is my description universe. Now go ahead and deliver it. I dare you.

Essa’s Ideal Man

My guess would be he’d look a lot like this…only underneath is solid gold

My ideal man is 6’4” and 200 lbs…of pure solid gold bedecked in precious gems. Every morning, he arrives at my home promptly at 7:30, and (being very careful not to wake me up) deposits a large bag of money next to me in bed. He then makes my coffee and sets my Roku to play old Charles in Charge reruns as soon as I wake up. Then he leaves.

My ideal man has emerald green eyes. His eyes are emerald green because they are actually made of emeralds. He does not mind when I pluck his eyes out and use them as earrings, or pawn them when I need to buy weed. He’s cool like that.

Ever night, while I’m sleeping, my ideal man comes to my apartment and does my dishes. After that, he cleans, vacuums (completely noiselessly) and does my laundry. My ideal man knows how to fold my shirts in the exact same way that the people at the Gap fold shirts. He also never runs out of hangers.

I rarely see my ideal man, but I can tell he’s been to visit me because my house is filled with bags of money and it’s always clean. My ideal man is a lot like Santa, only he’s not fat, or old and he never leaves socks.

And also he’s made of solid gold.

There we go universe. There is my ideal man, described in as much detail as possible. According to The Secret, all I need to do now is sit on my ass and wait for him to be delivered.

I wonder how much UPS charges for shipping on solid gold men?

 

 

 

 

 

You Never Consent to a Search of Your Vehicle…And Other Info

The title says it all. Sorry cop friends out there, but it needs to be said.

Today, I saw a news story about a woman who had been subject to an invasive roadside search following being pulled over for a broken head light. What drove me crazy wasn’t the invasiveness of the search. It was the fact that the women had consented to the fucking search in the first place.

So tonight, I’m going to use the legal knowledge I wasted $40k getting, so I could become a freelance writer who rarely writes legal articles, to tell you all exactly how to handle being stopped by the cops.

Number 1 – Open your window just enough to hand over your driver’s license and registration. 

An inch will do it. No more. Stop doing that ridiculous shit where you roll your damn window all the way down. You know what happens when you do that? A cop can shove his head into the car and sniff around. All he needs to do is say he caught a whiff of something illegal and he’s got probably cause. There is no legal precedent that requires you to roll your window all the way down. NONE.

Number 2 –  Understand what ‘failure to obey a lawful order’ really means.  

For example, in the previous instance, you might be told by the officer that you are being ordered to roll down your window all the way. He might threaten you with arrest on ‘failure to obey a lawful order’. Let me make this clear; when stopped by a cop, you are required to do two things. You are required to provide him with identifying information and you are required to comply with him in any order that is designed to investigate a crime, prevent the commission of a crime, or prevent injury to the officer. When a cop has you in a field side sobriety test, and he tells you to spit out your gum or stop smoking, yes, you must comply. At that point, they are investigating a possible crime and your gum or cigarette is interfering with it. In addition, a lit cigarette could be considered a weapon.

However, when you have your window cracked a quarter inch, and the officer is telling you to roll it down, ‘failure to obey a lawful order’ no longer applies because he is seeking access to your ‘domicile’. You are allowed to say no.

Number 3 –  Refuse any search.

Violation of a traffic law does not immediately mean that there is something illegal going on in the vehicle. You having a broken taillight or driving over the speed limit is no valid cause for a search of your vehicle. A police officer can search you at three specific times;

You have consented to a search (stupid, stupid, stupid)
When they have a search warrant to search your vehicle
When you are under arrest or they have probable cause.

The first two are standard. If you let the vampire-cop in, you can’t take it back. When a judge lets him in, you have no control. But probable cause is incredibly tricky. If you are being arrested, then yes, they have reasonable cause to search your vehicle because a crime is believed to have been committed. Any other time, it is super wishy-washy.

Here’s the deal people; if you’re shitfaced and getting arrested, then you’re getting searched anyway. A cop is NOT GOING TO GO EASY ON YOU because you made it easier to arrest you. District Attorneys make plea bargains, cops don’t. When they ask for a search, they are looking for easy evidence. Don’t give it to them. Always refuse a search of your person or your vehicle when asked. Even if you have nothing to hide, still refuse. The goal of a vehicle or personal search isn’t to make you look innocent. It is to find a reason that you are guilty. Just say no.

Also, when in a vehicle, the person driving the vehicle is considered to have control of the vehicle. Even if they don’t own it, they can still consent to a search. Lesson here; never let an idiot drive your car. There is never a good reason to consent to a search.

Getting a warrant is a time consuming process. Cops never get warrants to search vehicles unless a serious crime is involved. If you’re getting arrested, you’re getting searched. If a cop searches your car on a questionable probable cause, you’re getting away with it. Simply stated NEVER CONSENT TO A SEARCH.

Number 4-  Refuse a ‘courtesy seat’ in the cruiser

This rule comes with an anecdote.

About five years ago, my buddy Gaston was a passenger in a vehicle. He was a bike messenger and he had his bike messenger bag on him. Also, Gaston was kind of a drug dealer and had a few ounces of weed packed away in his messenger bag. Luckily, Gaston was a very, very smart drug dealer.

His buddy got pulled over for DUI. When the police officer asked the driver to exit the vehicle, Gaston exited it as well. He immediately called a friend to pick him up from the scene. Now, this was New Hampshire in wintertime, so it was cold as hell. The police went through a search of the vehicle and found nothing. Then they asked Gaston if they could see his bag.

“Am I being arrested for something?”

“No.”

“Absolutely not. I have private client files in here.” Gaston clutched his messenger bag and stood on the shoulder of the highway.

“You know we have probable cause.”

“Yes, you already arrested the owner of the vehicle and have the right to search the car he was driving. That search does not include my person.”

Understanding that Gaston knew his shit, the cop walked away. After five minutes, the cop came back. This time, he was being ‘good cop’.

“It’s awfully cold out here. Do you want to sit in the cruiser until your friend shows up to get you?”

Gaston was smart. He knew getting into a police cruiser immediately subjects you to a search, to ensure officer safety. “Nah, I think I’ll walk to meet my friend up the road.”

Gaston walked away with a messenger bag full of weed.  If he’d accepted that seat, he probably would have done 2 years.

Simply stated, cops aren’t usually nice to suspects. They’re nice to victims. If you are a suspect, refuse any pretense of courtesy. Chances are, the cop is trying to get you into his car so he can search you. Just say no.

Number 5 – Refuse the field sobriety test.

Can you say your alphabet backwards? I know I sure as hell can’t. The field sobriety test is not that scientific. In fact, they’re actually kind of designed to make sure you fail. They come in three parts;

Horizontal Gaze Nystagmus – Allegedly, the ways that your eyes ‘jerk around’ can prove that you are wasted. Here’s the thing; these ‘jerks’ are something called ‘micro-expressions’. For someone to truly recognize an anomaly in the horizontal gaze, they would need to spend years studying human expressions and social sciences. They would not learn this during a weekend seminar run by ITT Technical Institute. Cops aren’t scientists. They are cops. They will see what they want to see when they shine that flashlight in your eyes.

The Walk and Turn – Got bad knees like me? Then you are fucked. The test goes as follows. You will be told to take nine steps in one direction, then turn around. If you are unable to follow instructions during this test, then you are impaired…or you have a whole host of other conditions like you are anxious, embarrassed, cold, hot, afraid, have to pee, you’re bad at following directions, below average intelligence, above average intelligence, suffer from OCD, suffer from borderline personality disorder, are uncomfortable with authority, have a numerical form of dyslexia, have ADD, have ADHD, have fibromyalgia, have an inner ear condition, have recently ruptured an eardrum or have any physical or mental condition that keeps you from walking normally or prevents you from processing directions the way normal people do.

The One Leg Stand – How long can you stand on one leg without getting clumsy? For me, it’s about three seconds. In the one leg stand you are subject to this test for 30 seconds with one of your feet 6 inches off the ground. In the meantime, you’re counting by thousands. If you put your foot down, or use your arms to balance, you are considered impaired. It’s like the world’s shittiest game show.

The tests in a field sobriety test are designed to make you fail. Even sober people fail them. Participating does nothing to help you. It’s just a justification to take you down to the station and get a breathalyzer. Honestly, your time would be better spent just going to get the fucking breathalyzer.

Look people, I respect cops. I respect the work that they do. At the same time, there are over-zealous newbs out there that will bust anyone for just about anything. They will try to trick you into listening to them by promising you that the law will go easier on you if you comply. Here’s the thing; it won’t. Cops aren’t in charge of your sentencing. The prosecuting attorney and the judge are. Your goal isn’t to make it past them. It’s to keep from getting arrested in the first place. Stop playing along because you are afraid of insulting or offending someone. Instead, ask questions. Refuse unreasonable searches and tests. Hell, our forefathers died in order to give you the rights to refuse those searches and tests.

Use them.

 

 

 

Some Really Bad Job Hunting Advice

I like to use AOL as my homepage. I enjoy their news (man with biggest testicles in the world has surgery!), as well as their helpful tips on securing employment.

Now, I’m not really interested in securing any employment. I mainly just like to read the articles. Why? Because the information they give is the SAME COMMON SENSE INFORMATION that anyone with opposable thumbs and 4th grade reading level could figure out on their own.

So rather than be part of the solution, I’m going to be part of the problem by telling you all why you should avoid common sense and just start fucking winging it.

This is actually going to be part of a series of books I’m working on in the non-fiction genre. I’ve actually created a new form of self-help. It’s called self-sabotage.

1. Include all your contact information on your resume.

Yeah, this is actually a “tip” written by an expert in the industry. People failing to put any contact information on their resume is a HUGE problem. I can’t tell you how often a resume gets sent under the name ‘anonymous’ with contact information that reads “if you want to hire me that bad, you’ll find me.”

This is not a tip. It’s basic fucking common sense. However, I’m going to expand on it. Don’t just put your name, address phone number and email. Take it a step further. Add some of the bars you like to drink in or the adult chat rooms you frequent. They’ll find you for sure.

2. Use effective titles.

The true goal of a job title isn’t to tell people what you did. That’s actually the opposite of what you want. If you are writing an effective job title, you need to make sure that not one single human being on this planet can actually figure out what you did in that job.  For example;

Bad: Accounting Manager

Good: Chief Mid-Level Operation Supervisor In Charge of Eliminating Numerical Redundancies

3. Use a standard font style and size

Fuck that. You’re a non-conformist. Personally, I like to use wingding’s on my resume. Nothing says great employee like;

♣∞♥♦ ♦♥♦♥♣∞♥♦

4. Be courteous

Really? So I shouldn’t call the person interviewing me a fucktarded douchebag? Nah, you’re putting me on. Personally, I think that the guy who uses racial slurs and shows up drunk is going to be a lot more memorable than the guy who sucks up about the companies mission statement.

5. Dress nicely

I’ve heard is said that you should dress for the job you want, not the job you have. Ever since I saw Firefly, all I’ve really wanted was to be the captain of a ragtag band of space pirates.  Finally, a reason to wear my eye-patch and carry my ray gun at the same time!

6. Bullet points are AWESOME!

Use
bullet
points
because
people
are
morons
who
can
only
handle
one
line
of
text
at
a
time

7. Follow up

Most people recommend sending a ‘thank you’ card following an interview. Just so you know, that card usually just gets throw away. I actually recommend a more personalized approach. Follow the person who interviewed you home from work. Show up at their kids school. Trust me, if they wake up at 3 am with you standing over their bed, they’ll never forget you.

There you go. With my helpful tips, I can pretty much guarantee you that you’ll never find gainful employment again. On the upside, you’ll get to be one of those ‘worst employee interview ever’ myths that HR people like to tell.

The Sins of the Father

You know who I feel bad for? This dude;

In case you’ve been living under a rock (come on, even I know what’s going on and I’m a crazy recluse) that guy is Ariel Anthony Castro. His dad is the infamous Ariel Castor senior. You know, the pervert who kidnapped those chicks out in Ohio.

Anyway, I stumbled on a news article today. Apparently, the sins of the father are getting blamed on his son, because this poor bastard, who had nothing to do at all with the kidnappings of those girls, is being harassed and abused by the general world of crazies out there. We all know those general crazies. They can’t be bothered to apply things like rational thought. I get them all the time on this site.

Anyway, Castro is now the focus of their skewed vision. He’s had his house broken into. He’s gotten threatening phone calls, letters, emails and more. He’s been harassed by reporters almost endlessly. And he didn’t do a damn thing wrong. His biggest crime is being related to someone who committed a crime.

So they did a news story on him, about the harassment he’s getting. I scrolled to the comments, as I always do. Instead of seeing people sympathize with this guy, I see idiotic comment after idiotic comment like this;

Really? Dude is getting held accountable because….here’s me trying to break this down…he didn’t visit his father enough?

Really?

Really?

Well, I guess I deserve to get tossed in prison too, because I haven’t spoken to my dad in about 10 years. Probably more.

But I’m not a bad person and neither is my dad. As far as I’m concerned, we’re relatively normal. The reason we haven’t spoken is that we never really had anything to say to each other. We never really bonded in any kind of way.

My dad is friends with me on Facebook, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know who I am. I use my pen name there like I do on here. My dad is pretty uninvolved in my life. I’m not saying anything bad about him. He’s a nice guy and everything. He’s just not the most open person and neither am I. As a result, we never really connected.

And if he has a basement full of dead hookers or something, no way in hell am I taking the rap.

We bitch all the time about kids who blame their parents when they kill someone or do something horrible. We see sleazy defense lawyers bring up mommy issues and blame horrendous murders on the people that raised the perpetrators.

“I’m sorry your honor, I killed all those children because my mom didn’t breastfeed me.”

“I’m sorry your honor, I beat my wife to death because my father beat me.”

We see those excuses and we write them off, quite correctly, as bullshit. Millions of kids in this country are abused or mistreated every year. Only .00000009% of them will go on to be serial killers.

But when the situation’s reversed, when the parent does something wrong, it’s totally kosher to blame that on his kids? I’m calling bullshit.

If anyone else had been connected to the kidnappings of those girls, you can bet your ass charges would already be filed. I know you all feel like cops, because you read a biased internet story and watch a couple of forensic TV shows, but I’m going to tell you a little secret. Cops are smarter than you. They do this shit for a living. They know who to question and what to look for. I know you think you know better, because after your shift as a WalMart greeter, you watch reality television for an hour a week, so you know all about forensics or whatever. Cops have access to things you don’t. They don’t investigate based on internet news stories. They investigate based on facts and evidence.

Any if Arial Anthony Castro had any culpability for his fathers crimes, he would have been charged, or as least named as a person of interest. Now let it go, and get off the dudes back.

Also, for all you idiots out there that think “this is his 15 minutes of fame,” I have this to say;

No joke, would you want your 15 minutes to be related to your daddy being called out as a psychotic rapist? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

Fuck all y’all.

Catholicism Revisited

I had high hopes for the Catholics. I really like the idea of a religion that embraces wacky hats.

So I started out with Catholicism for a simple reason. I was brought up Catholic. I already know all the moves.  Anyone who was ever Catholic knows that there is a fair amount of shit to remember. The Catholic Church is pretty big on routine. So I arrived ready to play the veritable game of ‘Simon Says’ that being Catholic can be.

But I probably shouldn’t have done it quite so hung over.

I arrive wearing my fanciest going out sweatpants and as I look around, I realize I am seriously overdressed. This is not the church of my childhood, where everyone arrived dressed to the nines. It doesn’t look like any of the Catholic churches I remember either. In my home town, the Catholic churches were easily the fanciest buildings in town.  This place looks like a run down high school gym.

Also, just tossing this out that as part of the general demographic, but I am the only white face in the room. Apparently, Hispanics are big on Catholicism.

My stomach rolls as I find myself a seat in the back. I forgot how much Jesus loves incense. This place smells like a Bed, Bath and Beyond at Christmas.

The priest enters and begins flicking everyone with water. I cross myself as is the custom, but inside, I want to flip him off. These are my good sweatpants, damn it.

The priest goes to the foot of the alter. He says the opening prayer. Jesus says stand. He ends the prayer. Jesus says kneel. He reads another prayer. More prayers, stand, sit, and kneel. It is the world’s most serious game of Simon Says.

And, it’s snack time. The priest takes out the giant wafer cookie and splits it with his buddies. Everyone goes up to get their own smaller wafer. I don’t bother taking communion, because my knees are killing me from all this sit/stand/kneeling and I’m pretty sure they’d break if I tried to genuflect.

Finally, its sermon time. This is what I’ve been waiting for. Honestly, I’m not a big one for ceremony or symbolism and I’m pretty sure that god isn’t either. But the sermon itself will tell me if this place is right for me.

There’s is so much going on in the world right now. The Syrian civil war, economic collapse, the Navy Yard shooting, the hostage crisis in Kenya. Maybe this guy will offer some inspiration to those of us wondering how a benevolent being can let these terrible things happen.

The priest reads out the first line of his sermon;

God’s name is holy when said with veneration and fear of offending him…

You have got to be fucking kidding me? Blasphemy? With everything that is terrible going on in the world, people saying ‘God damn it” is the only thing this dude can think to talk about? I keep listening, hoping I got it wrong, but nope. This dude is just droning on about the dangers of “swearing to God” when you don’t really mean it.

Fuck this place. I can’t believe I kneeled for this.

My knees crack as I stand up in the middle of the sermon and half the room turns to watch me go. I can’t blame them. I’m currently the most interesting thing going on. Without me, they’d have to watch some completely out of touch old man talk about the dangers of “The Facebook.”

I don’t bother to genuflect on my way out. There is an entirely different motion that I would like to make and it has nothing to do with my knees.

I have to be honest here; I can’t 100% say that I tried out Catholicism with an open mind. Even when I was 8, I felt like these guys paid no attention to what was going on in the real world. So I didn’t really go the Catholic Church expecting to make any kind of huge epiphany. It was more of a way of breaking out of my comfort zone.

But regardless of my mindset, I’m pretty sure religion is supposed to make you feel uplifted. Not guilty and annoyed.

To top it all off, the douche couldn’t even be bothered to share his wine.

On a scale of one to ten, I give the Catholic Church two wafer cookies. They would have gotten one, but I added points because the kneeling benches were padded.

How Do You NOT Read Your Reviews?

I’m back on the subject of book reviews again. However, it’s not how to deal with a bad one or how to write a good one. Instead, it’s in regards to a piece of mail I got from a reader calling me a liar. 

Well, not really a liar.  More like they questioned my ability to not read my own reviews.

As you all know, I am a strong supporter of authors choosing to not read their own reviews because I think it saves us all a lot of heartache. If you’re any kind of writer, then you already feel like your work is shit most of the time anyway, so you don’t really need people kicking you while you’re already kicking yourself.

For example, last night, I read ‘The Apology’. What a piece of shit that was! What the fuck was I thinking? I was actually so pissed off at my own writing that I made it permanently free on Smashwords. Fuck, I should be paying people to read it.

Anyway, as you can see, I can be a bit hard on myself. That is why I avoid my reviews as much as possible and only check in every six months or so.

But I got an email from another indie last night, and he mainly wanted to know how I avoid doing this. To be honest, I’m sure it’s very hard to resist In fact, it’s probably entirely impossible to resist. Back when I first started, I used to check my reviews upwards of 10 times a day.  

But then I found an entirely accidental way to avoid my reviews.

As you all know, I like to drink. Sometimes, I will seriously tie one on and jump on the internet. Sometimes, I’ll get into ridiculous fights with idiots. Sometimes, I’ll profess my undying love to someone I don’t like that much just because I’m lonely. Sometimes I’ll post pictures of my boobs. Other times, I’ll just quietly look at porn. But the worst times are the times I go to Amazon.

Because when I’m shitfaced and lacking impulse control, there is nothing I like more than going on Amazon and buying a lot of shit I don’t need. Any purchase seems like a great idea 6 beers in. It’s why I have magic hair grow cream, DIY tattoo removal kits, healing stones in a variety of shapes and sizes, off-market lead based lipstick, tarot cards, clip in extensions in ‘riveting red’ and a box of surgical scalpels.

After a particularly heavy bender, I realized that my alcohol addiction was turning into an online shopping addiction as well. So I did what I always do in my hour of need. I turned to Jesus and prayed for help.

Just kidding.  I actually turned to science and wrote a computer program.

Yahoo used to have this kick ass program for email users. In order to prevent flame wars, you could install an app that would force you to do some kind of complicated math problem before your message would be sent. The idea was to stop and force people to think things over.

I took my inspiration from that. Using a combination of parental control codes, CAPTCHA codes, and an IF factor formula, I wrote my very own Essa proof program. Yup, I actually wrote a program so smart, even I couldn’t solve it.

Ok, to be entirely honest, it’s not that smart. It’s actually surprisingly simple. The idea is clever, but the coding is not. A first year programmer could do it.

Anyway, the essence of the program is this. Once Essa types www.amazon.com into her search bar, a parental control box pops up. She must enter her username and her password.

And then, she must complete 5 complex long division problems in something that looks like a CAPTCHA box.

This is where the prevention comes in. See, I’m pretty smart when sober, but I still suck at long division. The time it takes me to complete 5 long division problems, complete with decimals, is about 10 minutes each. So, in order to get on Amazon, I must complete 50 minutes worth of math homework. If I get even one single problem wrong, and I usually do, I must do 5 new randomly selected problems. On a good day, while sober as a stone, I can sign on to Amazon in about 3 hours.

However, when I’ve been drinking, the task is 100% impossible.

This has completely prevented my drunken spending on Amazon, and at the same time, has completely prevented me from seeing my own reviews.  I don’t care how obsessed you are, if you have to spend three hours doing math to get onto a basic site, it better be for a damn good reason.  

So, to the reader that emailed me the other night, yes I can resist the temptation to check my Amazon reviews. The answer is as simple as a basic equation;

Essa’s desire to read her reviews < Essa’s desire to do long division

Ideas for Terrible TV Shows

Most of my life is spent thinking of stories. As a result, I have many terrible ones on any given day. So, here are some terrible concepts I have thought up for television shows. Enjoy

Blind Justice – I actually got this idea from a blind lawyer I know who was tacky enough to actually name his law firm “Blind Justice”. The premise of this show wouldn’t be that the guy was a genius or in any way special. Instead, my lead’s superpower would be getting people to feel bad for him because of his disability. In every episode, he would win his case due to other peoples pity.  Also, he would have a seeing eye alpaca that he was conned into buying by a disreputable seeing eye dog trainer.

Meth Undead – This was an idea I had during the height of the vampire craze. In this show, my lead would be a 5000 year old vampire…who is hopelessly addicted to meth. The conflict is that he can’t go to narcotics anonymous meetings because they’re all held in the church basement, and he will light on fire if he enters a church. So he feeds his addiction by only feeding on meth addicted red necks.

Freelance Writer – You know all those reality shows about people’s jobs? Cops, Repo Men, Pawn Stars, etc, etc, etc. This would be a reality show based on my actual day-to-day life. In it, a camera would be focused on the back of my neck as I type and chain smoke in front of a computer 12 hours a day, occasionally taking a break to down some ibuprofen, shotgun a beer or get into an internet fight with a random crazy.

They Had It Coming – This would be a true crime show that for once, didn’t glorify the criminals involved. Instead, it would be a show that only featured the stories of those criminals who attempted to victimize the wrong person…and then got their ass handed to them old school wild west style. Some ideas for focuses would be that guy who tried to carjack a van full of karate black belts, or the guy who attempted to roofie a girl, but accidentally gave her PCP instead.

I Never…The Gameshow – You know that drinking game “I Never?” It’s the one where everyone says weird shit that they never did, and the people who have done it have to drink. Yeah, I always wind up shitfaced about 10 minutes in playing that game. Anyway, I think bringing ‘I Never’ to TV would really bring America’s need for drunken, oversexed reality stars right into the spotlight. Think about it. They’ll get shitfaced and dish all their darkest secrets, without us having to watch a stupid physical challenge segment or learning exercises.

There we go. There as some of my incredibly shitty ideas. However, just because they are shitty doesn’t mean they aren’t mine. Networks out there, if I see this shit in your lineup, I will fucking sue. Trust me, I have nothing but time on my hands. Hmm, that gives me another idea….

I’m going to sue because I have nothing to do – America’s stupidest lawsuits told by the idiots involved.

Any Given Sunday

I used to date a real jock type guy. He was insanely into football. American style football with the pigskin and the tackling and whatnot. Anyway, every Sunday, you could find him parked on the couch, watching any football available. He’d watch college football when the pros were done. He’d watch the Army/Navy games. He was in a fantasy league. Football was his life.

I am not the athletic type. To me, watching football is about as exciting as cutting my toenails.

Unfortunately, these jock types all have one common theme. All they think about is sports. They expect the women in their lives to sit on the couch next to them, staring off into space, and getting them beers as they hog the TV to watch game after fucking game.

One Sunday, I told Mr. Jock I was through. I hated sports, the sex wasn’t that good and I was tired of watching football. Apparently, Mr. Jock kind of liked me, because he begged for a second chance. Knowing how obsessed with movies I am, he offered to trade off his Sunday football for a movie night. Against my better judgment, I caved.

That Sunday, he showed up with two DVDs; ‘Any Given Sunday’ and ‘Rudy’.  I promptly dumped his ass and traded up to a Brazilian who thought football was soccer.

Here’s the thing. Several years after I dumped Mr. Jock, I decided to watch ‘Any Given Sunday’. I watched it, and I loved it. A few years before, I’d shot it down because it was a football movie. I hated football, so I was sure I would hate it. The fact that the guy I was dating rented it was a slap in the face. I don’t regret dumping the douchebag, but I do regret dumping on the movie, without having seen it.

And it suddenly occurred to me that this is the way I have been treating religion. I have let fanatics color my view of something that could actually be, well…good. I didn’t watch ‘Any Given Sunday’ with Mr. Jock, because I was sure it would just be more of his football obsessed hyperbole. I’ve stayed away from organized religion because I didn’t want to become like the fanatics who follow it without thought.

But if I can give a simple movie a chance, I am sure I can give an organized religion a chance.

I come to this epiphany because I recently received a very small, but very important miracle. It’s not something that I’m going to share on here. If you can believe it, coming from the girl who once wrote an entire post about her pubic hair, who described her suicide attempt in detail, and who openly admits to wanting to have a 5 way with One Direction, my miracle is a bit too personal to talk about. Maybe I’ll write about it in a year. Maybe I’ll write about it in a week. But for now, it’s just going to be my own miracle.

Regardless, I think I’ve made it clear before; I am not an atheist. I think atheists are just as arrogant as the religious types who pretend they know it all. I’m not even a true agnostic, because true agnostics don’t believe in a benevolent god. What I believe in is universal energy. What I believe in is that there is some true form of structure to the universe. Like Einstein, I believe there is an afterlife, because matter can never truly cease to exist.

And I want to believe that there is some kind of benevolent creator that set this all in motion. I want to believe there is a purpose.

But I will not be blindly led by rhetoric.

I was brought up Catholic because of tradition. Everyone around me was Catholic. All the kids went to catechism classes and had their first baptisms and communions when they were too young to make a decision. Religious brainwashing is easy for an unmolded mind. A mind that doesn’t understand that people can have ulterior motives and that not everything is as it seems.

It’s a hell of a lot harder to influence a 33 year old cynic, with a base understanding of physics, and knowledge that evolution is a fact, not a theory.

So I’m doing my own ‘Any Given Sunday’ retake. For the next ten Sundays (or day of devotion based on domination) I will attend 10 different religious services. I will follow their customs. I will go with an open mind. I will find out if there is some group out there, in the thousands of years that we’ve all been on this planet, that can somehow offer me a way to find a deeper connection to the universe.

Here’s what I won’t do during these services. I will not change my existing moral beliefs. I will not deny scientific evidence I know to be true. I won’t limit myself to one set of beliefs. Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Wicca and anything in between. All are welcome.

I will arrive. I will listen. I will participate. And then I will post my findings here.

Any given Sunday, for the next ten weeks, you will find Essa’s review of the religious service she attended that week. I won’t be cynical for cynicisms sake, but I won’t hold anything back either. God might had said ‘don’t take my name in vain’ in the Bible, but God didn’t say shit about ‘cunt, shit, fuck, assholes, motherfuckers, cocksuckers’ or ‘douchebags.”

My goal in this exercise is simple. I want to find the root of my miracle. I want to find it and I want to thank it. Consider this my fucked up version of Cinderella.

So for the next ten weeks, any given Sunday, you will find me here, either expanding my horizons or ranting angrily. If you have a religion in the Central Florida area you want me to try out, feel free to contact me on the contact page.

Mega-churches need not apply. Trust me; I’ve seen what you all do on “60 Minutes”.

 

 

 

 

Semantics Are Gay

When I first got to in-processing when I joined the Army, there was a minor physical test I had to take. Everyone takes it. It’s mainly done to prove that the person is physically ready for the athletic feats required in basic training. Those who failed the test wouldn’t be kicked out, but they would have to take some additional physical training before they were allowed to move onto actual basic training.

Anyway, I took the test and I passed easily. It was very simple. Complete a mile run in under ten minutes, do 10 sit ups and 5 pushups. No joke, only the comatose would not be able to pass that test.

Following the test, we all got herded into two different groups. As is frequently the case with me, I got a bit confused and wandered into the wrong group.  My squad leader came to get me.

“You’re with the wrong group,” she informed me.

“Why, are these the people that failed?”

She gave me a condescending look and let out a sigh. “No, they are the people that could use a little bit of extra help before heading off to basic.”

That was one of my first experiences with obnoxious semantics. Apparently, ‘failure’ was too harsh a word for people who were about to become trained killers for their country. Instead, they were ‘people that could use a little bit of extra help.’

Back then, when I was still a flaky pot head turned soldier, I simply nodded and moved on. Now, I say this. I was right when I called those people failures, because they had failed. They had to pass a test and they failed. Changing the way we addressed that failure did not change the fact that it was, in fact, a failure.

Words are words. They hold no true power. The only power a word holds is the power that we as individuals give it. Changing the way we address something doesn’t change the underlying condition. In fact, when we do try to soften the blow by softening the language, it usually just comes across as condescending.

Semantics is the study of meaning. It focuses on the relation between signifiers, like words, phrases, signs, and symbols, and what they stand for, their denotation. That part is from Wikipedia.

Semantics are bullshit. When you are trying to find hidden meanings behind the words being used, you don’t gain any higher understanding of the individuals around you. You only gain incite into your own preconceived notions about those words. You can never truly know what another person is feeling when they use a certain word. You can only know the way you are affected by those words. Arguing semantics does nothing but undermine an individual argument. That’s part is from the Essa Alroc dictionary on how to not be fucktarded.

In case I’m getting too high-brow, let me give you an example. ‘That’s so gay’.

Generally, this sentence is used to describe something ridiculous or stupid. “2 broke girls is so gay. Harem pants are so gay. Obama’s opinion on Syria is so gay.”

I bring this up because I’ve seen a recent movement in the liberal community. They want people to be ashamed of calling things ‘gay’. They think that referring to something as ‘gay’ makes it ok to discriminate against people who are gay. Mainly, they’re arguing semantics…and they’re looking like douchebags while they are doing it.

When you tell other people what to say, it’s only a small jump before you start telling them what to feel. To me, ‘gay’ can mean many things. It can mean someone is happy. It can mean someone is homosexual. It can mean something is stupid or ridiculous.

And when you get pissed off because I say ‘that’s so gay’, because you assume that I’m using this phrase to discriminate against gay people, based on your own personal feelings about the word, you’re actually undermining my opinion.

Simply stated, I don’t tell you who to love. Don’t tell me how to talk. It is not up to me to change the way I talk to fit your personal opinion about what is appropriate. Just like it’s not up to you to change your sexual orientation so other people will find it appropriate. To me, ‘gay’ can mean stupid or ridiculous and it doesn’t have any relation to homosexuality. You can’t change your sexual orientation and I’m not going to change the way I view a simple word. So stop with your marketing campaigns. The world has bigger problems then teenagers saying ‘that’s so gay.’

To quote Inigo Montoya “I do not think it means what you think it means.”

If you want to see how to truly deal with a word that offends you, take a tip from black people and the word ‘nigger’.

Yup, I just wrote nigger. Watch as I do it three more times. Nigger, nigger, nigger. No, I don’t go dropping the n-bomb on a regular basis. I just want the shock value to wear off, because I’m going to be using the word nigger quite a lot in the next few paragraphs and I don’t want it to become a distraction.

Nigger actually descended from the base Spanish form ‘negro’, meaning black. It was initially a neutral term that very few people were offended by. Of course, this was during the days of slavery, when black people were considered second class citizens. The term nigger became more and more offensive over time. After a few years, it was considered slang, used by only the lowest of the low crackers. As a result, the gentrified American white people started using ‘colored’ instead.

Yeah, because that was so much better.

Over time, nigger went from being a neutral term to a vulgar term. The classy whites wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole, but the crackers still used it to excess.

Then came the Emancipation Proclamation and black people started getting their identities back. Nigger no longer meant black. Instead it meant slave.

And it became verboten.

Nigger would have just been considered a forbidden word, if it weren’t for the forward thinkers out there, who refused to be swayed by semantics. Instead, black people started to use it as a way to refer to themselves or their friends. They used it freely, but they kept it for themselves. It was totally kosher for a black kid to call another black kid ‘his nigger’. But if they flipped it, and a white person uttered the phrase, shit was on. It became their word. No longer a racial slur, it actually became a term of affection. They took the power out of nigger by making it their own.

If you read my page, then chances are, you know me pretty well. If you know me, then you know that there are two people I admire on the planet above all others. Those people are George Carlin and Richard Pryor. I admired their abilities to take the power from something by making it a joke. They gave me words to live by.

Never underestimate the power of funny.

But there is one area that I will always disagree with Pryor on. It is when he said this, following a trip to Africa;

“{I am} regretting ever having uttered the word ‘nigger’ on a stage or off it. It was a wretched word. Its connotations weren’t funny, even when people laughed.”

Pryor had an opportunity. He had the opportunity to take the power from a word. He had the power to turn that word and use it against the people who created it in the first place. Instead, he let semantics influence him. For me, that was the day he lost his power.

A word or phrase only has the power you give it as an individual. It’s not about what other people think. It is about how you feel about it. Semantics don’t help. Instead, they make you ashamed of using a word because you don’t want to offend people. Using the only the words others deem appropriate doesn’t make you politically correct. The ‘appropriate’ words don’t prove that you’re not a racist. Using only the appropriate words all the time just makes you a coward. When you focus on the words, as opposed to the message, you lose the message.

Don’t say ‘could use some extra help’ when you mean ‘failure’.

Don’t say “is below average on the intelligence scale” when you mean “retard”.

Don’t say ‘that is stupid or ridiculous’ when you mean ‘that’s so gay’.

We as individuals give words their power. When we read into what is being said and decide that it is offensive, even when the overall message isn’t, we give those words a power they don’t deserve to have. We undermine our arguments by arguing linguistics instead of arguing real issues.

The real issue isn’t ‘nigger’. It’s that black people don’t have the same rights as everyone else. The real issue isn’t that ‘that’s so gay’ is offensive. It is that gay people don’t have the same rights as everyone else.

We don’t choose our color and we don’t choose our sexual orientation. The only thing we choose is the way we react to the people around us. When you get offended over a simple line that someone else uses, you give them power over you. You give semantics the ability to make you happy or sad.

No simple word should even have that power. Listen to what people say, as opposed to the words they use. You might just learn something. And remember;

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.