Who was the stupid jerk who put a MUSLIM named Nidal Malik Hasan (or ANY name for that matter) in that position?!!
We're a violent, hateful, vindictive, selfish species, and we're going to wipe out our own kind in the end.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
The Ghosts of Something! (here we go...)
The Ghosts of Le Witt Bog
Back home I used to think I was into model railroading. In reality, my late father made a half-assed attempt at HO scale model railroading for some reason, and it affected me pretty much ever since. In dream; in nightmares. But, that’s pretty much how it always goes here in Darkgarden.
Back home I used to think I was into model railroading. In reality, my late father made a half-assed attempt at HO scale model railroading for some reason, and it affected me pretty much ever since. In dream; in nightmares. But, that’s pretty much how it always goes here in Darkgarden.
With the absolute fear of the upcoming winter, I’ve been scrambling for something to pass my time with. Something enjoyable, clean, succinct in application, and ,if nothing else, distracting.
I did some work on a local burglary of O scale model railroad cars and engines. Delving back into that world brought an amount of nostalgia; along with the aggravation of another felony probe. Like a drug, it seemed to seep back into my system.
So, what to do next. I got a subscription to Model Railroader (just like my father got back in the 70’s), and planned on visiting railroads around the area for inspiration. I noticed that in model railroading, you can agonize over the most minute detail as long as you want, and it will always just go to improve what you’re working on. This furthered my quest into delving back into a hobby that brings me memories as fond as possible from back in the day.
I’ll shoot you one now, though probably only my family would understand the finer details: Boring Saturday, and I go back downstairs to work on the LeWitt Bog addition. I’m not sure where pa is, but things are good anyway. I put Grand Funk Railroad, Survival on the record player and set to work. Grand Funk would be replaced by The New New Christy Minstrels album, and then I would usually put Grand Funk Survival back on. These two albums would be repeated over and over throughout the day-into-night. These were the fondest memories of model railroading for me.
The Le Witt Bog was never completed. People died, people moved on. It remained incomplete at the time everything was disassembled. It had been my first experiment with ground foam too. I recall a single spur that ran through the bog, but I’m not even sure if I ever had an engine traverse the line.
The original title of this entry was The Ghosts Of Cass Railroad, but I’m now changing the title. Just like the wind, when I write, shit sometimes swings around in another crazy direction, just as here. Then every now and then I start writing guttural shit that’s just hanging around in me… I’m guessing that’s what this is. We’ll see if it goes to blog, or just joins the rest of the misfits in my Unfinished Works section. Some mutha’fucka may make some money of my Unfinished Works shit, if anyone ever finds it.
Anyway, I’ve changed it to the Ghosts Of Le Witt Bog. It seems more appropriate now. I was going to describe to you a day I spent at Cass Railroad recently; my observations, thoughts and beliefs. Somehow, shit went south about the same time my fingers started dancing across these keys.
Now one could think that I failed in completing the Le Witt Bog expansion. I guess in specific terms I did fail. It was never completed, and I had no idea HOW to finish the fucking thing. I had a side spur with some fucking ground foam, and no fucking idea where to go from there.
We could take a look at the layout beside the Le Witt Bog section. There was a 4X8 section of some erratic shit going on, along with a poor turntable area, attached to another 4X8 section that included a mainline and a switch off into some area that I’m guessing was supposed to be a town. This area never came close to being finished either.
The layout remained destitute. No one rejoiced in any town. No train ever gave a triumphant steam whistle blast. No one ever shot the shit at some local general store; no switchman was ever seen waiting patiently. 
Oh if Art (Johnboy) was in for the weekend, you might see some minor cheer as perhaps General Lee and British soldiers were pulled around the mainline on a flatcar, but that’s all.
The layout remained cold from beginning to end. Grand Funk Railroad Survival and The New New Christy Minstrels being played over and over while I … While I what? I spent days down there. I don’t know what the fuck was going on, but I was down there, listening to the music repeat over and over; comforting; working on the Le Witt Bog… that was never finished.
My last thoughts now are remnants of the layout, pulled apart, and leaning against a cement basement wall. The house is empty and I sit on our fireplace hearth one last time, getting ready to leave for good.
It’s over. Time to go. The ghosts of Le Witt Bog; the ghosts of Jordan Drive! Are no more because we’re leaving.
No more ghosts, right?
They can stop visiting at any time.
Perhaps soon, I will log on again some time, and tell you the tale of my visit to another land of the dead… The Land of Cass Railroad!!! WOOOOOO!!!!!!!!
HAA!!! IT’S HALOWEEN MONTH AT DARKGARDEN!!!! COME ONE COME ALL!!!! BUT ONLY BRING YOUR DEEPEST, DARKEST, PERSONAL SHIT… OR DON’T COME AT ALL, BABY!!!
NOW! Go away! And don’t you dare look back!
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Soy Joy is that pathetic?
Soy Joy. Pathetic?
Now you all know my blog. All.... mmmm... what?.... 5 or 6 of you?
You know where I'm coming from (at least as much as I do when I write shit).
Silly, hopefully sometimes insightful stuff; random topics; unedited ramblings; colorful venting; delightfully mocking; even sometimes joyfully endearing (though at the moment that makes me want to hock a huge one in some hidden area of my house... no... Strike that... makes me want to hock a huge one in some hidden area in someone else's house of whom I am often prompted to be a fake-ass-mutha-fucka like most of us all have to be at one time or another.
Occasionally I look to see how many readers take a hit on my profile (figuring that a small percentage of those hits actually read my brain effluence).
So I did notice that one of the largest hit jumps (coinciding with my sincere smear of SEARS some time back) was for the latest slam-DUNK of that pathetic piece of cardboard poo-poo: SOY JOY!
With much glee I headed out back, taking with me a nice 2002 California wine, and called out the boys; trying to see if they may have been a part of the antic-profile-hits I received.
Jose was there, tenderly embracing Billy Zane (more to keep Billy from taking off on one of his hopping, hooping, hooting rampages he is known for around our town these days). Jose claimed Billy hadn't been near any of the computers in weeks. Billy's wide-eyed stare seemed to confirm this. He then whispered into Jose's ear at which point Jose let him go. Billy jumped in the air several feet to the side, but still in the bushes. He quickly glanced back and forth, dropped his pants, and while laughing with glee, urinated high into the air with a child-like, Christmas morning smile. There was happiness I needn't probe.
Muddy Waters, new to our crew, sat with purpose; strumming hypnotic alien tunes and sipping on Ancient Age. The look on his face made it clear that the answers I was in search of did not remotely include him.
Morgan Freeman gazed at me with contempt. He was annoyed to be called out for such an inquiry; especially because it is only his voice that remains an integral part of the back yard crew. I waited for his explanation, but like Muddy, his eyes told the story. They then panned over to Muddy. Soon there were ancient eyes, Ancient Age and Alien rhythms clouding the neighborhood.
I already checked on Micheal, who had been hanging out with Trevor and Lucas the past few weeks, working on some music; so I knew he was good.
This MUST mean... that.... (now laughing uncontrollably) ... that.... someone from the POO POO SOY JOY POO POO COMPANY (or agent thereof)... is reading The Realm Of Darkgarden!!!!
(I am now going to launch into a completely pathetic and loud period of laughing, spitting, farting, more laughing, slapping the backs of the backyard crew, more spitting and laughing, a fart or two more, more laughing and .. OH... a kick to one of the cats!!! SWEET!!!.. and then more laughing and spitting....)
This is just so awesome!!!!
There is sadness in this all:
I am of the realization that to get the most attention, you need negative related shock.
That, I sincerely feel, is sad.
... and I leave you with that.
Now you all know my blog. All.... mmmm... what?.... 5 or 6 of you?
You know where I'm coming from (at least as much as I do when I write shit).
Silly, hopefully sometimes insightful stuff; random topics; unedited ramblings; colorful venting; delightfully mocking; even sometimes joyfully endearing (though at the moment that makes me want to hock a huge one in some hidden area of my house... no... Strike that... makes me want to hock a huge one in some hidden area in someone else's house of whom I am often prompted to be a fake-ass-mutha-fucka like most of us all have to be at one time or another.
Occasionally I look to see how many readers take a hit on my profile (figuring that a small percentage of those hits actually read my brain effluence).
So I did notice that one of the largest hit jumps (coinciding with my sincere smear of SEARS some time back) was for the latest slam-DUNK of that pathetic piece of cardboard poo-poo: SOY JOY!
With much glee I headed out back, taking with me a nice 2002 California wine, and called out the boys; trying to see if they may have been a part of the antic-profile-hits I received.
Jose was there, tenderly embracing Billy Zane (more to keep Billy from taking off on one of his hopping, hooping, hooting rampages he is known for around our town these days). Jose claimed Billy hadn't been near any of the computers in weeks. Billy's wide-eyed stare seemed to confirm this. He then whispered into Jose's ear at which point Jose let him go. Billy jumped in the air several feet to the side, but still in the bushes. He quickly glanced back and forth, dropped his pants, and while laughing with glee, urinated high into the air with a child-like, Christmas morning smile. There was happiness I needn't probe.
Muddy Waters, new to our crew, sat with purpose; strumming hypnotic alien tunes and sipping on Ancient Age. The look on his face made it clear that the answers I was in search of did not remotely include him.
Morgan Freeman gazed at me with contempt. He was annoyed to be called out for such an inquiry; especially because it is only his voice that remains an integral part of the back yard crew. I waited for his explanation, but like Muddy, his eyes told the story. They then panned over to Muddy. Soon there were ancient eyes, Ancient Age and Alien rhythms clouding the neighborhood.
I already checked on Micheal, who had been hanging out with Trevor and Lucas the past few weeks, working on some music; so I knew he was good.
This MUST mean... that.... (now laughing uncontrollably) ... that.... someone from the POO POO SOY JOY POO POO COMPANY (or agent thereof)... is reading The Realm Of Darkgarden!!!!
(I am now going to launch into a completely pathetic and loud period of laughing, spitting, farting, more laughing, slapping the backs of the backyard crew, more spitting and laughing, a fart or two more, more laughing and .. OH... a kick to one of the cats!!! SWEET!!!.. and then more laughing and spitting....)
This is just so awesome!!!!
There is sadness in this all:
I am of the realization that to get the most attention, you need negative related shock.
That, I sincerely feel, is sad.
... and I leave you with that.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Soyjoy... Joy? Good Times?....NO JOY!
Ok... so its been awhile. You know... these days.... You think I really give a shit?
Right!
Thats why my faithful ones still mill about... some of the more hard-core down there in the basements and sub-basements and deeper areas where various characters hang out and inter-mingle and talk about the stuff beyond our constant grinding evolutionary process... BUT enough of that...
We're here today because of SOYJOY!!!! Doesn't it wanna make you have a mutha fuckin' party just over the name?!!! Does it not???? SOY JOY!!!! The JOY of SOY!!! I have SOY and I'm overJOYed cause I'm gonna visit my family and bring all the little tots one SOY JOY each!!! WOOT! for Soy!!! YAHOOO for SOY JOY!!! I'm going to take a SOY JOY and cram it up my ass while I stroke my fucking dick to orgasm!!!! I'm'a have some SERIOUS FUCKING JOY with my SOY, BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This all started when I heard a commercial one night for SOY JOY thinking it was Morgan Freeman narrating. This in turn made me think (as THEY wanted me to) that I had to go eat a SOY JOY at the next opportune time. (It also made me wonder when he left the back yard without asking me.) Even before I got my hands on one, Ms. Dark told me that I'd be disappointed. Convinced that my dear friend hanging out in my back yard would never steer me wrong, I thought her to be in err.
Then my world fell.
One day not to far in our normally perceived past, I purchased a singular SOY JOY and transported it back to my home place in preparation of the perfect period to partake of this pressed piece of joyful perfection. (HEE)
When the time came, I approached the wafe with a spot of cold milk.
I partook.
I chewed.
SOYJOY... mmm ... mm?
Well... Ok... It was nicely tasting pressed SOY substance... but...was missing... the JOY.
There was a definitive absence of any semblance of tenance toward any type of JOY.
SOYJOY was nothing more than an undersized piece of mediocre-tasting pressed solidness that was slightly over baked.
Only this and nothing more.
Luckily at that same time I realized that my dearest Morgan had nothing in it. He sat in my bushes, silent and in tears. I tried to hide the face, but he knew I already thought he was the orator of the gawdawful commercial joyously rejoicing such a fine bean.
A bean that should sever its pumping heart from that which they call .... SOY JOY.
Leave it be. There on the shelf under the coat of dust that is already forming upon the package.
Let it die and rot in perfect peace. Let it have peace. Let it end in peace.
In regular corporate English...
Soyjoy is burned/overcooked. The flavor is not pleasing. The portion is pathetic. The price is ridiculously inflated. It is a very poor choice for a nutritional bar of any type.
Right!
Thats why my faithful ones still mill about... some of the more hard-core down there in the basements and sub-basements and deeper areas where various characters hang out and inter-mingle and talk about the stuff beyond our constant grinding evolutionary process... BUT enough of that...
We're here today because of SOYJOY!!!! Doesn't it wanna make you have a mutha fuckin' party just over the name?!!! Does it not???? SOY JOY!!!! The JOY of SOY!!! I have SOY and I'm overJOYed cause I'm gonna visit my family and bring all the little tots one SOY JOY each!!! WOOT! for Soy!!! YAHOOO for SOY JOY!!! I'm going to take a SOY JOY and cram it up my ass while I stroke my fucking dick to orgasm!!!! I'm'a have some SERIOUS FUCKING JOY with my SOY, BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!This all started when I heard a commercial one night for SOY JOY thinking it was Morgan Freeman narrating. This in turn made me think (as THEY wanted me to) that I had to go eat a SOY JOY at the next opportune time. (It also made me wonder when he left the back yard without asking me.) Even before I got my hands on one, Ms. Dark told me that I'd be disappointed. Convinced that my dear friend hanging out in my back yard would never steer me wrong, I thought her to be in err.
Then my world fell.
One day not to far in our normally perceived past, I purchased a singular SOY JOY and transported it back to my home place in preparation of the perfect period to partake of this pressed piece of joyful perfection. (HEE)
When the time came, I approached the wafe with a spot of cold milk.
I partook.
I chewed.
SOYJOY... mmm ... mm?
Well... Ok... It was nicely tasting pressed SOY substance... but...was missing... the JOY.
There was a definitive absence of any semblance of tenance toward any type of JOY.
SOYJOY was nothing more than an undersized piece of mediocre-tasting pressed solidness that was slightly over baked.
Only this and nothing more.
Luckily at that same time I realized that my dearest Morgan had nothing in it. He sat in my bushes, silent and in tears. I tried to hide the face, but he knew I already thought he was the orator of the gawdawful commercial joyously rejoicing such a fine bean.
A bean that should sever its pumping heart from that which they call .... SOY JOY.
Leave it be. There on the shelf under the coat of dust that is already forming upon the package.
Let it die and rot in perfect peace. Let it have peace. Let it end in peace.
In regular corporate English...
Soyjoy is burned/overcooked. The flavor is not pleasing. The portion is pathetic. The price is ridiculously inflated. It is a very poor choice for a nutritional bar of any type.
Frankly, it makes me think I'm eating a nicely squared off piece of shit, prepared by someone with unique hemorrhoids, eating a diet of nuts, soy and fruit. 
Go away now.
Go away now.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
T.G.I. Friday's Frozen Wings... Fa'Get-About-It!!!
Box advertises that the "NEW" party size feeds 6-7 people. The count in the box: 20.
Giving TGIF the benefit of the count...that's still just 4 lil wings a person.
So perhaps they claim appetizer. Fine.
If that's the case... At LEAST figure me for five!
The taste was very good. Cooking times are appropriate.
The quantity vs. price... Poor.
TGIF is a poor name from the starting gate, but again, I over looked that aspect (on account of being quite hungry for quick wings... which I usually make myself.)
I'm thinking, overall, they should just stick with their over the top basic, cookie cutter restaurant chain and count their blessings.
Save your money... Take the extra few minutes and do it yourself.
MAN I'm sick to FUCK of these restaurant chains trying to broaden their scope based on their name and not quality.
I'll give TGIF this much... At LEAST they're not fuckin'-HOOTERS (the worst of the worst)!Things on the table....
TGIFridays BBQ Wings New Party Size! ("Servies 6-7"...and has... ummm... like... 10 fucking wings?!!!)... yeah.. I know... I was very tired and masses were hungry.
David Beckham... are you still here? (so long... and thanks for all the fish!)
Soyjoy (Is that you Morgan Freeman??? Please tell me it isn't you!!! Speak to me from my bushes out back when you get a chance! I "hear" your Soyjoy bars suck some serious ass, but I'm gonna check for myself this upcoming week.)
Regards pitiful readers.
Why are you still here?!!!
I abide.
Peace!
David Beckham... are you still here? (so long... and thanks for all the fish!)
Soyjoy (Is that you Morgan Freeman??? Please tell me it isn't you!!! Speak to me from my bushes out back when you get a chance! I "hear" your Soyjoy bars suck some serious ass, but I'm gonna check for myself this upcoming week.)
Regards pitiful readers.
Why are you still here?!!!
I abide.
Peace!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
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