tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1491978412760732482024-03-13T04:24:23.225-07:00Adult Stories for Your Inner Childzemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-45733283941938584572011-01-02T21:16:00.000-08:002011-01-02T21:18:23.523-08:00The Gaybour Returns!A gay man returned to Bug's neighborhood after a 20 year absence. I remember calling him "Booby" when I was a kid but have since discovered that his name is Robert. So was Booby his nickname or was I just being mean? Bug refuses to ask, so in the meantime we just stare at him through the mini blinds.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-47329932723906808612011-01-01T15:36:00.000-08:002011-01-01T15:38:35.952-08:00$10,000+Left knee repair=$6,500<br />Right knee repair=$4,200<br />Monthly blood tests=$300<br />Monthly medication=$165<br />An old dog's love=pricelesszemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-7908094812421046162010-12-21T19:43:00.000-08:002010-12-21T19:45:40.321-08:00true loveTrue love is sleeping downstairs on the couch because your dog can no longer climb the stairs to your bedroom.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-91176013891194170162010-11-27T22:17:00.000-08:002010-11-27T22:22:17.085-08:00Group Projects SuckThe more time I spend working on my Master's Degree, the more I become convinced that GROUP PROJECTS FUCKING SUCK. I am of the opinion that if you want it done right, do it yourself. Personally, I don't care if the other people contribute. In fact, I'd rather do all the work and make an A than have them drag it down with their "ideas." What burns me up, though, is when they won't work and then complain that I took over. What? Or if they're a "taker over" and their ideas suck. Collaborative learning works well in theory but not in reality. If ever I am a professor, I will always allow students the option of an individual project.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-10608216101469536222010-10-31T19:24:00.000-07:002010-11-19T18:02:41.334-08:00Halloween noveltiesI really should not have snatched the wig off of that fake-bride last night, but I was cold! I'd gone to a Halloween "party" that turned out to be some kind of drag queen voodoo priestess and a tiny woman in black named "Mami" doing a seance with eggs and baby dolls. It was very theatrical, with the lights flickering and a radio pre-programmed to turn on and off at the right times. But really, did they need to turn the air down so low?zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-44725701032690256262010-10-26T18:57:00.000-07:002010-10-26T18:59:17.364-07:00Glue and Horn FailToday was the school's Halloween dressup day and some professors came in (shudder) revealing superhero outfits. I glued tiny horns to my head but wore normal clothing, as if nothing were at all amiss. During class, one horn fell off, so I pulled the other one off...and in doing so, ripped off a circular patch of skin and hair. See, this is what happens when you super glue things to your head. Sigh.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-19921636042554185482010-10-02T13:37:00.000-07:002010-10-02T13:37:20.271-07:00Sword Fail<object style="BACKGROUND-IMAGE: url(http://i4.ytimg.com/vi/cNiAAAxgvi8/hqdefault.jpg)" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cNiAAAxgvi8?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cNiAAAxgvi8?fs=1&hl=en_US" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object>zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-78719012333809569552010-08-17T22:32:00.001-07:002010-08-17T22:33:40.831-07:00ElectrolysisI just realized that as of today, I've had 19 hours of electrolysis on my face and eyebrows. Ha! This is what happens when narcissism meets boredom. But hell, my eyebrows are looking damn good.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-8899362966437052162010-07-31T12:47:00.000-07:002010-07-31T12:48:46.777-07:00HarharharI'm driving down to Marfa Monday to see them famous lights! I love being single for the very reason that I get to call the shots when it comes to road trips.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-2600065827541798762010-04-11T10:29:00.001-07:002010-08-17T21:59:02.738-07:00Wedding CrashersSo it was Gretchen’s bachelorette party last night, and as usual, I was “running late" on account of "traffic." Thing was, this place was at Carrabbas Italian Grill. I'd never been there before, and got kinda scared, so I was paying extra special attention to my clothing and hairstyle. Balding as I am, it took a long time to fix up the few hairs left on my head, so naturally, I was "running late." Because of "traffic," or so that's the story I told Gretchen.<br /><br />Well anyway, I plugged that address into the GPS and I was following Jennifer’s directions (she’s my GPS’s voice, who frequently bitches at me for turning the wrong way) when she told me to turn right onto some side street. Now, GPS is usually pretty good, but if yours is like mine, sometimes it says, "turn right, turn left, turn straight," and the next thing you know, you're driving into the side of a building. But I looked and saw a legitimate street. I turned right and noticed that several cute looking Hispanic men in tuxedos were running a valet service. Mmmmmkay, I thought. Maybe Carrabbas has valet parking or something. Not wanting to spend money for what I could do on my own, I kept driving. Then I saw it. Oh hell, I’d just driven to an outdoor wedding. Clearly, the event was about to start and here I was, pulling into what turned out to NOT be a side street, rather, a long driveway that was serving as the bride’s pathway to the altar. I put that car in reverse, backed out, and floored it out of there, and all they could see was rapidly disappearing taillights.<br /><br />So, to that bride who got married at that house on Voss, I’m sorry for spraying gravel on your bridesmaid. But at least fifty years down the road, you will be able to reminisce about that crazy boy in the red car who crashed your wedding. And to Jessica…maybe it’s time to switch you out to that Russian robot voice named Niki.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-77288673515879070912010-03-30T20:21:00.000-07:002010-03-30T20:32:39.845-07:00Grave Dirt and UnderwearSo we're learning about dirt. Yep, dirt. My students live in the "inner city," which means that the only dirt around them is what you find on the floors in their nasty homes. Well I wasn't about to spend a damn penny on buying dirt at the Home Depot, but I needed about five pounds for this lesson I was teaching.<br /><br />So um, I stole dirt from a cemetary off of I-10. Woodlawn or Wood Forest or something. I mean, it's not my fault that the security guard didn't catch me as I peeled out of there and sprayed gravel in his face. And besides, the people are dead and don't need the dirt! Anyway, I'll let y'all know if any ghosts start trying to eat me in my sleep.<br /><br />In other news, I pissed myself in the bathroom of that Half Priced Books on Westheimer and Waugh. I'd just come from dance class and was looking at the comic books when I decided to pee. So I got in that bathroom, pulled down the dance pants, and just let it out. Oh goodness...see, normally I don't wear anything under my dance pants, but for whatever reason, I had on some whitey tighties. I stood there, with those underwears hanging off me like a soiled baby diaper and you know I just looked a damn fool. I left that bathroom with my underwear hidden deep in the trashcan.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-75681057707172835162010-02-09T18:06:00.000-08:002010-02-09T18:07:03.947-08:00Burning down the church...againIt was the Baptism of our Lord Jesus Christ a few Sundays ago, and I was chosen to lead the procession as the thurifer. This meant I got to light the incense and swing the thurible around and make things smell pretty (a thurible, for all you non “high church” people, is a hollow metal ball, split in two and with a thing inside to hold charcoal and incense, all hanging from a metal chain which you hold). Now, this meant I was in charge of lighting the thing and keeping the charcoal burning throughout the Mass.<br /><br />Now, if you know anything about me, you’ll know that church, fire, and Georges do not mix. On All Saints Day, years ago, the votive candles used during the “remember our dead” part of the service all melted into one and became a huge bowl of fire, onto which the priest poured water and spread the fire. Technically that one was not my fault, but my shoelace was partially singed. Sometime later, I filled the sacristy with butane by leaving the valve open on a torch, but it was cool. No one died or was exploded. But this day, the problem was that we had one brick of charcoal which had to burn for two hours. Yes it takes Jesus two hours to get baptized. Anyway, so I was like the loaves and fishes, or the water from wine, where I had to make a one hour charcoal brick burn twice as long. I tried breaking it in half but it was too hard, and Mass was starting soon. So I burnt it as usual, processed in with the incense, and took it outside to burn out. The plan normally is to light a new brick thirty minutes before Mass ends, but seeing as how there was no charcoal; I was a bit freaked out. So, when it was time to light the thurible, I came up with the idea to dump a box of matches into the thurible, light it, add the incense, and hope for the best.<br /><br />I began the procession with my makeshift charcoal brick and no one was the wiser…until of course, the thing started shooting out flames. It was at this point that I remembered how metal conducts heat and the chain I was holding began imprinting its links on my sweating palm. Being a hardy soldier of Christ, I kept a smile on my face and swung the thurible all the more vigorously. If Jesus could be cool about the crucifixion, I could handle being on fire for the Lord. I made it out of the church and stood at the front door of the church, wondering how to hide the charred thurible until I could get it cleaned. Unfortunately, a photographer had been hired to help create a church book to document our parish goings-on, and this is why there is a picture in our parish book of a wayward acolyte shrouded in smoke and hiding in the bushes.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-83730187874912731542010-01-13T20:04:00.001-08:002010-01-13T20:04:48.879-08:00Too much technologyI just can't get my mind around all this stuff. Face Book, Twitter, and my blog. My mind is just about 'sploding.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-40709537755973202172009-12-23T08:44:00.000-08:002009-12-23T08:49:42.246-08:00Grocery store folliesAll I wanted was a pizza crust, with which to make me a vegan pizza. Tragically, I could not find any, and so made a faux-za out of a long baguette. Anyway, but for real. WHERE does the grocery store stock pre-made pizza crusts?<br /><br />This is like when I went into three, count 'em THREE Starbucks coffee places and not one of them had coffee. They're like "oh, we need to find the civet cat and sift through its shit to get some coffee beans for the making of your beverage. The MacDonalds across the street wasn't so pretentious...with their stale, syrupy coffee flavored beverage which, if nothing else, was ready to be poured.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-7683243771745149582009-12-21T20:04:00.000-08:002009-12-21T20:07:50.501-08:00Good Golly.<br />So the school is in an uproar. Seems that the payroll folks experienced major mental flatulence and forgot to pay us. It appears that sending out United Way pledge drive emails short circuited their short term memory cells and now we're getting paid seven days late. Way to go guys!zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-73819513367473335782009-11-21T00:19:00.000-08:002009-11-21T00:20:28.939-08:00Quack.There's this truck driver that I like.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-14613347125692780252009-10-25T08:50:00.000-07:002009-10-25T08:55:26.467-07:00Worst. Mother. Ever.I am very behind in reading the newspaper (about ten days behind), so I just read today an article about the two boys who died in a house fire. They were living with their mother, who was already under investigation from CPS for failing multiple drug tests, neglecting her children, and for allowing a boyfriend to sexually abuse one of the children. The house that burned was, according to the Houston Chronicle “well-known” to the Houston Police Department. “This year alone, there have been nine calls to HPD for everything from domestic disturbance to guns being fired to assault.” This being the tenth month, that averages to about one call per month. Oh, and did I include that all characters in this drama, including Prashawna White (the mother), Pamela Bell (the grandmother), Bell’s boyfriend, and White’s multiple boyfriends, are convicted drug dealers?<br /><br />What can be said about Child Protective Services? One could argue that this is one of those cases where everything that can go wrong actually does go wrong and results in a tragedy. Every mistake was 100% avoidable, but someone along the way dropped the proverbial ball and never recovered from the fumble. Really, though, it’s a case of people not following through on their duties as public servants. The CPS case workers cannot play the “overworked” card because the history of neglect and abuse coupled with the mother’s history of drug abuse, plus the fact of the children’s home being a known crack house should have tipped off even the most overworked and underpaid caseworker that something was amiss in the White home.<br /><br />Incidentally, this 2009 winner of Worst Mother of the Year Award was working at a day care center at the time of the fire. Did I mention she was under CPS investigation for neglecting her children and that she was a drug addict? According to the newspaper, Keywood Kiddie Corner is “reviewing its hiring practices as a result of the fire.” I sure hope so!<br /><br />On a side note, the children were named Bri'Vion, Javunte, and Briaiona. Excuse me now while I go throw up.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-28963386805659636432009-10-22T21:21:00.000-07:002009-10-22T21:26:48.922-07:00Ants are eating my brain, WHAT?I went to a bachelorette party because I'm just one of the girls like that. So, Katie was telling me about this co-worker of hers...it seems his sister, whose legs fell off a few years back, woke up covered in ant bites. The ants were, from best we can gather, eating her flesh during the night. She subsequentally went insane because as it was discovered, the amount of venom was so great, it actually poisoned her brain. Did I make this up? NO! For real!zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-22171464726791517112009-09-13T19:48:00.000-07:002009-09-13T19:52:26.282-07:00BearsSo as you know, I'm single again. I'm feeling a bit down about this and looking for a nice leather daddy to take me on. Tonight while out to dinner with Evn, I found myself seated near a table of grizzlies. Now, two of the three looked like extras in a late 90's porn, but they were okay. But the third grizzly, oh my. I wanted to splay myself on the table right then and there. But I digress....so, as they got up to leave, Evn grabbed Big Sexy Grizzly and said, "My friend thinks you're hot." Oh my, I turned red and then Big Sexy Grizzly held his hand out and said, "I'm Dave" and all I could do was mumble something and stare at the floor. Oh my, is it really all that bad for me to want to put his penis in my mouth?zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-51056442491769891402009-09-04T22:24:00.000-07:002009-09-13T19:47:12.365-07:00Drunk Times in Finland, part 3Adventures in Finland, part 3: Vomiting across Europe<br /><br />So, you know, I usually have a very strong stomach. I’ve been known to eat combinations of food that would horrify even the most finicky pregnant woman. I purposely bring to parties foods that no one else will eat, just so that I will have it all to myself. Well, sometimes. So, here I was, on this flight from London to Finland. It was the last leg of my journey before arriving in Helsinki. I’d just spent a 12 hour flight from the US to London smashed against the window by a 400 pound man who drooled and was pleased to find this Swedish airlines flight both clean and full of petite, well mannered people. So as soon as I sat down, the woman beside me offered me a cheese sandwich. What? Okay, well thanks, I said. How kind! How kind indeed---except that being vegan has rendered me entirely lactose intolerant. But what was I to do? I could tell by the look on the woman’s face that it would devastate her universe if I refused her sandwich, so I rapidly ate the sandwich. I mean…well, processed cheese isn’t real, right? Ahem...<br /><br />So about ten minutes later, that poor woman was flat on her ass in that airplane aisle, with me climbing over and hitting people, fighting my way to the bathroom, and then barfing so explosively that even the pilot thought we were under terrorist attack. Lordy!<br /><br />Okay, so now, flash forward by 2 days. Irene and I were on the obligatory “Booze Cruise” to Tallinn, Estonia. The day went well, there were, you know, all kinds of old castles and other crumbling things, and on the way back there was a buffet. I love me some good buffets, especially the kind with shrimp. Because did I tell you? Shrimp is vegan in georges-land. Anyway, so I’d had a great meal and was digesting it nicely when I just HAD to try the licorice syrup for the ice cream. I mean, you would too if you saw something so bizarre. But since it’s weird to just get a bowl of syrup, I got the tiniest amount of ice cream for the syrup to sit on and then proceeded to eat this tiny bit…and of course immediately ran into the bathroom for a toilet session. It was all okay until I realized that the toilet would not flush. And, a line was forming. Now, in Finland, the stall walls go from the floor to the ceiling, so no one can see who is inside. It’s very cozy that way. And so I was frantically trying to pull apart plumbing and figure out some way to get rid of the embarrassing mess of paper towels and licorice barf while a gypsy man screamed at me and pounded on the door. Then I noticed that it was one of those “sensor” toilets and all I had to do was move to the right a little and the toilet would flush. Oh my, well, my bad!<br /><br />Now, let’s move into the next week. Irene and I decided to return to Tallinn. But, her dad had funded our first trip and we had to be a bit more frugal in our own vacation planning, so we chose a “Linda Lines” pre-soviet era renovated battleship to get us over. And of course, the boat was rusted, and of course the waves were choppy, and of course it was the captain’s first voyage, and of course I monopolized the bathroom for the three hour trip. I mean, I could not even stand! I’d mistakenly eaten a “shrimp” salad (Estonian word for “rancid crap we’ve had for seven months") and drank some kind of Eastern European cat piss passing itself off as beer (Irene told me later that the crew members were so fascinated that someone had actually left an unfinished can of beer that they framed it in a novelty museum). So, of course, these Russian women showed up, banging on that damn door, screeching for me to move it, and with my reserve strength, I swung open the door, trash can in hand, and vomit down my shirt, and screeched “WHATTT???” and slammed the door shut. It wasn’t as gratifying as I’d hoped for, but what can you do with plastic walls and doors. Anyway, so that’s enough about my vomiting stories.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-9150113665953200822009-09-03T14:45:00.000-07:002009-09-03T14:48:58.063-07:00Drunk times in Finland, part 2Did you know:<br /><br />Not only does Finland have the European Union's highest rate of alcohol related deaths---it also has an actual word to describe when a person goes on a bender and rolls their R's improperly. It is called Oresta, which is pronounced "ooooooorrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeesta." Now, I'm not so concerned about the drunkness and the fact that there is a word to describe it. I think, rather, that it's out of this world that a country has such an impossible language that it cannot be spoken unless one is bone dry sober. Tragic indeed.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-9115644210558342432009-08-03T09:34:00.000-07:002009-09-03T14:45:02.696-07:00Drunk times in FinlandIn my desire to immerse myself in authentic Finnish culture, I went out drinking with Irene. We went to the famous gay karoake bar, "Mann's Street" where Malcolm said we could spot some mens. So, we went inside after taking the obligatory tourist photos of the bar's famous entry way. After unsuccessfully trying to instruct the inebriated bartender in the art of mixed drinks, we ordered a couple of bottled somthing or others and sat down to an evening of bad karoake and disturbingly quiet dancing queens (as I discovered, the Finns are known for their silent composure except when entirely shit-faced).<br /><br />We set our bear traps and one by one, they ambled into my range of sight--large, sexy men with flat tops, goatees, and thick arms. It was lovely until up from the shadows slithered a straw haired strap of brown leather named Villay. His pick up line, translated from drunken Finnish was, "I see you in magazine somewhere? Young and hung, yes?" Irene's ingrained politeness doomed us to listening to Villay's attempts to impress us with his broken English--"Tablay, fingerrrrrrr, Obama," and so on. So at once, Irene became my girlfriend, the cell phone rang, "beep boop beep, Yes, Villay, my ring tone does come from my mouth!" and our house caught on fire, prompting us to run out the door into the 11pm sunlight.<br /><br />Undeterred, we returned to the bar the following week, on a Monday night, as it was unlikely that Villay would return, unless he was a total lush-----which of course, he was. "My frrrrrriends!!" he shouted! But I had a plan--you see, on the ride to the bar, I threatened to slash Irene's tires if she so much as breathed a word of Finnish. "Poor Villay," I said, "English only, my frrrriend." And so Villay, too drunk to remember last week's conversation in his native tongue, tried to teach us Finnish. Oh damn. "Kahlia-- beer. Kassi--hand." So the cell phone rang, Irene and I awkwardly touched hands, and the house caught on fire once more. And so we left, to do our drinking at home like decent folks.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-88652833803074195152009-08-03T09:08:00.000-07:002009-08-10T21:22:21.128-07:00Roaches on WheelsAs some of you know, I'm applying to a graduate therapy program and am completing observation hours. So most of the clients are kids and a few are adults who aged out of the program but still recieve limited therapy. So, about 4 hours into my observations, I noticed a dark black roach scuttling across the floor. Okay, so it happens. But then I saw two, then three and by this time the entire staff was shrieking and standing their desks. About five seconds later, an adult client rolled in with her electric wheelchair.<br /><br />Are you making the connection here? A quadriplegic who eats, sleeps, and presumably uses the bathroom in her wheelchair, massive roach infestation, and shrieking therapists. So the bravest therapist was dispatched to peel the client out of the chair, help her shower and change, while another therapist and I "drove" the chair outside and fumigated it with four or five cans of roach spray. Those things were just flying around and threatening us with their antennae. We lost count of dead roaches at about 50. Barf.<br /><br />Now, humor this question a moment:<br />How is it that a person with a full time, live-in caregiver is driving around in a roach motel (roach trailer?)? How can a quadriplegic with full mental abilities but no way to talk maintain any kind of dignity knowing that her skin is crawling with roaches? I need to keep laughing before I start crying.zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-953408265279898862009-07-31T21:03:00.000-07:002009-07-31T21:07:30.641-07:00Gummy Penises?Do you see them too?<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1spuJcvnBrA/SnO_ViqvL9I/AAAAAAAAAC4/izq8DsPpXc0/s1600-h/DSC_0877.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364841957932609490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_1spuJcvnBrA/SnO_ViqvL9I/AAAAAAAAAC4/izq8DsPpXc0/s320/DSC_0877.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149197841276073248.post-6700420485238348302009-07-12T12:55:00.000-07:002009-07-12T12:57:08.489-07:00This is why we need to eat people<h2 style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Hi everyone,</span></h2>This is a really, really old email I sent out back before blogs, when I had my "reverend georges uber yahweh" list.<br />---zemkat<br /><br /><h2><br /></h2><h2><span style="font-size:100%;"><em>"Jesse Sandler said he was one of the people pushing forward, using a folding chair he had brought with him to beat back people who tried to cut in front of him..."</em></span></h2> <p><em><strong>"Witnesses said an elderly man was thrown to the pavement, and someone in a car tried to drive his way through the crowd..."</strong></em></p> <p><strong>Dear followers,</strong></p> <p><strong>Such events, which occured yesterday, are sure to warrant a massive WTF from ye ol' reverend georges. Although I can and do condone all forms of senseless acts of nonsensical and humorous violence, I strongly feel that such violence should always have a motive...some goal, a sort of reward of sorts. </strong></p> <p><strong>In this case, the trampling, the beating, the pissing on oneself (see story below) was all in the name of purchasing a crappy, used, broken $50 <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1247428375_0">laptop computer</span>. Surely this cannot be! Since when did we return to the days of the Cabbage Patch where plenty an arm was broken as people wrangled over Xavier Robert's backwards-elbowed nightmarishly hideous dolls? Has my mighty plan of evolution turned backwards on itself, with people becoming increasingly stupid while technology advances by leaps and bounds?</strong></p> <p><strong>Perhaps these people need the computers to replace their brains, which have long ago crashed under a Fatal Error. </strong></p> <p><strong>Until next time we meet,</strong></p> <p><strong>Rev. georges</strong></p> <h2><a rel="nofollow" target="_blank" href="http://www.chron.com/cs/CDA/ssistory.mpl/nation/3313671"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1247428375_1">http://www.chron.com/cs/CDA/ssistory.mpl/nation/3313671</span></span></a></h2> <h2>Laptop offer sets off bargain-hunters' bedlam</h2> <h3>Schools' sale of used iBooks draws crowd of 5,500, leaves 17 injured</h3><b>By KRISTEN GELINEAU</b><br /><b><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1247428375_2">Associated Press</span></b> <p> </p><p> </p><table width="275" align="right" bgcolor="#ffffff" cellpadding="0"> <tbody> <tr> <td> <div align="left"><img alt="" src="http://images.chron.com/content/news/photos/05/08/17/crowd.jpg" vspace="4" width="275" border="0" height="234" /></div> <div align="right"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:-3;color:#666666;"><b>Dean Hoffmeyer/Richmond Times-Dispatch</b> </span></div> <div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:-2;color:#333366;"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1247428375_3">Henrico County Police Sgt</span>. A.J. Scott tries to control the crowd rushing into <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1247428375_4">Richmond International Raceway</span> in Virginia on Tuesday. </span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1247428375_5">RICHMOND, VA</span>. - Witnesses likened it to the running of the bulls. <p>Screams filled the air and police called for backup as people were trampled, beaten with a <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1247428375_6">folding chair</span> and nearly driven over. A child's stroller was crushed. A woman urinated on herself.</p> <p>All in the name of getting a bargain.</p> <p>The violent stampede erupted Tuesday when thousands showed up at the Richmond International Raceway to purchase $50 used laptops. The <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1247428375_7">Henrico County school system</span> was selling 1,000 of the 4-year-old <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1247428375_8">Apple</span> iBooks to county residents. New iBooks cost between $999 and $1,299.</p> <p>"I could not move, I could not breathe," said Latoya Jones, 19, who lost one of her flip-flops in the ordeal and later limped around on the sizzling blacktop with one foot bare. "This is total, total chaos."</p> <p>Officials opened the gates at 7 a.m., but some already had been waiting since 1:30 a.m. When the gates opened, it became a terrifying mob scene.</p> <p>People threw themselves forward, screaming and pushing each other. Witnesses said an elderly man was thrown to the pavement, and someone in a car tried to drive his way through the crowd.</p> <p>Seventeen people suffered minor injuries, with four requiring hospital treatment, Henrico County Battalion Chief Steve Wood said. There were no arrests and the iBooks sold out by 1 p.m. Police estimated around 5,500 people turned up for the sale.</p> <p>"It's rather strange that we would have such a tremendous response for the purchase of a laptop computer — and <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1247428375_9">laptop computers</span> that probably have less-than-desirable attributes," said Paul Proto, director of general services for <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1247428375_10">Henrico County</span>. "But I think that people tend to get caught up in the excitement of the event — it almost has an entertainment value."</p> <p>Blandine Alexander, 33, said one woman standing in front of her was so desperate to retain her place in line that she wet herself.</p> <p>"I've never been in something like that before, and I never again will," said Alexander, who brought her 14-year-old twin sons to the complex at 4:30 a.m. to wait in line. "No matter what the kids want, I already told them I'm not doing that again."</p> <p>Jesse Sandler said he was one of the people pushing forward, using a folding chair he had brought with him to beat back people who tried to cut in front of him.</p> <p>"I took my chair here and I threw it over my shoulder and I went, 'Bam,' " the 20-year-old said nonchalantly, his eyes glued to the screen of his new iBook, as he tapped away on the keyboard at a testing station.</p>zemkathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00023296253019389369noreply@blogger.com0