All of my life I have had trouble with authority figures including the very first one, my father. I didn’t take to well to being spanked. In my world there was no offense great or small that warranted a spanking. The only problem with this is that there wasn’t much that I could do about it. A 180 pound man vs. a 40 pound boy is a mismatch the size of David vs. Goliath. And I didn’t have a slingshot. But I did have my mouth and it pretty much ensured me a spanking from hell. Since I couldn’t fight back I sure as hell could talk shit. And I’ll come back to that later.
Growing up Hardy entailed two types of spanking. The mommy spank and the daddy spank. The mommy spank was always the preferred spank. Mommies carried you for nine months so you know she just wants to teach you a mild lesson. The mommy spank was kind of cool because she always made you go get what you wanted to be spanked with. So we would go outside and a break off a small switch. Mommies never think to make you take off your underwear so we could always put on an extra pair to soften the blows. Screaming at the top of your lungs after the first hit was always a good tool to shorten the length of the spanking. Mommies are such suckers.
Now the daddy spank was entirely different. He didn’t give you the choice to choose your instrument of doom nor did he care. I always hoped that when my time came I was nowhere near: a. an extension cord, b. a wire hanger, c. a belt, or d. the dreaded hot wheel track. The daddy spank was always conducted bare ass to inflict the most possible damage. Back in those days, welts on your ass were considered a sign of good parenting and even if they had a Department of Children and Families back then, they would have awarded my dad “Father of the Year!” Dads also don’t give a shit if you cry, that’s the whole fucking idea. Sympathy from a dad whipping your ass is found in the dictionary between shit and syphilis.
So back to my father and my ass whippings, as I said I couldn’t fight back but i could talk shit. During one grueling episode between a hot wheel track and my ass I told my father that he spanked me like a woman! I thought that I was being clever but only succeeded in increasing my welt count. Another thing about daddy spanks is that they don’t give a fuck that mommy is watching. But as I said, mommies are suckers. So by pissing off my dad even more I was able to increase my mom’s sympathy where she raced in and rescued me. I might have gotten a few more whacks but I sure as hell bought myself enough time before the next ass whipping. And I didn’t even need a slingshot!
Wow! It’s hard to believe that another year has come and gone. I thank the powers that be that have allowed me to enjoy another birthday. Today I turned 46. And with that comes the strange dichotomy that has been my life. For the first half of my life, I truly believed that I would not make it to my 40th birthday. You can blame that on the fact that the men in my family usually don’t die quietly in their sleep in their late nineties. The fact that I have drank enough liquor and ingested enough drugs in my lifetime and am still alive is something for Ripley’s Believe it or Not! Throw in two deccades of smoking Newports, it’s a wonder that my lungs still function.
I had a strange realization today. My life is half over. I am on the down side. The ski lift has dropped me off at the top of the mountain and will not be making a round trip. If I make it to 92 I promise to take back everything mean I have said about religion and God over the years. Meaning that, I will quickly embrace His ass in a last ditch attempt to get into heaven. Because if I make it to 92 then there must be a heaven and a God. Funny thoughts for a guy who has spent the better part of his life not giving a shit about the consequences of his actions.
But as I enter the second half of my life, or more appropriateltly, the third trimester, I am forced to now consider the consequences of my actions. Should I make any appreciative changes in my life? That’s a tough question. For I am a hedonist and I enjoy pleasure. In fact, I’d almost argue that I am an epicurian, that is, there are different degress of pleasure that one can enjoy. There is no need to list the order in which they fall but anyone with a vivid imagination can surely discern the order in which they fall.
Should I be fortunate enough to reach my 47th birthday, I wonder if I’ll have this conversation with myself again. I am sure to go through all of the philosophical arguments about whether to make drastic changes in my life to ensure that I can in effect, prolong it. But in the end, a leopard cannot change his spots. I have this one life to live and I only know how to live it one way. I’ve done alright to this point and if I’ve gotten this far, why change? The day I change might just be the day I die! Happy birthday to me…
President George W. Bush on the United Nations International Day in Support of Victims of Torture – June, 26, 2003 -
“The United States is committed to the world-wide elimination of torture and we are leading this fight by example. I call on all governments to join with the United States and the community of law-abiding nations in prohibiting, investigating, and prosecuting all acts of torture and in undertaking to prevent other cruel and unusual punishment. . . . Nowhere should the midnight knock foreshadow a nightmare of state-commissioned crime. The suffering of torture victims must end, and the United States calls on all governments to assume this great mission.”
I am still shocked at all the relevations of torture and abuses perpetrated by the CIA and American military of detainees during this ridiculous War on Terrorism. I think it has gone about as well as The War on Drugs and the War on Keeping Fat People Out of McDonalds. But I have been troubled the last few days over President Obama’s refusal to release the rest of the alleged detainee torture photos. His reasoning is sound stating that there is no need to further endanger American troops in Iran and Afghanistan. I buy that argument under the premise that we were assured that the photos are no worse than the photos already released.
But logic dictates that that there is something faulty with the premise. If the photos are no more malevolent than those previously released, then what is the problem of releasing them? Retired Army General Antonio Taguba who investigated Abu Ghraib in 2004 told the U.K.’s Daily Telegraph newspaper that the remaing photos show images of “torture, abuse, rape, and every indecency.” Two of the alleged photos are said to depict a male U.S. soldier raping a female prisoner while another has a male U.S. translator raping a male prisoner. Other assaults are said to include a trucnheon, wire and a phosphorescent tube.
Of course the Pentagon has denied these allegations saying that the Telegraph had misquoted General Taguba. The alarm level was raised even furhter when White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs went on to slam the reliability of the Telegraph. My only question is what reason would a retired flag officer from the Army have to lie? And why is the White House so vehemently trying to paint the Telegraph as some sort of National Enquirer. The only answer is to release the remaining photographs. The Obama Administration came in with a message of transparency. My only hope is that they don’t become the Orwellian Ministry of Truth! Winston Smith worked for the Bush Administration.
Over the weekend a would be Chinese suicide candidate got a little help from a frustrated bystander who had been forced to wait in traffice for 5 hours. Gotta love that national unity. Story here!
I am sick and tired of hearing our elected officials scream like little bitches when it comes to bringing the Guantanamo Bay detainees to this country to be tried and imprisoned. Fakename wrote a great blog with the assistance of the New York Time’s Gail Collins on this subject. What are they going to do; kill us with shit bombs? I say bring all two-hundred and fifty of them over here and place them in the general population of Corcoran or Pelican Bay prison in California.
With this being Memorial Day and a slow news cycle day, I’ve been watching a marathon of Lockup Raw on MSNBC. I’m not afraid of anybody down at Gitmo, I’m terrified of the mother fuckers we have locked up in California. I say put those terrorists out in the yard and in less than an hour they’d all wish that they were back at Gitmo in a stress position.
Those poor dumb bastards at Gitmo are jihadist and fanatics. That means that they have been brainwashed to hate America in the name of God. I, of course don’t follow any pholosophy that tricks me into getting my pussy in the afterlife. Now the lunatics in American prisons are not fanatics unless a rival gang member does something stupid like accidently step on their part of the sidewalk .
The convicts that we house at these prisons are just plain fucking crazy. The Northern and Southern Mexicans, the blacks and whites would have a field day in fucking up these Osama wannabees. Ace and Bubba Love would have broken those terrorists by just threatening to take their cornbread. What a fucked up country that we live in…
I should have known about this website when I posted Rabbit Habit Sparkly Elastometer! This blog is dedicated to all the brave American women who are not afraid to say “Say hello to my not so little friend!” Once you go rabbit, you can’t shake the habit! Happy Memorial Day weekend from eehard!
