Check-out lines can eat your soul...

Ah yes, we have all been there and still return. We have no choice. We stand, we lean, we dread them. Check out lines are a part of daily life that are welcomed like the plague.

If it's not bad enough that we must endure the time spent waiting in line that could be used doing something useful, this "daily living activity" can at times attack our very soul. They put us is a position to let our thoughts wander and our minds become bent on the wishful destruction of others.
So what is it that can take a person from being an all around great guy like Dave to becoming a Jeffery Dommer wanna be?

Well... some things like this;

There you stand, with your cart of groceries. You have just spent the last 45 minutes fighting your way through the isles to try to find what you want and some of the things you actually got were merely concessions because the store didn't have what you really wanted. You are now running short on time and realize that you should have gone to the bathroom before you left. Thus, you try to find the shortest line and see that the shortest line is actually the one with carts that are filled to the brim. You then back up and try to find what may be the "fastest moving" line.

After finding your "spot" you eventually make your way near the register. The lady in front of you only has a few items and you are planning your escape after check out to the bathroom. But No !...now the end is suddenly not so near as your back teeth begin to float and your frozen items become room temperature.

It seems as if the kindly looking woman in front of you has to pull out a credit card. Naturally this card does not go through. She then tells the cashier that she doesn't understand why and then tries again...nope, still didn't go through. She pulls out another card and the same thing happens. At this point you just want to say; "Hey lady! you are over drawn, get it! over draaaawwwn... now move it before I pee all over your leg". So now she pulls out a CHECK !! . Holy Crap! here we go....

Does she have a valid ID ? ... no. Is the check local?... no. OK, now she defaults to her last resort and digs into the bottomless pit of her purse to dig for cash. Naturally, she is short on the change. So you, being generous offer her the 7 cents that she needs. She replies; "No, that's ok, I have it in here somewhere".

Now, while all of this is taking place, this is actually what is happening:

Your heart rate has increased and if we are only allotted so many beats in a lifetime, your life has just gotten shorter. Your blood pressure has increased and will eventually stress your heart, thus causing congestive heart failure. By the time you leave the store, you are now one day closer to death because you had to eat.

So is it any wonder why the darkest thoughts in your mind somehow take over your soul in a check out line ?

Organ Donars die first...

Does your Drivers Licence tag you as an organ donor? That pretty much means they are doing a "Slow Code" on you when you show up in the ER...

Ok, so you are in the prime of your life and you decide that if you are in a fatal car crash you want to be noble and donate any usable body parts to those that need them. You answer "Yes" at the DMV when asked if you want to be an organ donor and they label you drivers licence as such.

Now the reality of what you have done...

Yes, if you are in that fatal crash and someone checks your ID they will take you to the nearest hospital and inform your family that you are an organ donor and that you will be quickly carved up to help those in need of transplants just as you wanted to happen. But... chances are that most of us will die in an ER or withering away in a hospital bed. Take this as fact from someone who has seen so many dead and dying that the numbers are un-countable.

Given this, when you show up in the ER because your heart stopped or you are in the Hospital Intensive Care Unit and your heart decides to give up and you are identified as an organ donor, a quick assessment of your general "usability" will be done, the nearest donor facility will be notified and a "slow code" will be done.

What is a "slow code"? Well, that is when the thumping on your chest is done very slowly and just enough medication is given to keep you somewhat alive so the eventual outcome WILL be your death. No heroic measures are done in your behalf.

Just before your death or shortly after, a pair of individuals will arrive with coolers. Yes, that's right...Coleman coolers. They will stand outside the area and wait for the time of death to be stated and then you will become the donor that you signed up to be.

I don't know about you, but if I do not go out in that fiery car crash or shot in head at the post office or mall... they better thump hard and fast on me as I have to get to work and pay some bills. Just something to think about...

INTERNET BEGGARS..

Make a donation please? ah, come on...I asked for it, why won't you give some money to me?...

This one is long folks, but I hope you will enjoy it,

Now this is some shit here... I was checking out a fellow blogger's blog site and saw an article that had something to do with boosting one's own blog popularity. The comments that this article recieved were personally disturbing to me.

Several of the responders commented on how difficult it was to attract people to their blog and how they were concerned about the amount of money that they could make as opposed to the amount they were actually making, or not making. I thought to myself; "How do they expect to make money from a blog?"

Well... The blog that hosted the article had a link to click on if you happened to like various stories/posts. So I clicked on a couple of the "I like this story" links and it lead me to a Pay Pal page that enabled the visitor to send monitary donations directly to the the owner of the blog.

Later that morning, I clicked on one of the "Noted" blogs from a well known blog host. I went to the guys blog and his first and main artilce was all about how his Domain name was about to expire soon and that the cost to renew the domain was 10 dollars (yes... Ten, Ten fucking dollars). He even gave the name of his bank and the address of it, as well as his email to set up sending a payment or "Donation" as he put it.

I later checked out some other blogs. Some of these people went on about how they were Writers and Authors and were giving up their precious time to share their work on the internet, and thus somehow might deserve a monitary reimbursment for their time to share their golden words with the rest of us.

Ok, I personally am writting two books (horror). I will send actual paper copies to the United States Copy Right office along with 40 dollars for each manuscript to be copyrighted. After that I will send my manuscripts to various Publishers in the hopes that they will read my work, contact me, edit my work, rename my work, and then offer me a piddly amount of money to publish me. THAT my friends is how it works! That is how your words become worth real money years down the road. Begging money for trite (even somewhat useful trite) is just that; Begging. But hey, "A sucker is born every minute". Ever hear that one?

I personally have had only one expierence with begging during my life on this planet and it was short lived with the threat of going to jail...

I was probably about 10 years old when "Hostes HO-HO's first came out. My freind Dennis and I went into the "Buckeye Mart". Upon entering, there was a lady sitting behind a folding table with the latest snacks. They were FREE. Being kids and with little funds to spare, we were all about anything free. Oh my God! these little rolled cakes with creme filling were soooo good!, addicting actually.

We kept returning for more and the lady would give us more. As time went on and our addiction grew, she finally said that we would have to pay for any more. TIME FORE A PLAN!...

We then roamed the store and stopped anyone that we could. Our story was that we had taken the bus to the store and that we had no money to take the bus back home, let alone to call our parents to tell them that we were standed. We only asked for a mere 10 cents for the phone or 25 cents for a bus ride. We would collect the loot and head to the HO HO lady.

As time went on, we were approached by an off duty police officer. He said that he had been watching us and informed us that begging was against the law. He also told us that getting home was not going to be our biggest worry, but getting out of jail was. He informed us (one again) that begging was against the law!

But as time and years went on, I was on the opposite end of the begging scheme...

Lost in downtown Nashville Tennessee, a young man came up to me and asked for 5 dollars. I informed him that I did not have any money. He then gave me a convoluted story about why he needed the money and why I should give him the money (afterall, he was asking). I explained again that I did not have any money to give him. At that point some of his friends walked forward out of the darkness and he asked again for money as he pulled a knife out of his front pocket.

At this point I decided to offer a "donation". I pulled my coat to one side and reached behind me as my "needful" friend's eyes opened big with the thought that I was reaching for my wallet to open it and make his requested donation (if not more)... he then realized that in this life, sometimes you don't always get what you want. What he actually recieved was a snub nosed 357 magnum in his face.

Both of those stories are true. If you liked them (or this post) in either way, you can send your love gift below:

Pack it up Daddy, we're going to Walmart...

Ah yes, Christmas in middle class middle America where "All roads lead to Walmart". Just when you thought that you had somehow managed to make it through the year without putting a bullet in your skull, you walk into Wally World and wonder why you didn't just go ahead and shoot yourself that morning.

The moment you walk into a Walmart at Christmas is kind of like running through a Circus ring when the elephant act is in full swing.... just plain scarey and dangerous.

The adventure starts as you grab your cart (the one with the bad wheel) and push into the mayhem. As soon as you make that first turn and look at all of the faces that you have not seen at any other time of the year, you know that it has now boiled down to an excercise in survival.

The faces are scarey. Many have the look of a virgin boy let lose in a whore house, you know...mouths gaping open, glazed eyes and a little drool at the side of their mouth. Some have the expression on their face like they may have suddenly been plucked up from their home planet (one that you would not want to visit) and suddenly dropped off into ours.

Christmas morning...

Christmas morning...5am, a small child crawls oot of bed. He does his best to quietly creep down the stairs from his bedroon to take a look to see if Santa Claus has visited him yet. He spies the tree still lit up from the night before when he was told to go to bed many times over by his parents if he wanted Santa to come.

He sees his most asked for gift setting in front of the tree as well as stockings that have been stuffed with surprise magic by Santa himself. Knowing it is to early to wake his parents he grabs up his stocking and carries it upstairs to his room. After quietly retturning to his roon, he sits on the floor with the glow of his bedroom nightlight and with his heart pounding, peers into his stocking...

Christmas morning 5am (45 years later)... The Man wakes up and makes a sigh as he crawls out of bed early on Christamas morning. His back is slightly stiff so he eases out of bed in a sideways manner. He makes his way to the shower and tries his best to wake up. It enters his mind that he should not have been up so late the past couple of nights wrapping presents as he is getting to old to stay up late and get up early. After a quick shower he puts on his clothes and grunts as he sits up from putting on his shoes. He then goes outside into the cold morning darkness to warm up the car and hurries back inside for a few minutes. He sits in his chair and a bit short of breath, as the car engine runs outsde, and thinks to himself that he should have quit smoking a long time ago.

He then gets up and goes to the car. He pulls down the dive and into a foggy darkness. All that is really visable are the faint glows of the neighborhood Christmas lights as he makes his way to the end of his street. He thinks to himself; " How beautiful, just like when I was a kid".

6am... the man sits inside the county jail. He has signed papers and now waits. He thinks about his life and how things could have been. As his patience grows thin, as it has over the years. His mind begings to wander... He thinks to himself that perhaps he could have tried harder, spent more time at home or been a better father. As his mind then gradually takes a downward spiral, He begins to think; that maybe, just maybe... it would have been best after showering this morning to take his pistol, walk out into the backyard into the foggy darkness and free himself from this earth. Afterall, he is old, his body aches, and this is not what he really expected from his life.

He then hears his name called and the locked door buzzes. He gets up from his seat and goes to the door. He pulls the door open and his son emerges. It is Christmas day and the man's son is free to come home. The man looks into the face of his son... now he knows why he did not take that walk into the darkness this morning.

Because this Christmas morning, unlike the Christmas mornings of years past; the man's return of his son was better than any wonderment Santa could have left him.