Honesty? On what planet?

Ok, everyone once in a while I find something truly hilarious so if you want a side-splitter, go to this and be sure you are sitting down.

http://www.hoover.org/publications/defining-ideas/article/104721

Now, if you read down this thing without dying from laughter first you will come to this gem.

“Cheating in school is unethical for at least four reasons: 1) it gives students who cheat an unfair advantage over those who do not cheat; 2) it is an act of dishonesty in a setting dedicated to a quest for truthful knowledge, 3) it is a violation of trust between student and teacher; and 4) it disrespects the code of conduct and the social order of the school.”

Now, let’s take this apart and see what it looks like to someone who is actually rational.

“Cheating in school is unethical for at least four reasons: 1) it gives students who cheat an unfair advantage over those who do not cheat;”

Uh, who in their right mind would not want an advantage in life, fair or unfair? What has fairness got to do with anything? You grab what you can.

“it is an act of dishonesty in a setting dedicated to a quest for truthful knowledge,”

Truth? Truth? What the hell has truth got to do with anything in school. The only truth is to get the best grade by whatever means necessary.

“it is a violation of trust between student and teacher; “

Uh, what has trust got to do with getting into Yale?

And finally, this is the best one. Hang onto your tummy.

“it disrespects the code of conduct and the social order of the school.”

Well, big whoop diddly do! Who gives a flying fuck about a code of conduct much less some idiot social order. Where do they get these degreed idiots from?

My parents imparted many wise things to me. But by far, the wisest and the one that has served me well, is that there is nothing of more value in life than to be able to lie well. Honesty is, on occasion, useful, maybe even entertaining. But there is nothing of greater value if one wishes to prosper than to be able to tell an untruth and do it so well that it is indistinguishable from a real truth. Because remember, it is better to tell an interesting lie than to tell a boring truth.

I just had a fun idea

Let us say that there is a serial killer running lose in another part of the country. Now, no one who matters to you is in any danger from this person, they have the wrong body type for example. But you hear that a bunch of wiccans (damn their eyes) are doing spellwork to help the constabulary catch the killer and interfere with his holy work, as well as your fun in reading about it.

Now, would it not be fun to use psionics to grab that energy the wiccans are putting out and place it in a thoughtform designed to protect the killer from being discovered?

Just think about it. The wiccans are casting spell after spell and each time they do the thoughtform gets stronger and stronger (kind of like the thoughtform I created to grab the energy of the prayers my deranged ex-girlfriend would say against me and then used them to power my attacks on her), the police keep getting more and more confused, the public in the affected area keeps getting more and more nervous while becoming more and more angry at the incompetence of the police and the killer keeps having fun as well as removing various pieces of surplus population.

It’s just so much fun being the bad guy.

Santorum

In your heart you know he’s crazy.

The Warrior of the Future

Oh that sounds so 1950s, doesn’t it? Well let’s see.

The Warrior of the Future is not going to be a soldier. He will not wear a uniform. He will not be driving around in a tank. He will not be sitting in a cockpit. The Warrior of the Future will be ninety years old, in his bathrobe. He will be fifteen years old in whatever fifteen year olds will be wearing at the time. And he will be nowhere near a battlefield.

He will be at home, in a recliner or laying on a couch. Oh his head a light headpiece plugged into a computer. And the computer will be logged into a site run by the Defense Department which will put the brain of the warrior into direct contact with a drone. He will fly the drone to the target, destroy the target and hit return. And for each successful mission he will get a certain number of points until he reaches the number where he gets paid. The face of warfare is changing before our very eyes and the time is coming where we will be able to annihiliate an enemy without risking the life of a single American.

The Day I Was a Hero

I am not a brave man. My life is filled with more acts of cowardice than of courage. But for some, incredibly bizarre reason when I was in graduate school I found myself hanging out with the Jesus Freaks, of all people. And they saw me differently.

It really made good sense at the time. The girls were cute, not on drugs and if Paris was worth a mass, a few of them were worth the occasional bout of speaking in tongues. And because I tend to be rather outspoken and not given to paranoia, they thought of me as being incredibly fierce and courageous.

It was April of 1973. And there was, and probably still is, a black fraternity that would hold its annual convention at Southern Illinois University. And folks were genuinely afraid of them, which made no sense to me. After all, they react to bullets the same way everyone else does so I really never paid much attention to it.

Well, we had a coffee house, The Upper Room, in those days. The building is long gone, replaced by an expanded train station decades ago. It lives now only in old photographs with people, most of whom I no longer even remember their names. But that Saturday I took a walk to the coffee house to see if anyone was there, and of course the street was full of the convention goers, all having a good time and not bothering anyone. So I walked in to find the the two young men assigned to running the place that day and they shouted, “Praise God! It’s Chuck!” as if the hand of the Almighty was not sufficient, they needed this rather small and insignicant young man to protect them from the barbarian horde.

But they truly believed it. And with me there to guard them they went about their work fearlessly, not quivering at the thought of someone coming in to do them harm. Their savior, in their minds at that moment their true savior, was among them. His name was not Jesus. His name was Chuck.

And their savior sat with them, drinking his favorite tea, not knowing that the time would come when he would look back on that day, before he was the Prince of Darkness, before his friends called him Darth Vader, before he was the Terrible Uncle Chuckie, archfiend, psychic terrorist, Agent of the Antichrist, when he was just Chuck.

50 years ago today

Today is the anniversary of my first confirmed magickal, well, kill.

I did not know it was a curse at the time. It was a 12 year old getting out some frustration by writing out a death warrant for somebody and then putting in the desk and forgetting it. Well, somebody up there read it and two weeks later, on this date, the target was found dead, shot in the back of the head. Along with his grandmother who was also shot in the back of the head.

Now, I would like to say that I was jumping with joy and celebrating but that is not true. It scared the living shit out of me. People did not get murdered in my part of the world back then. That was for people who lived in cities and good riddance to them. I became seriously paranoid and could not wait to learn how to shoot a gun myself. There was, of course, no possibility that it could ever come back to me. I was in school when it happened, 15 miles away. You can’t ask for a better alibi than that unless it is being with a group of 40 friends in a lounge 50 miles away.

And it took a few months for it to sink that there might be a connection, and then of course that had to be tested. And the technique worked, though rarely with the sort of spectacular results of the first effort.

But it was a good beginning to a long and evil career and a life that I have never been given reason to regret.

So now I look out the window at a gray, cold day. A day like that day 50 years ago. The day that a black light was born in me, and a pathway to power revealed to me for the first time. This a memory to be savored. And day to celebrate. It was, for me, the day of liberation. For while one may forget the name of the first love, one never forgets one’s first kill.

An afternoon at the hospital with Donna

Donna, the honored and esteemed wife of Uncle Chuckie, had a rather bad intestinal infection on Tuesday and we went to the doctor about it. He gave her some pills and said if there was no improvement the next day to get her to the hospital. Well, on Wednesday, no improvement so to the ER we went. And they tested her and found she was dehydrated and needed potassium. So the admitted her to keep her under observation and put some fluid and potassium into her.

Well, today I arrived to find her feeling much better and eating like a horse, which was a major improvement as when I took her in she could not keep water down. Well, after she ate, we sat on the couch in her room holding hands and in came this fellow who introduced himself as “Chaplain Jim,” and he seemed somewhat, well, confused. Undoubtedly he was expecting to find the poor sufferer on her bed moaning in pain, not sitting on the couch with her husband making jokes about her halloween costume. He did not stay long, made a little small talk, said a brief non-denominational prayer and left.

We took a little nap, her on the bed and me on the big chair next to it. Then a couple hours later it was announced to us that she was going home, so home she is.

Why I spend so much time on Second Life

I get to play with people who look like this.

If I were a bad man…

One of the first rules of effective strategy is exploiting the weakness of the opponent. For example, Michael Jackson was guilty as sin, but the jury did not convict him of anything for a very simple reason. They did not want to be killed by his fans. On the other hand the case should have never come to trial because the prosecutor had nine kids. That was nine good reasons for him to drop the case. It was simply not properly explained to him.

Now let us say that your humble scribe were, after some mental failing on the part of the local Mafiosi, to be elevated to the rank of Capo di tutti Capo. How would he neutralize the crusading federal prosecutor? Well, it would take a few months but it would be pretty easy.

First, sacrifice a soldier. Let one of the lower ranks be indicted. And the day after the indictment let the city wake up to find the dead bodies of the members of the Grand Jury on the courthouse steps, in a nice, neat, headless row.

Now, the big question. Where are they going to get a jury that will bring in a conviction?

You see, it is very simple when you use your brain.

Destroyer Day!

Destroyer Day! This is the day when we celebrate the destructive forces of nature and the destructive power of humanity.