I think my subconscious is planning a murder

I find that when I go old school and write out my thoughts on paper I find my groove a lot sooner. Otherwise, I can sit and stare at the screen for hours, distracting  myself every 45 seconds to take a Buzzfeed quiz or see if there are any Facebook posts where I can leave snarky comments.

So the other day as I was not working on my novel, I came across this image on Pintrest and realized it captured a lot of issues that I have when I find randoms scraps of paper I have scribbled on. And even though I was in the middle of cleaning my living room not 15 minutes ago, when I found this paper I decided it's both hysterical and disturbing that I had to share it.

Maybe I was trying to write a one-liner opening for a murder mystery hidden in the depths of my brain or maybe it's a Hemingway six word story entry.

• Depression era dancer winner takes all.
• Be sure to grind the bones.
• Her body entwined the lobster trap.
• His dying speech was sesquipedalian.
• The gallows, hungry for another neck.
• Henry died; the psych ward silenced.

Not too sure where to go with that. 

Fahrenheit 45WTF?

"He turned and the Mechanical Hound was there. It was half across the lawn, coming from the shadows, moving with such drifting ease that it was like a single solid cloud of black-gray smoke blown at him in silence.
It made a single last leap into the air coming down at Montag from a good three feet over his head, its spidered legs reaching, the procaine needle snapping out its single angry tooth."
                      ---------------Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451 


Does anyone see the similarities here?

DARPA has created this robot to work in combat situations. I think it's safe to say we just fucked ourselves.  Excuse me while I hide my books from The Hound.

Rules: You're Doing It Wrong

This post deals with child rape, pedophiles, and religion. 

If you'd like to leave a comment, I will be moderating this time.

The opinion is mine.  I am entitled to it, just as you are to yours.

That being said, here goes. 

I am a church going Catholic.  I may not always understand or agree with some of the doctrine and teachings but I choose to still remain faithful to the Catholic Church.  Here's the way I look at it.  If you want to play regulation basketball there are certain rules that MUST be followed. No traveling, no double dribble, no shooting from the bleachers unless you are a member of the Harlem Globetrotters.

Motto: We Don't Need Your Stinkin' Rules

If you want to run in the 400 meter relay for the Olympics, you have to stay in your own lane and not cut through the center field.  If you're on Iron Chef and are told not to use any onions, then you can't use the fucking onions because it will disqualify you!

Now, I have NEVER claimed to be perfect, to follow all the rules all the time, to even like some of the rules.  I've broken some (See: Sex, Premarital), been tempted to break others (See: Theft, Do Not Do It), and at times really hated following others (See: The Sabbath, Go Celebrate It). For instance, some Sundays I'd rather bite off my finger than attend Mass; sometimes I'm in no mood to give thanks and celebrate The Lord's Ultimate Sacrifice because I'm in a bad mood or I really want to sit around in yoga pants and play on the Interwebz.   

However, I can choose to do or not do these things.  To follow or not follow the rules.  If I'm not following the rules then I'm not acting like a Catholic should act. And if I'd rather do push ups on the basketball court, rather than do a free throw, I'm not following the rules and therefore not playing basketball properly.

So I choose to remain a Catholic, even when I don't feel like it.  And when I've broken the rules, I (eventually) muster up the courage and humility to go to Confession.  That's it.  The Catholic Church, like other organizations whether it be sports, academic teams, or cooking contests, has a set of rules that must be followed if one wants to be considered a Catholic.

When it comes to the rules of priestly celibacy, Karl Keating states "It is true that Catholic priests in the West may not be married, but no one is obliged to become a priest. Marriage is not forbidden to them as human beings, but as priests. A Catholic man is free to choose the celibate priesthood, the married life, or even the single life (which also is celibate). Celibacy is forced on no one." (Emphasis mine). 

This vow is not easy and is not entered into lightly.  It means sacrificing progeny, companionship and physical comfort of a spouse.  It means going at life alone.  It also means having a flock of people as your family.  It means bringing comfort to a family when a child is in a coma.  It is blessing the little couple that has been married for 50 years.  It's restoring a fallen Catholic in persona Christi back into the church.  It is commemorating the death and resurrection of Our Lord.

I have gone to school with some wonderful men who have joined the priesthood.  One of my favorite college professors was a priest, hard ass and impossible to please that he was.  The pastor at my church is a fun, loving man has sat down to dinner with me, beer in hand and who dispenses solid advice to guide me when I walk astray. I have been blessed to know some wonderful priests.  

So it has been troubling, gut-wrenching, sickening, maddening to discover that for decades there have been priests who have raped and molested innocent children.  Rather than being held accountable by the Church and by the State, these men were often shuffled off to another region of their diocese or order where they continued to wreak havoc on more lives. 

These men broke the rules and vows they took.  What they did was wrong on every level.  There is no excusing it.  In my world, these men with other rapists, molesters, perverts, monsters of the world would be tossed on Alcatraz, air dropped food and supplies, and left to fend for themselves.  In my mind, there is no one deserving of mercy for the crimes committed against children. 

So when a priest/bishop/deacon/monk have been exposed for the horrible actions they have committed, the first thing under scrutiny is the priestly vow of celibacy.  Many times I've heard the argument in the news and from family and friends that "If your priests could get married, then they wouldn't have to rape little boys."  (As if to say, it's wrong to rape a child because you are a sexual deviant, but it is okay to act on your deviancy on a companion)

First of all, as the survivor of rape, it's not about sex.  It's about power and control.  The need to hurt and belittle someone because the rapist is lacking, twisted, sick, and incomplete.  So even if priests were permitted to marry, it doesn't mean that these actions may not have occurred.  There are sadly too many examples of rapists and molesters that were married: John Wayne Gacy, the couple that abducted Elizabeth Smart, along with Karla Homolka and Paul Bernardo.

Most will agree: rapists are sick people.

So when I heard of the allegations against Jerry Sandusky, my heart broke for those innocent children whose lives were shattered.  I was sickened.  Angry at those who stood silent while they were aware of the abuse.

But at the same time, I breathed a sigh of relief.

"See!" I want to shout.  "It's not just priest and ministers and bishops that abuse children.  It's not celibacy that drives them to do that.  It's not Catholicism.  It's about being a deviant!"

More stories of abuse are coming out of other sports organizations as I type.

Sandusky was married when these abuses began.  We can't blame celibacy on his actions.  Even if he was in a loveless, sexless marriage I can't imagine that a person who enjoys raping little boys would be adverse to visiting a male or female hooker or have a mistress. 

Rape is not about love or sex.  It's about power and control, things which these men, priest and married men alike, have abused.  It's not Catholicism and celibacy that forces these priests to do these things. 

It's just plain sickness and deviancy.  And sadly, no one area of our lives, has been unaffected by it. 

I don't have to be a Catholic, I don't have to follow the rules set up by my Church, but I choose to.  Just as Jerry Sandusky choose to rape those children.

*If Zombies Are Real Then I Want F. Scott Fitzgerld To Go After "The Great Gatsby 3D"

Redford. Hot then, pretty damn good looking still.

For the love of tea and crumpets, why in the name of Lay's Potato Chips would someone greenlight a remake of The Great Gatsby? In 3 fucking D?

I'm beyond flabbergasted.  Actions movies, space movies, movies about human-animal hybrids having sex with their tales--fine do it in 3D.  It'll cover the fact that the plot holes are so big the national debt could fit through it. 

I'll be there with popcorn when Fitzgerald comes back to gnaw the brains out of those involved in this hack job.  But I will not be wearing the 3D glasses.

PS-Maybe if I got more sleep I would see this as humorous instead of sending me into a pissy hissy fit.  I apply the same feeling towards "healthy" junk food.  No, I don't want to see that my Lucky Charms provide me with 9 grams of fiber.  (Not that I believe that.)  Nor do I want to hear that the trans-fats have been removed from my Oreos.  THEY DON'T TASTE THE SAME ANYMORE. 
Please powers that be, stop fucking with the classics.  Now hand me that stick of butter while I enjoy my first editions. 

*Alternately titled "Caroline Is On A Diet And Needs A Xanax Donut" 

Aunt Becky, You Shut Your Whore Mouth

I am tempted go all John C. Mayer on Aunt Becky's ass. Because I want to be #3 on Google entries about songwriters who are waiting for the world to change while they touch bodies of wonderlands.

I will use ellipses if I damn well want to. . . and there's nothing you can do.

By the way, US Postal Service, why the fuck did you think that an 8x10 one of a kind, limited edition, autographed print of a Land's End model slightly crazed, rhinestone-studded, chainsaw-wielding mother of 3, wife of The_Daver would fit in a 4x3 PO Box slot? 

Search Words of the Week

Seriously Google?  Who the hell searches for "seeking Viking male?"  I mean, I know I wrote those words in a post several months back, but really?

I'm off to grind my ax.  And while I wish I could say it was a metaphor for something dirty, it's not.  I get totally squigged out about the idea a self ax grinding.