She was the one who introduced me to Waveya. In correct doses it leads to good things. In excessive dosages, not so much.

Her point of view, of course. One can't have too much Waveya.

The new Haines (hanes??) commercial bothers me. All the girls are left handed

A few days ago, using my Ruger .22 pistol, I killed a rabbit. Same evening my visiting friend also dispatched a cute bunny. We left them for the roaming carrion feeders, from other mammals and birds to insidious insects, to devour. They need love and care also.

Going to buy a scope for my Ruger .22 rifle. A very useful tool to dispatch unwanted children and babies that may wander into my domain.

So why not eat the rabbit yourself? I imagine there's a primeval satisfaction in hunting your own food.

I just spent 11 hours reading SMP threads. I don't understand a word you people are saying and yet I am laughing out loud every 2 minutes.
What is wrong with me?

Confession: I once masturbated with my left hand to see if it got me closer to Satan.
(Results are not in yet).

Yes there is but we already had dinner. Plus you have to gut, skin, clean, cut up, and prepare it. The decision was to let other natural forces do that work for us.

But this does remind me of something my Italian friend told me recently. She was at a farmers market at a meat stand (I assume they sold at least beef and chicken and possibly sheep meat). She asked if they had any rabbit. They looked at her with abject horror and stated "of course not". Italians eat much rabbit and are very skilled at preparing wonderful dishes with it. Good thing my friend did not ask for horse meat (another wonderful Italian cuisine choice) - she probably would have been shot.

I love to fly fish, for trout and salmon mostly, and always eat what I kill of the fish world.

I once masturbated to kill time while my bean soup simmered.

I lurk enough to warrant jumping in, so I will say that this post reminded me of the time that I was using a pressure cooker to sterilize the substrate for growing psychedelic mushrooms, but forgot that I was doing so, after which the top blew off the pressure cooker and much steam filled the kitchen! I wondered if such a scenario could potentially be deadly. It was embarrassing because it happened around the time that I was conversing with coworkers who had passed by my apartment and chatted me up a little while I was on the balcony, particularly because they already considered me eccentric in my estimation. But I'm pretty sure they didn't actually bear witness to what had happened.

MMGG 2.1 here you?

Lol... I could feel myself shriveling just reading that!! You must have been a real b'stard in your previous life.

I went to France 2 years ago to visit an old college buddy and his wife.

I'm going again, probably in October. Side trip to Copenhagen instead of Budapest this time.

I love France?

That's some side trip. I'll be Eurotripping next year as well, finishing up in Denmark. A Tuborg to you if the stars align.

I registered to vote.

For what?

Nice job anyway. Fulfilling your democratic duties.

I recently moved into a new district, therefore you must register to vote in the new/different district from the previous one.

Democracy is stupid. So are duties.

But that's Politics Forum Fodder and we certainly don't want to muck up this beautiful thread with that gibberish.

But thank you for the support.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Next confession: I love Joe Jackson's CD: Jumpin' Jive. Seven White guys play Black Music*. And they do it just as good if not better. Please sue me for that comment.

*Much of it old Louis Jordan Songs.

A stripper keeps sending me text messages. Some with xoxx, etc., at the end.

she probably wants to go to france

Is that what you kids call it now a days?

Prelude Music by Bob Marley: Rastaman Vibration, setting the stage for positive vibrations



Cape Pole, Alaska, on Kosciusko Island, Fall 1979. I was working for a logging Company.

They had satellite TV and satellite Phone. A big deal in those far off days of yore and quite an upgrade from the other camp I came from.

Anyway, after work we used to hang out in the TV room and watch whatever was beamed in. I don’t recall if there were multiple channels but I don’t think so. You just had to watch whatever programming was pre-tuned in. So Mr. Rogers' was one of the programs. We would get stoned after work and watch TV. Mr. Rogers' would come on and a small group of us were watching the show for the first time and this is what transpired as I recall from all those years ago, for some reason this particular memory has stayed with me. [note: I had never seen the show before this]

Mr. Rogers' comes through a door singing some song, about it being a wonderful and beautiful day etc. in some strange almost talk-singing voice. He removes his coat, hangs it up, and puts on a sweater and then sits down on a couch and removes his shoes and puts on some slippers. He yammers on about how everyone is beautiful and worthwhile and how is everyone doing today? I was thinking this guy is a wing nut, and what the hell is this all about. There are about four of us in the room including myself and we were all nicely stoned and probably sipping beers or whiskey. But the mood was good and we all watched intently.

Then Mr. Rogers' makes a pair of shoes (slippers really) out of construction paper. He places his feet on the paper tracing out his footprint etc., and cuts out the soles using scissors. Then cuts out slips of paper to go over his feet and glues them to the soles. All the while talking about doing this project and isn’t this interesting and fun making a pair of slippers for ourselves together. Then he slips off his regular pair of slippers and puts on the paper slippers. He smiles; he wiggles his toes and continues with his chatter. Wasn’t that a fun thing to do? Isn’t this wonderful!! I think my mouth fell open about three feet.

Holy ****! Then we start to chat (P1, P2, P3, Me) [insert pauses as needed for the stoned state of the entire room]

P1. That Roger guy is crazy stoned out of his mind.

We all nod in agreement. That much was obvious.

P2. Those slippers won’t last five minutes.

We all nod in agreement. That much was also obvious.

P3. What’s he thinking? Making slippers out of paper, they would be worthless in the bunkhouse.

But none of this broke the smooth ambivalent mood and cosmic flow of the room. Then we get jarred out of our seats because Mr. Rogers' says that we have a visitor and this tall, lanky Mr. Engineer guy comes in (with hat and bib overalls I think) and I guess we need to visit his little room to see something (was this the land of make-believe?), I don’t recall exactly. But something was now very wrong. The cosmic flow had been altered and severely disrupted in the room by Mr. Engineer guy, and this didn’t bode well for our state of mind. And the conversation went something like below, while Mr. Engineer hat guy does his whatever.

P1. That guy is a fa**ot.
P2. Yeah, he is.
P3. What’s a f*g doing on a kids show?
P2. He likes trains.
Me. Kids don’t know he’s a fa**ot. [A pause in conversation for reflection………….]
P2. Ah……….So it doesn’t matter?
Me. Of course not; who gives a ****.
P1. Yeah, that’s right: Who gives a ****.

The cosmic flow had been restored and we continued to watch the show in relative silence. I think we had other visitors and maybe even some puppet porn but the memory is fuzzy on what transpired for the reminder of the program. After the show was over, P1 made this succinct observation:

P1. Wow, that show really isn’t that bad – Mr. Rogers' is pretty good really. We should watch it tomorrow. I wonder what’s on next.




Above is a photo I took all those years ago of the TV room with long lost friends whose names have been blotted from history. Note the faucets along the back wall; I am fairly certain that the TV room was converted from an old laundry room. The suspect on the left is cuddling a bottle of Black Velvet is my guess. The décor is post-modernist logging camp. The couch was important from Italy.


I'll end with one of my favorite Bob Marley songs, and very appropriate:

I met Mr. Rogers. By "met" I mean pestered him quite a bit. He was a member of my congregation.

Very nice man. Very sincere. Very thoughtful and considerate. Completely changed my view of people for the better. When I told him I had no faith, he was very kind. He was no different off camera than on.

Every once in a while I forget him. When reminded of it, I feel ashamed.

By fiat I am declaring Sigmund Freud an honorary member of the SMP Confessions Thread.



I have found little that is 'good' about human beings on the whole. In my experience most of them are trash, no matter whether they publicly subscribe to this or that ethical doctrine or to none at all. That is something that you cannot say aloud, or perhaps even think.

-Sigmund Freud

We have come a long way since then. One of the great joys in life is watching people from a distance. Walking past a mirror, not nearly as much fun.

Who is this "we"?

I stare into the mirror everyday and contemplate about that trashy yahoo that is staring back at myself. It does wonders. You should make it a daily morning ritual also. Sort of like a prayer or meditation.

Who knows - perhaps you can better yourself and become more like, well, more like Zeno.

And no, I'm not going to put one of those silly smilies on the end of that last sentence.

I constantly steal glimpses of myself in the mirror and imagine how freaking sexy that beast must look to ladies of all ages. When I think about me I touch myself.